To be sure, almost all first-generation Chinese American parents have had to face the same situation with their American-born children. Many solved the problem simply by designating the center of their dinner table as the demilitarized zone, serving hamburgers and hot dogs at one end and steamed whole fish with shredded mushrooms at the other. While this policy of appeasement offers the advantage of expediency, it also brings on complications of a different order. By tacitly allowing our children to thumb their noses at the food that is a vital part of our heritage, wouldn’t we, in essence, be permitting them to look down on Chinese culture in general?

There also were the formidable difficulties of having to produce two different types of dinner every night. For someone who found cooking one dinner a chore, preparing two seemed an impossibility.

And more importantly, should we allow our three-year-old to decide what she would or would not eat for the rest of her life? Would it not be a shame for her to close the door on Chinese food and to subsist henceforth only on a diet of hamburgers and hot dogs? Furthermore, if we caved in on the food front, wouldn’t we be tying our hands on future issues involving melding with the mainstream versus following one’s good sense?

For these noble and not-so-noble considerations, we tried everything to dissuade her from her chosen path. We reasoned with her, we sweet-talked her, we bribed her, we threatened her, we spanked her, we force-fed her, we did everything we were supposed or not supposed to do. Nothing worked.

During lunch one day I tried to change my tactics by asking her a direct question in a casual and non-threatening way, "Why do you refuse to eat the food I cooked?"

Circumspect even in duress, yet as obstinate as ever, she countered, "I'm not hungry." "In that case," I said, "you don't have to eat. Since your appetite has been so poor, we’d better not try to spoil it for dinner by letting you have anything except water. No snacks, milk, juice or soda between meals."

As she was excused from the table, without the usual coercion and scoldings, looking relieved and rather pleased with herself, I added helpfully, "You may drink as much water as you like."

The kid who was "not hungry at all" became inordinately interested in food by 2 p.m., casting frequent longing and plaintive looks at the refrigerator. By 3:30 p.m she could stand it no longer and requested crackers.

When a mother sees her child suffering from any discomfort, including hunger, her instinct is to alleviate it. I was no exception. But aside from the above-mentioned considerations against letting her have her way, there was the "no snacks" rule I laid down only two hours ago. How could I go back on my words?

The rest of the afternoon, needless to say, was a challenge for us both. While I struggled to sustain my resolve, she alternated temper tantrums with fruitless trips to the kitchen. When dinner was finally served, she tried to maintain her tough stance, but her hunger got the better of her.

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