When I was a little girl, I knew there was something special about “our” new year. Unlike the Jan. 1 celebration, Chinese New Year had nothing to do with champagne and resolutions. It was all about family.
Now we call the holiday “Lunar New Year,” embracing traditions from Korea and Vietnam, and I love that inclusion. But in my childhood home, it was “Chinese New Year,” and it always made me think of my grandmother.
My sister and I were born in Maa Maa’s (my grandma’s) San Francisco Chinatown apartment building, a home she purchased by scrimping and saving because she wanted a place where her whole family could stay together. In fact, when my parents first married, my father — her son — brought his bride to that building, and we stayed for years.