All About My Mother

Art by Grace Walters

By Archy Jamjun

When I was a little kid, there was nothing that would send my cousins and I into fits of a laughter more than imitating our parents’ accents. I distinctly remember the word “VAAAAH-koom” sending us to the floor. Now, of course, none of our white friends were allowed to do this, but I’d also perform it for them, and for those brief moments I would be in the inner sanctum of the cool kids.

When I first stepped on stages like The Moth, Story Jam, and This Much is True in Chicago, I quickly became known for being able to embody my mother. To me, she enters my body. My face contorts into her. My finger points and I strike fear into my own heart. But I know that for most of the audience, it’s the accent that gets them.

Early in my storytelling career, one of the producers of a big show asked me if I could not use an Asian accent when portraying my mother. I found it adorable that someone outside my culture would tell me how to present my family, but I get the idea that using an Asian accent for her is somehow a cheap joke. I also, however, wrestled with the fact that presenting my mother with an American accent is a flat-out lie that conceals an important aspect of her, her identity as an immigrant. I ignored the suggestion and went on to win the night.  

The truth is accents are sometimes funny, something most people can relate to, and IT’S OK TO LAUGH AT FUNNY THINGS…as long as we’re willing to think about them as well. What’s important to me when it comes to portraying my mother, or father, with their accents is that even though there will be moments when the accent is funny, I want the audience to know that their tendency to drop an article or misuse a verb has nothing to do with the wisdom their words have given me throughout my life. It has nothing to do with their ability to perceive the world and digest it. If there’s a falsehood that needs to be addressed, it’s that any accent–be it a more highly-prized one like a sexy French accent or a more often ridiculed accent like an Asian one—can be used to determine someone’s intelligence, heart, worth, etc. It simply tells you they can speak more than one language and have lived somewhere else before.  Once, when my parents still had the endurance to wonder what I would do with my life, I told them I was going to open a restaurant called “Ka-lee Wacharee”. I thought it meant Wacharee’s Curry—Wacharee being my mother’s first name. In fact, it meant Wacharee the Prostitute. My family had a huge laugh over this. No judgment though—they are all well-aware I only passed 3rd grade in Thai School—just a reminder that my use of Thai is part of who I am. It’s far from perfect and sometimes makes me the joke,  but it is a part of me I would never deny.