Chapter 249 247: Community Influence
"What in the world are you wearing? Did you secretly spend all of your allowance for the week just to buy that shirt?"
"It's a number fourteen San Francisco 49ers jersey, see? He's a Chinese-American player named Lu Ke. He's the first starting Chinese-American quarterback in the history of the NFL!"
"What? Weren't you just wearing a Golden State Warriors jersey? What happened to that one? Why buy a new one? Your closet is already full of jerseys. Stop wasting money!"
"Mom, that's basketball, this is football. They're different. Ugh, I can't talk to you about this. A starting Chinese-American player has finally shown up in football. Shouldn't we support him? Besides, let me tell you, he's already got three straight wins. Three straight wins! You know? All the media outlets are reporting on him now. He's really making us people of Chinese descent proud!"
"Really? Why haven't I heard about this? What sport did you say it was? Football? Isn't that more of a European thing? Who here in the United States even likes soccer?"
"American football! *American* football! The one they throw with their hands, the one that's oval-shaped! Ugh, whatever. I like him, so I bought his jersey, and I'm going to wear it all the time now."
...
The domestic squabble echoed through the small grocery store. Jiang Youning stood nearby, listening quietly, not wanting to interrupt the mother and son. A faint smile involuntarily graced her lips, her heart swelling with pride.
The boy, who looked to be in middle school, wore an impatient expression and didn't bother explaining any further. He just turned and left. The store owner called after him a couple of times, but he was already gone. Shaking her head with a helpless smile, she turned her attention back to Jiang Youning, offering an apologetic look. "Sorry about that. Kids these days... they can't stand being nagged. They just bolt. What can I get for you?"
"I need a bottle of soy sauce, some Sichuan peppercorns, and some cumin," Jiang Youning said with a smile. "Oh, and a bottle of sesame oil."
The owner let out a sound of affirmation and turned to search the shelves. "I don't know what's gotten into kids these days," she mused. "How did they get into American football? I've never even heard of anyone watching it before."
"That's just because *we're* out of the loop," another customer, a friendly-faced, middle-aged woman dressed in simple but clean clothes, chimed in. "American football is the biggest sport in the United States, you know. I'd never heard of it either. But yesterday, the family I nanny for all watched the game together. They were talking about some kind of 'back,' a kid of Chinese descent, and said he did a great job. When I got home, I asked my husband, and it turns out both my sons knew all about him."
The middle-aged woman laughed heartily. "I hear the kid is amazing. He's won a ton of games and broken a ton of records. All the big TV networks want to interview him, but he turns them down, saying he just wants to focus on playing. What a good kid. You can tell he comes from a good family. No wonder he's so successful."
"Wow, so it's actually true?" The owner paused as she placed the soy sauce and sesame oil on the counter. "I just thought my son was making up stories because he'd wasted his money."
"Not at all! The entire street where my employers live was glued to their TVs watching the live broadcast yesterday," the middle-aged woman affirmed. "It was a huge to-do, people were even having barbecue parties."
Just then, the owner of the neighboring fruit stand ambled over, his hands clasped behind his back.
San Francisco's Chinatown is a fascinating community. The streets are laid out in typical American blocks, but the storefronts lining them are all traditional market stalls: seafood vendors, vegetable stands, fruit carts, general stores, grain shops, and more. They exude a rich, traditional Chinese atmosphere—and not a modern version of it.
Chinese immigrants had settled here as far back as the Gold Rush, preserving a slice of life from a China of fifty or even a hundred years ago.
This mix of modern and vintage creates a profound sense of belonging. Even the housing resembles the dense, beehive-like apartment buildings of Hong Kong. Combined with the ubiquitous traditional Chinese characters, the place is a dead ringer for a Little Canton. Cantonese is spoken without impediment.
"Old Wang, have you heard?" the store owner called out. "About the Chinese-American player in that American football thing?"
This Old Wang from the fruit stand nodded. "Yeah. What, you all heard about it too?" He strolled into the store. "That kid is something else now. He's the team's ace—their very best player. Haven't you read the *World Daily*? I think the *Overseas Chinese Newspaper* covered it too. They're all saying he's on fire, that all the Americans are just blown away. It's incredible! I even saw his television interview on a Fox news channel today."
"What? Fox?" The store owner clicked her tongue in amazement. To Chinese immigrants, the influence of the four major public broadcast networks was immense. It was an incredibly rare thing for someone from a minority group to appear on one of them—CBS, ABC Television, NBC, and Fox Television.
"My two boys were just saying yesterday that we should buy his jersey to show our support," the middle-aged nanny said, asking curiously. "The entire Chinese Community, and he's the only one to make it this far. If other people don't support him, we have to. Don't you think?"
Old Wang nodded repeatedly, looking like a leader issuing a directive. "Yes, yes. I'm planning to go buy one of his jerseys this afternoon myself. It hasn't been easy for this kid, no matter how you look at it. I've certainly never heard of a kid of Chinese descent making it into the football Alliance, and I've never seen it on the news. I'm going to give him my full support. I looked into the game yesterday. It seems a bit complicated, but that kid played really well. Excellent!"
"Well, I'll be. So my son was right to buy that jersey after all?" the store owner said in surprise, a smile lighting up her face.
The middle-aged woman quickly agreed. "In that case, I'll tell my two boys to go ahead and buy their jerseys when I get home today. Say, when's the next game? Maybe we should watch it sometime? To be honest, aside from Yao Ming, it's just so rare to see a Chinese face in American sports."
"I hear that people here in San Francisco aren't too supportive of that Chinese-American kid," Old Wang said, grimacing and shaking his head meaningfully. "This kid is making history. We can't let him fight this battle alone. I'll talk to the neighborhood committee and see if we can organize a viewing party for everyone to watch and cheer him on. I don't actually know when the next game is, since I've never watched before. I'll look it up and let you all know."
The store owner clapped her hands decisively. "Sounds good!" Only then did she notice Jiang Youning, who had been standing quietly to the side all this time. "Oh, dear, I'm so sorry, we've held you up." The owner quickly began rummaging again. "It's just... it's not every day a kid of Chinese descent makes something of himself. It's not easy at all. We got a little excited and carried away with the conversation."
She quickly found the remaining items and placed them on the counter, chuckling. "You know what I mean, right?"
Jiang Youning smiled and nodded. "Yes. It hasn't been easy for him."
A gentle warmth spread through her chest, making the bridge of her nose tingle.
Jiang Youning knew Lu Ke was never fighting alone. She and Lu Zhengze had always been his staunchest supporters, and so had the Newman family.
'Lu Ke never set out to make history, much less carry the weight of an entire people on his shoulders. That was far too difficult for one person alone. He wasn't Yao Ming, nor was he Liu Xiang. But now, history was moving in an unknown direction, one full of thorns and traps, its destination impossible to predict. Still, at least Lu Ke had more supporters now. It was a good start.'
Leaving the grocery store, Jiang Youning headed toward the intersection, intending to buy some fresh vegetables.
As she waited at the crosswalk, two young men standing nearby were reading a newspaper. Out of the corner of her eye, Jiang Youning caught the front-page headline of the *World Daily*. It read in bold characters: "MAKING HISTORY WITH EVERY STEP, LU KE WRITES AN NFL MIRACLE!" The lead photo was of Lu Ke, his right fist clenched as he let out a furious roar, a perfect image of power and grace.
Jiang Youning's head snapped up, her eyes quickly scanning the neighborhood. She hadn't noticed before, but now she could see little details everywhere:
The Chinese restaurant on the corner, for instance, had a large poster taped to its door. It featured Lu Ke in his number fourteen jersey, with text that read, "Game on Sunday. All fans welcome to come cheer!"
Then there was the teenager who shot past on a skateboard, wearing a number fourteen San Francisco 49ers jersey, the name "LU" on the back perfectly clear.
And from a car waiting at the red light, a Chinese-language radio broadcast drifted out: "...Lu Ke is making history, writing a miracle. This week, he continued his incredible performance..."
Bit by bit, Jiang Youning could feel the community beginning to change, to be influenced.
The signs were still faint. Three weeks was far too short a time to completely reverse the indifference the Chinese Community had long held toward American football. But a change was undeniably happening. Jiang Youning could feel the tangible support and enthusiasm. At the very least, it was a start.
The light turned green. Jiang Youning stepped onto the crosswalk. She straightened her posture slightly, her stride growing more and more resolute.
In fact, what Jiang Youning didn't know was that among the younger Chinese-Americans—the second- and third-generation immigrants—many had already assimilated into American society and had a much deeper and more widespread understanding of football. Within these groups, Lu Ke's name had already been spreading for some time, spilling over from the internet into real life, especially in the schools throughout the Chinese Community.
A wave of fervor, led by Lu Ke, was quietly building. The most prominent sign of this was jersey sales—undoubtedly the most direct measure of a professional player's popularity.