What's Cantonese for Mazel Tov?

              As far as we knew, the boys in Sara’s life were all Jewish.

            There was a Jewish guy she dated during her vegetarian moment, senior year at Marlboro High. He challenged her to eat a hot dog and even offered money to do it. When he got up to two hundred bucks, she ate the hot dog, and scored the two Benjamins. She broke up with him (and vegetarianism) before she went off to Ramapo College.  

            All I knew about her college social life was the day I volunteered to pick up her prescription at Eli’s Pharmacy. The allergy pills I expected turned out to be a birth control contraption. A father can’t unsee that.

            After college, there was Dan. Sara said our family troubled him when we served Kentucky Fried Chicken for dinner. What was his problem? He could have Original or Extra Crispy! He expected at least kosher style. Oh.

           “How’s your boyfriend, The Colonel?” I’d text.

            I pictured him at Sabbath services in a white suit with a string tie, white goatee, and yarmulke. Red and white striped bucket under his arm.

            Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi, this is Dan.

            They were hot and heavy for a couple of months, but after a panicked Saturday night call from Sara over some Dan-related crisis, we stopped hearing about The Colonel.

            Soon enough, Sara’s social life crept into a dinnertime conversation. She was dating another guy.

            What’s his name?

            Nothing scary, we hope.

            “Geoffrey, with a G.”

            Oh good. My friend Joel has a son Geoffrey-with-a-G, and we danced at his bar mitzvah.            

            “Tell us about him.”

            Meaning, Sara, is he Jewish?

            “He lives in Edison now…”

            In case we want to check him out or hunt him down.

            “…but I think he grew up in Fair Lawn.”

            That’s a respectable town, with Jews in it.

            What does he do?

            Sara, is he a doctor?

            “He’s an engineer. He graduated from Rutgers with a double major.”

            We are warming up to this fellow, even if he’s not a dermatologist.

             “What’s he like?

             Meaning, Sara, is he Jewish?

             “He’s very smart and has a good sense of humor. And he’s handsome, too.”

             Possible. But there are gentiles like that.

             “Sara! Is he Jewish?”

             “He loves brisket.”

             Cowboys love brisket too, but you never see a mezuzah on a saddle.

             “So, he’s not. What is he?”

              “I don’t know. I don’t think his family has a religion.”

              What kind of family has no religion? Do Atheists even procreate?

               “He’s Chinese.”

               And a stillness falls over Marlboro, NJ.

              Well then, Chinese.                     

            “And his last name?”

            Sara hesitated. “Lee.”

            “You’re kidding. You marry him, you’ll be Sara Lee. Good marble pound cake, but still.”

            Phyllis put her hand on my arm. “She’ll use her middle name.”

            “Oh good. Sara Rose Lee. Like the stripper in Gypsy.”

            Phyllis; “Keep your maiden name.”

            “We’re not getting married yet, Mom. That’s a long way off.”

             Hong Kong is also a long way off. But it’s out there.

          Of course, we’d prefer she find a Jew, always implied it to Sara, but never made it a rule. And it’s the twenty-first century. Ninety-eight percent of Americans, the goyim, are not in our tribe. We’ll have to deal with it. Plus, he’s Chinese. No religion of their own to get in the way. Brilliant people, too; they invented gunpowder and noodles.           

            “Why did you even start with this Geoffrey Lee?”

            “Like I said, Mom, he was in New Jersey Young Professionals when I got there. I had my eye on him all along. But he was always dating somebody, or else I was.” 

            “And when did Geoff become available?”

            “Well, his girlfriend moved out…”   

            The live-in moved out and (bam!) my little hussy made her move. Proud of my daughter. Carpe diem and all that.

            And we’ll just have to see how this Chinese thing plays out.

Spoiler: they did marry. Now I have a Chinese machatenisteh (ma+phlegm+ah+TEN+ee+steh, Yiddish for "in-law") 

Adapted from What's Cantonese for Mazel Tov? a new memoir by Henry Astor Levenstein. More at www.henrylevenstein.com