The Dragon & The Rooster
At 50 years old, my father said "I'm sorry" for the first time. A story of faith, reconciliation, and generational healing between a Dragon and a Rooster.
Welcome to Letters From Heidi, a refuge for truth seekers, deep-feelers, and the homesick searching for Eternity.
I am Heidi, an Asian-Australian woman who writes stories and essays on life, faith, pop culture, and the immigrant family experience. Learn the story behind Letters From Heidi here, or subscribe to never miss a post!
Dear friend,
In this month’s letter I’m republishing a new and improved version of my mini memoir, The Dragon & The Rooster. In this letter, I describe the first time I ever heard an apology in my home. I was 20 years old, and my dad was 50. “I’m sorry”—two small but powerful words which changed the course of our lives and brought healing across two generations. It’s my prayer these words and stories can inspire the same for you.
The Dragon & The Rooster
I paced my bedroom back and forth, shaking off the nerves that were coursing through my body. Like Mulan, I felt like a fraud in the heat of battle. I wanted to appear unshaken, but my gut was flipping violently like pancakes.
With a deep and final exhale, I burst through my bedroom door and glided towards the living room where Dad was watching TV.
“Good morning!” I said curtly, feigning confidence.
No response.
I stopped briefly to scan the battle field.
Dad was planted firmly on his throne—his back as stiff as a broom and eyes as threatening as the Terminator. I coughed meekly to mask the awkward silence, before scuttling down the long corridor towards the kitchen sink.
Well that was awkward.
Like our uncluttered rooms, the silence in our house was a mirage of peace. Dad and I were in the thick of war. For the past month, we had been withholding words, eye contact, and anything that would serve to acknowledge the other person’s existence.
Like most of our fights, this one began as an explosive screaming match, sparked by my ongoing failure to meet my father’s expectations of the perfect Chinese daughter:
“You always leave the house without finishing your housework! You are so lazy and ungrateful!”
“Is this house a hotel? You always leave first thing in the morning and come home late at night!”
“I don’t care what you want! If you’re living in my house, you follow my rules!”
Despite trying really hard to hold my disrespectful ‘Western’ tongue, there would always come a point where I would lose my cool and hurtle my ammunition across the trenches:
“Who cares if our house is squeaky clean when the people living in it are so unhappy!”
“Why would I want to be home if I’m just criticised all the time? I do more housework than all my friends combined! You are the one who is ungrateful!”
“I’m twenty years old, you can’t control me anymore! My friends’ parents have given them total freedom since they were teenagers!”
Once we both realised that dominating with sheer force was not the way to win, we would enter phase two of the negotiation process: Silent Treatment.
Like zombies, we would settle for coexisting without contact, broken only when one party desperately needed the other for something: Hey Dad, can you unblock the toilet?
Growing up in an immigrant home, I craved the ‘messy’ love that all my Australian friends seemed to have. As a child, I spent many afternoons in Susie’s home. She was a school friend and our families could not be more different. Unlike my squeaky clean home, Susie’s house was cluttered from floor to ceiling, the garden was overgrown, and to my horror, she wore shoes on carpet!
In spite of the mess, Susie’s family was marked by warmth, friendship, and hospitality. She described her older sister as her best friend, hugs and kisses were the norm, and her parents would even ask me: “How was your day?”
I remember one afternoon, Susie’s mum asking me what I wanted for afternoon tea. The question made me blush. Was I really allowed to voice what I wanted? Could I - a mere child - actually state a desire or opinion without correction or reprimand? I decided to give it a go. That day, I had a bizarre craving for strong flavouring, so I sheepishly asked for a plate of raw sugar and plain salt. Susie’s mum immediately scooped out the goods and served it on a small plate - no questions asked!
Wow, was I in heaven?
Growing up, I often questioned why my family spent so many hours cleaning the house, when the family unit was entrenched in turmoil. What is the point of having a big and beautiful home, if it is not even a place we want to return to?
Susie’s home was a mess, but I knew that the doors were wide open to welcome people home. Her walls housed friendship, teamwork, affection, forgiveness, silliness, and laughter. In my final year of primary school, I realised that her yard was shared with a Christian church, and that she had been praying for me to know the love of Jesus. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I would soon find out.
I was born in the year of the Dragon into an immigrant hub in Sydney’s South. According to Chinese legend, ‘Dragons’ are natural fighters, and while they will give into love, they won’t readily give up their independence.
Far from being a compliant and demure daughter, I developed a passionate spirit that longed to poke and push against boundaries. Instead of putting my head in the books, I preferred to prance around on stage. Instead of embracing quiet and submissive qualities, I was a boisterous and headstrong tomboy.
In high school, after being caught one too many times for bullying, defamation, and skipping school with boys, I was suspended and placed on a monitoring system which only made me more defiant for freedom. Like a ‘Dragon’, I pushed and provoked against control, because I no longer had respect for rules and authority figures.
My dad was born in the year of the Rooster into a single parent, working class family in Hong Kong. According to Chinese tradition, ‘Roosters’ are meticulous, ordered, and blunt with their opinions. Goal-oriented and determined; they rarely back down from a fight.
In the best sense of the word, my dad has always been a fighter. As a child, he lived with his mother and older sister on the top floor of a stuffy, windowless unit in Wan Chai. Their floor was 65 square metres in size, and partitioned into 8 bedrooms with the use of flimsy curtains. My father recalls sharing the floor with twenty others, and having to wait until past midnight before his family could use the shared bathroom.
My dad was abandoned by his father at birth. I never met the man. He was a frivolous gambler who only ever returned home to steal money from the woman he promised to love. Without a protective male figure, my dad’s family was often the target of bullying by an unreasonable landlord, and other tenants fighting for space and privacy.
There were many nights when my grandmother was unable to stop my dad from crying. This would lead to her being thrown out onto the street to settle a newborn on her own. Dad grew up watching his mother wield knives against bullies, while his sister flinched in fear. As soon as he was able, he had to step up as the man of the house to fight for his family.
When he was just 15 years old, Dad dropped out of school after his mother was injured from work and unable to afford his school fees. Although unqualified, Dad charmed his way into the hospitality industry, starting with Room Service, before being promoted into a Hotel Manager. He soon became a well-respected man, using his position and authority to command obedience and order. Upon immigration, he would have to learn that this type of leadership would cause chaos in his new home in Australia.
The truth is, in spite of my ‘Dragon’ strength, I have always felt crushed by unresolved conflict. When I was a child, I would slip drawings and notes under my dad’s bedroom door to try and make up for my bad behaviour. Over the years, as my vulnerability was met with silence, I became calloused and defensive. In my hurt, I learned to jab with guilt and flame with shame. Behind my fiery facade was a girl who just wanted to know, and be known by her father, however over time, it hurt too much to care.
That morning, I decided to bite the bullet and to say something in the hopes of ending the silent treatment. For so long, I believed that the goal of conflict was to win, and in our household, the most powerful person takes the prize. Over time, I realised that winning in such a way came at a destructive cost. Am I really ‘winning’ if I have to walk over people and burn relationships in the process?
Without me even realising, God was using this conflict to answer Susie’s prayers from so many years ago. Through a series of events, I had started reading the Bible in an effort to learn more about the claims of Jesus. To my surprise, God’s words began to chip away at my guarded and calloused heart.
What surprised me the most about Jesus was the fact that even though I had offended him, it was he who bit the bullet and made the first move to reconcile with me. Jesus didn’t shame me with my record of poor choices, nor did he withdraw from me with the silent treatment. Instead, he stepped off his heavenly throne to draw near to me and to show me the extent of his compassion and mercy.
I learned that because Jesus is perfectly just, he can’t be indifferent to my offences and sweep sin under the rug. Instead, he shows me perfect love and justice by being punished on my behalf on the cross. In my world where authority figures have the unquestionable right to demand respect and obedience, this picture of a Servant King who would withhold power for my sake, was life-changing.
Back at the kitchen sink, my heart was racing as I prepared myself to reconcile with my dad. I was going to apologise, and the thought made me physically sick. I began to pray.
“God, will this really work?”
“Running away would be so much easier!”
“God, please use this conflict for good. Please help me to be gentle, wise, and to not burn the house down with my Dragon fire.”
I backtracked towards the living room where my dad was still seated, ashen faced in front of the TV. I walked up towards him nervously, and reached out to place my hand on his.
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
No response.
“Dad?”
Cold. Hard. Silence.
My soul wilted.
Each silent second felt like blows to my pride, serving to humiliate me for backing down from a fight. The silence was soon broken by my inner-critic.
“Heidi, you’re such a loser!”
“Why would you put yourself in such a vulnerable position?”
“Why bother? He’ll never change!”
As the jeers in my head grew louder, I let go of Dad’s hand, and turned to walk away.
“I’m sorry too, Heidi.”
I stopped dead in my tracks.
Dad had never apologised before. I spun around to face him. His shoulders had finally relaxed and he began to speak.
“Heidi, I want you to understand that there are words that I have never heard before from my parents. My mother, your Ma Ma, never apologised to me. I never heard the words ‘I’m sorry’ even if she was very wrong.”
“Even if I disagreed with her, she was a single mother who sacrificed everything for me and that is why I owe everything to her. Ma Ma would tell me what to do and I would always obey.”
“I remember the day I passed her a cup of water and some medicine, and for the first time in my life, she thanked me with a smile. I was 37 years old. I felt so shocked!”
Dad’s voice trailed off. My eyes widened as I witnessed the fierce Rooster break down into tears.
“It was my duty to serve my mother the Chinese way, but I know I can’t expect the same from you. I need to learn to be a dad the Australian way, so I’m sorry too,” he finished roughly, embarrassed by his tears.
I ran towards Dad and squeezed him into a tight hug, savouring his honesty and humility. Although he had dedicated his life to caring for his mother, he waited close to forty years to hear his first “thank you”. After her passing, he had to accept that he would never experience the closure that comes with hearing “I’m sorry” or “I love you”.
Holding him close, I was filled with gratitude seeing that Dad was already going to great lengths to voice words of love and healing, even when they didn’t exist in his cultural vocabulary.
I’ll never forget the day Dad and I decided to put our claws to rest—to stop walking over each other with pride and anger, and instead walk side-by-side with love and empathy.
Dad began to see that in spite of my ‘Dragon’ spirit, my love for him was always loud with quality time, words, and affection. I had to learn that in spite of his ‘Rooster’ demands, Dad’s love for me had always been consistent with hard work, service, and sacrifice.
Now that I am a first-time mother to a (resolved and headstrong) ‘Ox’ daughter, I am beginning to see the demands and disappointments of parenting. I feel the tension of wanting to give my child the world, only to be faced with the limits of my humanity. Every day, I see so clearly my flaws as a mother, and I fear the day I will break my daughter’s heart.
In saying this, I know she is growing up in a world so different to mine—a world where adults have time for play and laughter; prayer and rest, and where love is never traded for survival. A world where Kings leave thrones to serve and save homes—showing every generation a better and kinder way.
“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you. Follow God’s example, therefore, as dearly loved children and walk in the way of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us…” – Ephesians 4:32-5:2
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From the Archives
Enjoyed this mini memoir on culture, faith, and family? Here’s a few more from the archives you might enjoy:
I read this post a few months ago (before I joined Substack) and it brought me to tears as I reflected on my own relationship with my parents, one of whom is a first-generation Asian immigrant. Indeed, the experience of growing up in poverty and having a single mother who had to work incredibly hard caused them to never hear the words "I'm sorry" and therefore never said those words to me either. But praise God that He gave you the humility to be the first to apologize, and that He has restored your relationship with your father! I pray that one day I would be able to take that step in reconciliation too, you have inspired me to have hope in such bleak times!