WENTWORTH STREET, 2018
We met Lau Wai Kwong Cho, eighty-four, around the corner from a bus stop. She had on a next-level bucket hat, reminiscent of Yosemite Sam’s ten-gallon cowboy hat. A basic Chinatown bucket hat staple on steroids. Mrs. Cho purchased it from Costco for two dollars, a bargain for such a statement piece.
Paired with her white bucket hat was a white mock turtleneck patterned with Santa Claus mice and mistletoe. Mind you, it was in May when we met her.
For her bottoms, she had on brown velour baseball striped pants underneath black sweatpants along with chunky black sneakers.
When she pulled out her ID to show us her address, she unveiled a pattern mixing surprise: a sleeveless plaid shirt with giant gingham apron pockets that her sister-in-law made for her. That’s where she keeps her valuables: her wallet and phone, which her grandson gave her. The secret pockets at work again.
Mrs. Cho has been in Chicago for twenty-seven years and has worked as a cook at a senior center. What did you make? we asked. “Sometime eggs, sometime egg foo yong,” she said, referring to a Chinese-American omelet with minced ham, bean sprouts, and bamboo shoots.
“For some seniors, they didn’t have teeth to chew, so I would cut them into smaller pieces,” she said.
At home, she cooks a simple meal of fish and vegetables for herself and her husband.
Before we parted ways, she tried to offer us money, but we politely refused. Her parting words were a reward in and of themselves: “When I look at you guys, you are so beautiful and good,” she said, holding our hands. “When I see you are happy, then I am happy.”
