Growing Up Hmong American
Say something in Hmong
Tawg paj ua lub daj es txi txiv mus lom ua lub ntsuab (The flower blooms yellow, but the fruit yields green).
“I know Hmong!” my small niece announced one afternoon.
We were hanging out in her backyard under a white canopy at a scuffed plastic table, sitting in beige metal chairs trying to stay out of the way. Adults flitted about chatting loudly, chopping meat, and rinsing and then sorting through herbs for laj. There was propane fire and grill smoke mixed in the air.
“Oh, yeah,” I replied. “Show me. Say something in Hmong.”
“Laus-laus! Grandma! Laus-laus and Grandma, come here! Say something Hmong to Auntie!”
Her grandmother, my aunt skittered over first from across the yard.
“Dab tsi, ab (What do you want, baby)?”
“Aws,” she mimicked in her grandmother’s voice smiling at the two of us and then she pouted: “Say something to Auntie.”
“Ah!” Grandma, exasperated at the now truncated and confused command, narrowed her eyes and stalked back to her own table of tasks without saying another word.
