Parents just don't understand

Or at least old-school ones don't. This morning, Wendy and I took her parents and aunt to the house so they could see the renovation's progress. We're pretty stoked on how it's turning out, but I'm not so sure they feel the same way.


They're just not that impressed by details like concrete floors, architectural forms, cabinet-depth refrigerators, or outdoor panels that light up. Hardcore Chinese parents are wired like that.


Then, as we stepped out of the custom, three-panel pocket door, Wendy's dad immediately spotted the coatrack standing amongst the clutter in the backyard. When the renovation began, I didn't store the item or donate it, but left it at the house for workers to use.


Interestingly, I rescued the piece from my Yeh Yeh's employment office when he retired and have kept it with me from two rental residences to now. Wendy's parents commented that they just don't make furniture like it anymore.


As we parted ways, Wendy's dad folded down half of his Camry's backseat and angled it in through the trunk!


I don't have anything else to add, except that it's only a matter of time before Eloise tells similar stories about Wendy and me.