這次分享會籌備多時，參與的朋友比預期多，把小店擠滿了。我和K四點抵達，街坊朋友陸續來到，五點開始，大人圍圈而坐，暢談做父母的苦與樂，幾位小朋友在小店外的空地玩耍，我們幾個男人在外面看著他們。
我們都很珍惜這次分享會，大家坦誠分享，從別人的經歷中反思自己的教養方式。每個家庭都有自己的故事，每個子女都是獨一無二的，希望將來做家長的可以繼續互相扶持，在這條移英的路上走得更愉快。
有人分享一家大細睇The Middle（Netflix平台），讓子女明白父母的處境，亦讓家人透過劇中人物看到自己的影子；也有朋友分享BBC iPlayer的The Motherland和The Amandaland，兩部劇提及女性在養育子女時面對的困難，如在職母親於Half Term時找人照顧子女、子女踏入青春期的溝通方法等等。
我則分享了Angela Hui的Takeaway: Stories from a Childhood behind the Counter。雖然Angela的家庭背景與我們這些近年移英的家庭有所不同，但在英國出生、成長的Angela在書中談及的成長經歷及感受，仍值得香港人家長細味。書中部份節錄如下：
關於學習中文：
By age six, I was sparring with Mum every weekend because I was hell-bent against going to Chinese school and she was adamant we should be bilingual in Wales. I threw tantrums, only to be coaxed into learning by the promise of dim sum before lessons. This kept going until I was 16, hobbling over the finish line to finally achieve a B in Chinese at GCSE level. Much to my dismay, my brothers both got As and I didn't hear the end of it. I felt proud I'd managed to even get this far and regarded the GCSE as the light at the end of the tunnel. Mum, however, nagged me to keep going and learn Mandarin too for her sake. I carried on for another year or two, but eventually dropped learning Chinese, ostensibly due to time constraints and preparing for university. In reality, I always struggled to see the point of Cantonese because it served no purpose for me other than for helping in the takeaway or when going back to see family in Hong Kong. We lived in Wales, an English-speaking country, everyone in my life spoke English, so why would I need to speak any other language?
Looking back, I regret not studying harder and not continuing with my Chinese studies. I made the conscious decision to disassociate myself from my language and community. Most immigrants (often subconsciously) make a choice at some point to embrace the host country's culture and language while dismissing or rejecting their heritage. I realise, in retrospect, the importance of learning my ancestral tongue. Not just to stay connected with my family's heritage, but as something that's intertwined with my identity, memories and sense of self. I am thankful that Mum forced me to hold on to Chinese, it was a reminder to not forget who I was and to take ownership of a culture and language that could have been potentially lost. At least I can speak and hold conversations fluently with friends and family (albeit at the proficiency level of an eight-year-old), and I'm glad to be a slightly rusty native speaker.
關於和父母溝通的語言障礙：
For years, I'd resented Mum for not sticking to her language courses and Dad for not even making an effort. It would've made life a whole lot easier if they spoke English, spoke the same language as us kids, and we might've understood each other a bit better rather than speaking in tongues through the language of food. My parents and I never seemed to be in sync and danced to each other's offbeats. I pinned the blame on them, for not learning, for not trying, for their laziness, but now I realise how deeply hypocritical that was. Mum and Dad had always shown up for us in their own way. They did things for me and my brothers despite their limited English skills. I'd spent a good part of my life pushing away from them, but I was really pushing away from my own guilt and frustration.
關於香港人處事的文化：
We're taught not to speak out, not to rock the boat, keep our heads down and to fit in for fear of attracting unwanted attention on ourselves and our family. For my parents, silence is a form of protection, and dealing with matters on our own means safety. They see the mistreatment as the price of doing business and just another obstacle they have to overcome.
An immigrant family in a foreign country trying to sprout and flourish in an alien environment. Working twice as hard just to make something of ourselves in a place where we don't belong, there'll be things that'll stunt or squash our growth along the way.
關於文化差異及融入：
When my parents came to the UK it was a big milestone for them, but in reality, it was survival of the most adapted. Whoever does not assimilate in a different land is destined to be secluded and annihilated. Socially integrated and upwardly mobile, compliant workers are valued for their economic usefulness. Despite my mum's attempt to learn English and my parents obtaining driving licences and applying for British passports, the anxieties remained; we would always be perceived as outsiders and never be considered 'one of us'. When tricky customers walk through our door, into our home, telling us to go back 'home' or throwing the food we've served back in our faces, it's a reminder that we aren't welcome and shows how easily our voices, even at their most unified, can be ignored. We're on little more than probation.
關於自己的文化身份：
（讀大學時被追問Where are you from時）I know it is a simple, genuine question and they want to get to know me better, but I feel a pang of tiny annoyance every time someone asks where I'm from. The cumulative effect of these interactions adds up to a significant burden. My internal organs collapse into a rich mulch that coats my bowels and throat, my face falling, giving a gormless impression and perhaps also a bit on fire. I can see the cogs turning in their heads and the confused looks on their faces. How can a person like me, a descendant of Asian immigrants with Asian features, be from Wales? So, after what seems like the longest pause from my initial introduction, I blurt out and laugh, 'My parents are from Hong Kong and China, we own a Chinese takeaway and we sell egg fried rice for a living.'
分享會之後，大家在小店吃晚餐，繼續閒聊，小朋友自成一國，交換畫冊。中秋近了，天黑得快，小店的黃光顯得特別明亮，更暖人心。
