Chinese Dream 61 Timothy Yu  Cartoons. Computer-generated smiles and fixed eyes fill my daughter’s screen, show her form is content, content form. She’s over unicorns. Now she plays a child who always knows best. There’s nothing to fear except when we near an evening when the moon’s not giving light, turning away. It’s late for attitude, but it’s now that rude words are a parent’s heritance. Is she white? Race is something her father has, a way of arresting play away from her, in Timothy’s long trail of ancestors, immigrants, grasping arms out of elsewhere, of whom she’ll be one. The [...]