Born in America, I spoke English, not Chinese, the language of my ancestors. When I was three, my parents flashed cards with Chinese 21 at my face, but I pushed them 22 , my mom believed I would learn 23 I was ready. But the 24 never came. On a Chinese New Year s Eve, my uncle spoke to me in Chinese, but all I could do was 25 at him, confused, scratching my head. 'Still can t speak Chinese?' He 26 me, 'You can t even buy a fish in Chinatown. ' 'Hey, this is America, not Chinese. I 11 get some 27 with or without Chinese. ' I replied and turned to my mom for 28 'Remember to ask for fresh fish, Xin Xian Yu,' she said, handing over a $ 20 bill. I 29 the words running downstairs into the streets of Chinatown. I found the fish 30 surrounded in a sea of customers. 'I d like to buy some fresh fish,' I shout to the fish ,man. But he 31 my English words and turned to serve the next customer. The laugh of the people behind increased 32 their impatience. With every 33 , the breath of the dragons (龙) my back grew stronger--my blood boiling 34 me to cry out. 'Xian ShengYu ,please Very Xian Sheng,' I repeated. The crowd erupted into laughter. My face turned 35 and I ran back home 36 ，except for the$20 bill I held tightly in my pocket． Should I laugh or cry ?They’re Chinese．I should feel right at 37 ．Instead，I was the joke，a disgrace(丢脸)to the language． Sometimes，I laugh at my fish 38 ，but in the end，the joke is on 39 ．Every laugh is a culture 40 ；every laugh is my heritage(传统)fading away．