Gift to Mom
Carol Chang
Mother’s Day is approaching, what is the best gift to mom? Choosing a gift for mom can be frustrating, let me tell you a story. My friend Sue came home from vacation, she noticed a package on her front door step. What could it be? iPhone 10 or diamond watch? When she opened it, it was a basket full of rotten fruit and it was from her daughter. Sue called her daughter immediately and scolded her for wasting money. To make things worse, Sue found out that this was the first of four seasonal fruit baskets that would be delivered to her.
This story shows you how challenging it is to find a gift that Mom will love. I learned the hard way when I was nine years old. My big sister and I gathered all of our spending money to buy a birthday cake for Mom. We wanted to buy a white cake with pink flowers, but we did not have enough money. We proudly presented a plain yellow cake with “Happy Birthday” written on the top in red icing. We thought that Mom would be pleased. But instead of smiling at us, my mom was upset! Why? It is because my mom’s birthday was on the big worship day in Taiwanese custom. To worship our ancestors, we were not only offer flowers but also offer a big feast to our ancestors. My mom had to cook many dishes and there was no refrigerator. When my mom saw the cake, she knew there would be more leftovers that would go to waste. To my mom, throwing away food was a crime, and we had just committed a felony, no wonder she was upset!
That yellow cake was the last cake I ever bought for my mom, but I never gave up on finding a perfect gift to her. Even though I was young, I observed…I noticed that my mom carried a coin purse to go to the market every day, and the purse was old and torn. On her next birthday, I gave her a new one which was within my meager budget. My mom was so pleased with the gift and I couldn’t have been more proud. Since then, I gave her a coin purse every birthday until I left home for college.
After I moved to America, I felt sorry that I couldn’t visit her as frequently as I wanted, buying expensive gifts seemed even more important than before. One year, my sister suggested that we pitch in money to buy a mink coat for mom. It was before PETA ever exist, and I objected the idea. Just imagine wearing a mink coat in hot and sweaty Taiwan! But, at the end, I gave into peer pressure. Just as I predicted, my mom did not wear the coat, and she gave it to me because she worried the humidity in Taiwan would ruin the coat. It has been hanging in my closet for the last three decades. On the coldest day of last winter, I attended an outdoor wedding. I was shivering and I saw many ladies in fur coats. Oh! How could I forget my mink coat, I could have finally shown it off! But instead, it will never see the day light!
As we all know, expensive gift is not always the best gift. During the last few years of my mom’s life, I believed the best gift for her would be my time to accompany her. I flew to Taiwan many times to take care of her at home and at the hospital. I treasured those ordinary moments, the special moments, and even the hard moments. After my mom left us, I have no regrets. Today, finding a perfect gift to mom is no longer my concern, although it remains a challenge for my grown up children. They always ask me what I want and I’ve never given them an answer, the truth is that I don’t know what I want. To me, knowing that they love me is enough.
This year for my birthday, as usual, I enjoyed dinner and gifts. As I reminisced with my daughter about the duck shaped cake I made for her first birthday, I realized that in my entire life I have never received a homemade birthday cake, so I told my daughter that’s what I want for my next birthday. Since my son was out of town on my birthday, after he was back, he invited the whole family over for dinner. My son cooked his famous Adobo chicken, and my daughter surprised me with a homemade sugar free vegan cake topped with raspberries and candles! Hay! I got to celebrate birthday two times this year.
When your children put effort to wish for your happiness, it really is love they are giving to you, even though it was sugar free and vegan, it was made with love. No matter what kind of gift you received, it all means love. I gave love to my mom and my children give love to me. To a mother, love from her children is the most precious gift.
This story shows you how challenging it is to find a gift that Mom will love. I learned the hard way when I was nine years old. My big sister and I gathered all of our spending money to buy a birthday cake for Mom. We wanted to buy a white cake with pink flowers, but we did not have enough money. We proudly presented a plain yellow cake with “Happy Birthday” written on the top in red icing. We thought that Mom would be pleased. But instead of smiling at us, my mom was upset! Why? It is because my mom’s birthday was on the big worship day in Taiwanese custom. To worship our ancestors, we were not only offer flowers but also offer a big feast to our ancestors. My mom had to cook many dishes and there was no refrigerator. When my mom saw the cake, she knew there would be more leftovers that would go to waste. To my mom, throwing away food was a crime, and we had just committed a felony, no wonder she was upset!
That yellow cake was the last cake I ever bought for my mom, but I never gave up on finding a perfect gift to her. Even though I was young, I observed…I noticed that my mom carried a coin purse to go to the market every day, and the purse was old and torn. On her next birthday, I gave her a new one which was within my meager budget. My mom was so pleased with the gift and I couldn’t have been more proud. Since then, I gave her a coin purse every birthday until I left home for college.
After I moved to America, I felt sorry that I couldn’t visit her as frequently as I wanted, buying expensive gifts seemed even more important than before. One year, my sister suggested that we pitch in money to buy a mink coat for mom. It was before PETA ever exist, and I objected the idea. Just imagine wearing a mink coat in hot and sweaty Taiwan! But, at the end, I gave into peer pressure. Just as I predicted, my mom did not wear the coat, and she gave it to me because she worried the humidity in Taiwan would ruin the coat. It has been hanging in my closet for the last three decades. On the coldest day of last winter, I attended an outdoor wedding. I was shivering and I saw many ladies in fur coats. Oh! How could I forget my mink coat, I could have finally shown it off! But instead, it will never see the day light!
As we all know, expensive gift is not always the best gift. During the last few years of my mom’s life, I believed the best gift for her would be my time to accompany her. I flew to Taiwan many times to take care of her at home and at the hospital. I treasured those ordinary moments, the special moments, and even the hard moments. After my mom left us, I have no regrets. Today, finding a perfect gift to mom is no longer my concern, although it remains a challenge for my grown up children. They always ask me what I want and I’ve never given them an answer, the truth is that I don’t know what I want. To me, knowing that they love me is enough.
This year for my birthday, as usual, I enjoyed dinner and gifts. As I reminisced with my daughter about the duck shaped cake I made for her first birthday, I realized that in my entire life I have never received a homemade birthday cake, so I told my daughter that’s what I want for my next birthday. Since my son was out of town on my birthday, after he was back, he invited the whole family over for dinner. My son cooked his famous Adobo chicken, and my daughter surprised me with a homemade sugar free vegan cake topped with raspberries and candles! Hay! I got to celebrate birthday two times this year.
When your children put effort to wish for your happiness, it really is love they are giving to you, even though it was sugar free and vegan, it was made with love. No matter what kind of gift you received, it all means love. I gave love to my mom and my children give love to me. To a mother, love from her children is the most precious gift.
Road to The Wind City
Kinglan Hung
“I couldn’t get the red-bean cakes this morning when I stopped by the food-stand on the way to the market because Mr. Red-Bean passed away several days ago,” my mother’s sad voice transmitted through the overseas phone line. “ I don’t believe it. I bought several cakes from him last week. While I was waiting, I could hear him delightfully humming a folk song. He was proud of his children’s successful careers and himself having reared his children only by baking two-inch round red-bean cakes for over fifty years.” My heart sank immediately. The image of a fatherly figure making Red Bean Cakes (紅豆餅) with all his utensils under the canopy of a barbershop in a space the size of a closet appeared right in front of me.
Hsinchu, translated as New Bamboo, is a small city located on Taiwan’s west coast. On-island, it is also known as the Wind City, and the cooling effect of the sea winds from the Taiwan Strait is particularly welcome to residents in summer, but not in winter. The wind-chill is unbelievable powerful to lower the temperatures ten degrees Fahrenheit below average. Hsinchu city inhabits many science and technology universities and high-tech research institutes. For decades, it has developed into Taiwan’s Silicon Valley. The city is also famous of local cuisines, such as different kinds of noodle soup, meatball, and oyster omelet that are also known as ‘street-eats’. The distinctive way of selling foods on street has prospered and become the most attractive tourist spot for foreigners.
Post-World War II, Taiwan was in a devastating situation. With limited resources, the majority of Taiwanese people put strenuous effort into rebuilding their homes. My parents followed the trend of moving into the city hoping for a better future for their children. The house they lived was located near the Cherg-Hwang Temple (城隍廟). At the front yard of the temple, small business ventures with food stands gathered daily from late afternoons to early mornings, selling various kinds of delicious homemade cuisines. Next to the temple, a traditional market with numerous booths of fresh vegetables, groceries, meat and fish made mornings delightful for housewives. Among big crowds of foods and people, you would find Mr. Red-Bean’s body curling into the corner of walls, bending his back and focusing on the square baking-pan. In winter people had to beat the chill-to-the-bone winds by all means to keep themselves warm. The children clustered in front of Mr. Red-Bean’s tiny charcoal-burning stove, watching him making cakes, and enjoying the warmth of the place. Oblivious to the noisy audience, Mr. Red-Bean perfected his cookies with step-by-step cooking skills. Every fifteen minutes, twenty cakes, no more, no less were ready for the customers. He devoted to his small business rain r shine even in “ typhoon days.”
Typhoon–a tropical storm in the region of western Pacific oceans, frequently attacks the island and brings a deluge of rain. On those natural disaster days and nights, two adults and we four little children had to hold heavy bamboo-sticks against doors to block the howling winds and gather all kinds of basins to catch pouring rains from the roofs. When the storm was over and the house still in one piece, my mother would visit the market and buy four red-bean cakes, the only affordable dessert for her to award her children’s bravery. People of all ages loved the distinctive flavor of the cakes baked by Mr. Red-Bean, and so did rats big and small. My five-year-old baby brother often slept with residual red-bean paste on his face and fingers. From time to time, he woke up crying in the middle of nights because of the wounds of rat bites from sharing his leftover. The incidents resulted in a series of tenacious battles between human and rodent in the household. There is no doubt about that all living creatures on the island loved Mr.Red-Bean’s remarkable cakes.
Not long after my father’s decease (1992), I had to travel back and forth between Taiwan and Houston working with my brother on a biotechnology import-export business to pay off my father’s debts. On each trip, my sons Victor and Michael at their child ages cramped in compact seats and suffered from fluctuating air pressure during the exhausting lengthy flights. With limited time left after soothing two poor little creatures, I had to prepare the product information for the clients under the dim lights above the seats. By the time the plane landed on Taiwan, my brother would meet one and two halves near-death human beings at the airport.
“Mommy, Mommy, A-Ma (Grandmother in Taiwanese) took us to the smelly market today. There were lots of yummy foods and toys, also many fishing tanks for us to scoop out goldfish with paper spatulas, ” Victor and Michael raced out the front door to show me a plastic bag with three goldfish swimming. I kneeled down to hug them with my worn-out body from the work and noticed some red-bean paste remaining at the corner of their mouths. Suddenly I was overcome with acute nostalgia. Their excitement from exploring the Wind City was a powerful remedy for my physical and emotional states and helped me undergo the difficult times. The long-rocky journey continued for little over a decade. Victor and Michael had the opportunities traveling with me to experience their wonderful Wind-City adventures to grow up with precious memories of Taiwanese traditional way of living and knowing where their parents came from.
The image of his hunchbacked figure baking the cakes got bigger and clearer after the phone conversation was over. I sat on the coach and felt deeply regretful for being too late to ask his name and take a photo of him baking the extraordinary delicious Read-Bean cakes on those trips I made.
Hsinchu, translated as New Bamboo, is a small city located on Taiwan’s west coast. On-island, it is also known as the Wind City, and the cooling effect of the sea winds from the Taiwan Strait is particularly welcome to residents in summer, but not in winter. The wind-chill is unbelievable powerful to lower the temperatures ten degrees Fahrenheit below average. Hsinchu city inhabits many science and technology universities and high-tech research institutes. For decades, it has developed into Taiwan’s Silicon Valley. The city is also famous of local cuisines, such as different kinds of noodle soup, meatball, and oyster omelet that are also known as ‘street-eats’. The distinctive way of selling foods on street has prospered and become the most attractive tourist spot for foreigners.
Post-World War II, Taiwan was in a devastating situation. With limited resources, the majority of Taiwanese people put strenuous effort into rebuilding their homes. My parents followed the trend of moving into the city hoping for a better future for their children. The house they lived was located near the Cherg-Hwang Temple (城隍廟). At the front yard of the temple, small business ventures with food stands gathered daily from late afternoons to early mornings, selling various kinds of delicious homemade cuisines. Next to the temple, a traditional market with numerous booths of fresh vegetables, groceries, meat and fish made mornings delightful for housewives. Among big crowds of foods and people, you would find Mr. Red-Bean’s body curling into the corner of walls, bending his back and focusing on the square baking-pan. In winter people had to beat the chill-to-the-bone winds by all means to keep themselves warm. The children clustered in front of Mr. Red-Bean’s tiny charcoal-burning stove, watching him making cakes, and enjoying the warmth of the place. Oblivious to the noisy audience, Mr. Red-Bean perfected his cookies with step-by-step cooking skills. Every fifteen minutes, twenty cakes, no more, no less were ready for the customers. He devoted to his small business rain r shine even in “ typhoon days.”
Typhoon–a tropical storm in the region of western Pacific oceans, frequently attacks the island and brings a deluge of rain. On those natural disaster days and nights, two adults and we four little children had to hold heavy bamboo-sticks against doors to block the howling winds and gather all kinds of basins to catch pouring rains from the roofs. When the storm was over and the house still in one piece, my mother would visit the market and buy four red-bean cakes, the only affordable dessert for her to award her children’s bravery. People of all ages loved the distinctive flavor of the cakes baked by Mr. Red-Bean, and so did rats big and small. My five-year-old baby brother often slept with residual red-bean paste on his face and fingers. From time to time, he woke up crying in the middle of nights because of the wounds of rat bites from sharing his leftover. The incidents resulted in a series of tenacious battles between human and rodent in the household. There is no doubt about that all living creatures on the island loved Mr.Red-Bean’s remarkable cakes.
Not long after my father’s decease (1992), I had to travel back and forth between Taiwan and Houston working with my brother on a biotechnology import-export business to pay off my father’s debts. On each trip, my sons Victor and Michael at their child ages cramped in compact seats and suffered from fluctuating air pressure during the exhausting lengthy flights. With limited time left after soothing two poor little creatures, I had to prepare the product information for the clients under the dim lights above the seats. By the time the plane landed on Taiwan, my brother would meet one and two halves near-death human beings at the airport.
“Mommy, Mommy, A-Ma (Grandmother in Taiwanese) took us to the smelly market today. There were lots of yummy foods and toys, also many fishing tanks for us to scoop out goldfish with paper spatulas, ” Victor and Michael raced out the front door to show me a plastic bag with three goldfish swimming. I kneeled down to hug them with my worn-out body from the work and noticed some red-bean paste remaining at the corner of their mouths. Suddenly I was overcome with acute nostalgia. Their excitement from exploring the Wind City was a powerful remedy for my physical and emotional states and helped me undergo the difficult times. The long-rocky journey continued for little over a decade. Victor and Michael had the opportunities traveling with me to experience their wonderful Wind-City adventures to grow up with precious memories of Taiwanese traditional way of living and knowing where their parents came from.
The image of his hunchbacked figure baking the cakes got bigger and clearer after the phone conversation was over. I sat on the coach and felt deeply regretful for being too late to ask his name and take a photo of him baking the extraordinary delicious Read-Bean cakes on those trips I made.
Let Me Dye Your Hair, Mom
Vicki Huang
“I will dye your hair,” I told Mom when I first saw her on my recent trip back to Hsin-chu in September 2008. Snowy white on the top near the split line and on the sides, her hair had turned into a mixture of silver, gray, and black colors as it descended, settling at her neckline. Shaking her head, Mom murmured, her voice barely audible, “Nah, that’s the least of my concerns now.” Indeed, with my brother A-Bin in the hospital, slowly recovering from a traumatic brain surgery, her usual neatness had taken a backseat to the bleak consequences that came with A-Bin’s motor accident. A-Bin, in his early fifties, had never been married, was stocky, heavy, and funny. However, lying in the hospital bed, though regaining consciousness, his thoughts remained incoherent, the left side of his body left paralyzed; he would need extensive rehabilitation and most likely, long-term hospital or home care. The thought of the daunting task that would lie ahead, which would require time, love, patience, physical strength, and financial ability to sustain, was weighing down Mom, who was approaching eighty and had just lost her youngest son to a tragic motor accident the year before. Patting her back, I said, “Mom, don’t worry, everything will be Okay.”
Visiting A-Bin in the hospital had become a daily ritual for Mom and a mini-routine for my mini-two-week stay in Taiwan. We went faithfully, like pilgrims marching to the holy land, despite the hot summer sun, the unbearable humid air, and the long sweaty walk. We hoped to provide A-Bin the comfort, the encouragement, and the physical massages that are so crucial to his recovery. We even took a taxi to the hospital just hours before the powerful typhoon Jangmi landed, and soon after it roared through the island, immobilizing the transportation systems. Walking side by side, Mom holding an umbrella, I wearing a straw hat, we traveled round-trip from home to the bus stop to the hospital and back. I was amazed at Mom’s endurance during the long-distance walk. I had to drag myself to keep up. One night, I woke up from the smothering heat, finding myself unable to move; my legs felt heavy and were in pain. All my bones seemed to be cracking up, all my muscles melting down. Mom’s health and physical condition had deteriorated considerably after the passing of my youngest brother, to the point where she was no longer able to walk to her favorite old market square. What energized Mom now? I wondered, but I couldn’t help seeing a picture of a courageous hen, wings spreading wide, covering its little chicken from the eagle swooping down from the sky.
With jet-lag and a day-long stay at the hospital, I always fell asleep on the couch after dinner while watching TV shows and resting my poor legs. I then woke up after midnight when Mom and my nephews were already in bed. Days went by, Mom’s hair remained snowy white on the top and the sides. One day, while walking to the hospital, Mom crossed by an acquaintance from the temple where she used to worship. Mom nodded at her, but the lady walked by expressionlessly after throwing a quick glance at her as though Mom were a total stranger, not worthy of acknowledging. Mom paused, her fingers combed through her thin hair, her face saddened, “She doesn’t recognize me at all. I must look like a crazy old woman now.” My stomach turned. That night, after dinner, I took a cold shower to expel the invading sleepiness and told Mom, “Let me dye your hair now.” Mom still shook her head, insisting that it’s more important that I catch up with my sleep and that she would do it herself some other time. I stood firm, commanding as a general giving out order, “Mom, give me the package. Let’s do it NOW.” Only God knows that I have never dyed my hair, let alone others’, and honestly don’t know how.
Brushing the paste onto Mom’s hoary hair, one tiny strand at a time, up and down, in and out, my gloved hands moved swiftly as if I were painting an abstract poster or conducting a silent orchestra. Only Mom’s “complaints” broke the silence in the bathroom: “Wait, wait, don’t touch my scalp,” and “Oh No, it stains my forehead,” and “See, you should have let me do it myself.” I laughed it off, continuing with my free-spirited painting and conducting work. As the shortest in the family, I always wear mid-to-high-heel shoes or sandals to enhance my physical appearance. Now in flat flip-flops and only inches away from Mom, I suddenly realized that Mom had taken my place. As I brushed the dry and split-ends on her sides, I saw deep, wrinkled lines sprawling from the corners of her eyes. I thought about how beautiful and youthful she once was even when I was a sophomore in college. The image of her welcoming my return from Taipei for the summer break is still vivid in my mind. It was right before my dad went down with stroke. Leaning on the front-gate, wearing a simple-cut, creamy-yellow summer dress, her long hair shone under the sunlight; she watched, smiling, as I walked up the narrow lane leading to the house. I could feel the softness of her hair as it bounced with her movement when she escorted me in. I also thought of the old times when I was a little girl living in the rural Nan-Ya village. Despite her endless house chores, Mom would squeeze out time to tend to my hair, washing it with the water fetched from an ancient well, shampooing it with crushed Morning Glory leaves, weaving it into braided ponytail, and finishing it up with a butterfly-knot on the top. “Now, turn around,” she would take a good look at me before sending me off to play. “Hey, it’s taking too long,” Mom cried in amusement, her voice pulling me back from the never-never-land. I applied my last brush and stepped back to inspect my final product. Mom looked awful, her hair stiffened with paste, her forehead and neck smudged with dark blotches. “Mom, you will look ten years younger after you wash off the dye,” I assured her.
When we visited A-bin the next day, Mom seemed to be in high spirits. Spoon feeding A-bin congee from a big bowl, she told A-bin the story of her strong-willed daughter, his elder sister, who didn’t even know how to mix the dye material, dyed her hair…and her face and her neck. I protested, “Mom looks great, right?” A-bin nodded his head, busy swallowing the sticky rice gruel prepared by the hospital. Miss Liu, the supervisor of the care staff on the floor, came to check on A-bin. She looked at Mom and hailed, “Wow, Mrs. Wu, you look ten years younger today!”
Visiting A-Bin in the hospital had become a daily ritual for Mom and a mini-routine for my mini-two-week stay in Taiwan. We went faithfully, like pilgrims marching to the holy land, despite the hot summer sun, the unbearable humid air, and the long sweaty walk. We hoped to provide A-Bin the comfort, the encouragement, and the physical massages that are so crucial to his recovery. We even took a taxi to the hospital just hours before the powerful typhoon Jangmi landed, and soon after it roared through the island, immobilizing the transportation systems. Walking side by side, Mom holding an umbrella, I wearing a straw hat, we traveled round-trip from home to the bus stop to the hospital and back. I was amazed at Mom’s endurance during the long-distance walk. I had to drag myself to keep up. One night, I woke up from the smothering heat, finding myself unable to move; my legs felt heavy and were in pain. All my bones seemed to be cracking up, all my muscles melting down. Mom’s health and physical condition had deteriorated considerably after the passing of my youngest brother, to the point where she was no longer able to walk to her favorite old market square. What energized Mom now? I wondered, but I couldn’t help seeing a picture of a courageous hen, wings spreading wide, covering its little chicken from the eagle swooping down from the sky.
With jet-lag and a day-long stay at the hospital, I always fell asleep on the couch after dinner while watching TV shows and resting my poor legs. I then woke up after midnight when Mom and my nephews were already in bed. Days went by, Mom’s hair remained snowy white on the top and the sides. One day, while walking to the hospital, Mom crossed by an acquaintance from the temple where she used to worship. Mom nodded at her, but the lady walked by expressionlessly after throwing a quick glance at her as though Mom were a total stranger, not worthy of acknowledging. Mom paused, her fingers combed through her thin hair, her face saddened, “She doesn’t recognize me at all. I must look like a crazy old woman now.” My stomach turned. That night, after dinner, I took a cold shower to expel the invading sleepiness and told Mom, “Let me dye your hair now.” Mom still shook her head, insisting that it’s more important that I catch up with my sleep and that she would do it herself some other time. I stood firm, commanding as a general giving out order, “Mom, give me the package. Let’s do it NOW.” Only God knows that I have never dyed my hair, let alone others’, and honestly don’t know how.
Brushing the paste onto Mom’s hoary hair, one tiny strand at a time, up and down, in and out, my gloved hands moved swiftly as if I were painting an abstract poster or conducting a silent orchestra. Only Mom’s “complaints” broke the silence in the bathroom: “Wait, wait, don’t touch my scalp,” and “Oh No, it stains my forehead,” and “See, you should have let me do it myself.” I laughed it off, continuing with my free-spirited painting and conducting work. As the shortest in the family, I always wear mid-to-high-heel shoes or sandals to enhance my physical appearance. Now in flat flip-flops and only inches away from Mom, I suddenly realized that Mom had taken my place. As I brushed the dry and split-ends on her sides, I saw deep, wrinkled lines sprawling from the corners of her eyes. I thought about how beautiful and youthful she once was even when I was a sophomore in college. The image of her welcoming my return from Taipei for the summer break is still vivid in my mind. It was right before my dad went down with stroke. Leaning on the front-gate, wearing a simple-cut, creamy-yellow summer dress, her long hair shone under the sunlight; she watched, smiling, as I walked up the narrow lane leading to the house. I could feel the softness of her hair as it bounced with her movement when she escorted me in. I also thought of the old times when I was a little girl living in the rural Nan-Ya village. Despite her endless house chores, Mom would squeeze out time to tend to my hair, washing it with the water fetched from an ancient well, shampooing it with crushed Morning Glory leaves, weaving it into braided ponytail, and finishing it up with a butterfly-knot on the top. “Now, turn around,” she would take a good look at me before sending me off to play. “Hey, it’s taking too long,” Mom cried in amusement, her voice pulling me back from the never-never-land. I applied my last brush and stepped back to inspect my final product. Mom looked awful, her hair stiffened with paste, her forehead and neck smudged with dark blotches. “Mom, you will look ten years younger after you wash off the dye,” I assured her.
When we visited A-bin the next day, Mom seemed to be in high spirits. Spoon feeding A-bin congee from a big bowl, she told A-bin the story of her strong-willed daughter, his elder sister, who didn’t even know how to mix the dye material, dyed her hair…and her face and her neck. I protested, “Mom looks great, right?” A-bin nodded his head, busy swallowing the sticky rice gruel prepared by the hospital. Miss Liu, the supervisor of the care staff on the floor, came to check on A-bin. She looked at Mom and hailed, “Wow, Mrs. Wu, you look ten years younger today!”
Celebration singers at M.D.Anderson Cancer Center, Houston Texas
Kinglan Hung
Everyone can sing!
By Michael M. Richardson, MT-BC Music Therapist Integrative Medicine Center
It’s true that very few people lack the needed physical requirements to sing. Aside from those with vocal disabilities or who have amusia, a rare disorder that causes a problem with singing or hearing pitches, everyone can sing.
My experience is that many acceptable singers don’t sing in groups because of negative experiences with teachers or choir directors.
I think if you like to sing and have ever thought about being in a choir you should do it. Just find one that works for you and go for it.
The Celebration Singers are a choir program at MD Anderson that is open to anyone who has cancer or has completed cancer treatment, or is a caregiver or family member of a patient.
How we got started
Along with my degree in music therapy I studied choral conducting, and over the years I’ve directed several choirs around Houston. While developing programs for the Integrative Medicine Center at MD Anderson, my colleague, massage therapist-Sat-Siri Sumler, suggested we start a patient choir.
We asked patients, caregivers and family members to join, and from there the group began to grow. Our name came from a contest winner in fall 2005, and then we began advertising to find singers with the slogan: “Your voice and a smile!”
By Jan. 10, 2006, the Celebration Singers were ready for their first rehearsal and in March we performed a program of St. Patrick’s Day music in the lobby of the Clark Clinic with 10 singers and a teen patient played oboe.
Singing support group
Through the years I’ve been blown away by the support the members provide to each other, we are not just a choir we are a “singing support group.”
When people approach me about the choir they ask two questions: “When do you rehearse?” and “What kind of music do you sing?” The answer is that we sing what works best for our group. We sing a little bit of everything.
P.S. After joining in this great team for 6 years, I found that by participating both in the patients’ and caregivers’ point of views through singing benefits my life to a great extent in physically and mentally. The sadness is Mr. Richardson retired in 2013. The program somehow was terminated. I feel sorry for it.
Sincerely hope that someone, some day, somehow the Celebrating Singers will resurface.
Best Wishes to this wonderful group and M.D. Anderson Cancer Center. (Written in August, 2012)
By Michael M. Richardson, MT-BC Music Therapist Integrative Medicine Center
It’s true that very few people lack the needed physical requirements to sing. Aside from those with vocal disabilities or who have amusia, a rare disorder that causes a problem with singing or hearing pitches, everyone can sing.
My experience is that many acceptable singers don’t sing in groups because of negative experiences with teachers or choir directors.
I think if you like to sing and have ever thought about being in a choir you should do it. Just find one that works for you and go for it.
The Celebration Singers are a choir program at MD Anderson that is open to anyone who has cancer or has completed cancer treatment, or is a caregiver or family member of a patient.
How we got started
Along with my degree in music therapy I studied choral conducting, and over the years I’ve directed several choirs around Houston. While developing programs for the Integrative Medicine Center at MD Anderson, my colleague, massage therapist-Sat-Siri Sumler, suggested we start a patient choir.
We asked patients, caregivers and family members to join, and from there the group began to grow. Our name came from a contest winner in fall 2005, and then we began advertising to find singers with the slogan: “Your voice and a smile!”
By Jan. 10, 2006, the Celebration Singers were ready for their first rehearsal and in March we performed a program of St. Patrick’s Day music in the lobby of the Clark Clinic with 10 singers and a teen patient played oboe.
Singing support group
Through the years I’ve been blown away by the support the members provide to each other, we are not just a choir we are a “singing support group.”
When people approach me about the choir they ask two questions: “When do you rehearse?” and “What kind of music do you sing?” The answer is that we sing what works best for our group. We sing a little bit of everything.
P.S. After joining in this great team for 6 years, I found that by participating both in the patients’ and caregivers’ point of views through singing benefits my life to a great extent in physically and mentally. The sadness is Mr. Richardson retired in 2013. The program somehow was terminated. I feel sorry for it.
Sincerely hope that someone, some day, somehow the Celebrating Singers will resurface.
Best Wishes to this wonderful group and M.D. Anderson Cancer Center. (Written in August, 2012)
2017 Taiwanese Heritage Society of Houston Fundraising Event Report
Helen Chiang
This year’s fundraising dinner for THSH took place on November 11th at 3:30PM. The start time was moved up in consideration of it getting dark earlier now, and many people prefer not to drive at night. This year’s check-in procedure also improved, as we sent emails to registered attendees a few days prior to confirm the number of people in each party, number of bento boxes, and registration ID. We asked everyone to give their registration IDs when checking in to speed up the process. The check-in process was indeed more efficient and wait times were reduced.
The event was hosted by the cute and lively Ms. Yu-ting Chang. Her energetic style brought a light-hearted and humorous air to the party. Serving of the sumptuous dinner began promptly at 5PM. Around six, the Taiwanese Chorus of Greater Houston performed three songs: 台灣翠青 (“Taiwan the Green”), 遊子還鄉 (lit. “wanderer returns home”), and 十八姑娘 (“A Girl at Eighteen”). During “A Girl of Eighteen”, three young girls and three boys danced to the music. Everyone enjoyed the performance, and it officially kicked off the night.
Prior to THSH Chairman Wen Hsiao’s report, he showed an inspirational short film titled “Be A Giver” by director Wu Nien-Jen. The main topic of this short film is to remind everyone that knowledge is meant to be given and used to help others; that appropriate usage of words can bring a sense of comfort and more peace. Chairman Hsiao first thanked the fundraising committee, board members, school board, TYS, and all volunteers for their help. He then reported on three breakthroughs the THSH had this year: (1) During Hurricane Harvey, THSH quickly set up a website and Facebook group to provide information and translations about insurance, laws, recovery, relief, and other useful resources, then collaborated with the Taiwanese School and TAA volunteers to help clean up and repair damaged homes. They also donated over $80,000 to the Houston City Government’s Hurricane Harvey Relief Fund together with other Taiwanese Centers and the Taiwanese Chorus of Greater Houston, doing their part for the Taiwanese American community. (2) The THSH electronic newsletter The Link started publishing an English version. This is a significant breakthrough. We have always hoped to connect more with second generation Taiwanese Americans, and use of English media is one way to do that. We were finally able to start that this year, and are grateful to second-generation Taiwanese American Shenning Chang for providing editing and translation services. (3) This year the glove puppet performances at the Taiwanese Culture & Art Fair held at TCC and at the Asia Society’s Culture Fest received positive reviews; it has received much love from audiences and attention from various groups. Many invitations have been extended to the performers, allowing THSH to take a great step forward in marketing Taiwanese culture to mainstream society.
Next was the awarding of scholarships. This year’s recipients of the Taiwanese American Heritage Scholarship are Eric Hsu, Joseph Hsu, Lillieana Lin, and Andrew Vaughan. This scholarship was established to reward graduating high school seniors, and primarily receives funding from two memorial funds (Dr. and Mrs. Ping-Cheng Wu Memorial Fund & Miss Amy Lin Memorial Fund). The judges not only look at grades, but also passion for community service and recognition of Taiwanese culture. Golden Bank Chairman Kenneth Wu presented the scholarships to these four outstanding students (Mr. Chung-Kuang Lin was not able to attend because he was out of town). THSH also awarded a new scholarship this year, called the Taiwan Studies Scholarship. This award is meant for college students studying in the Greater Houston area who have an interest in Taiwanese culture. They are required to be enrolled in a course relating to Taiwan studies. This year the recipient is Paulina Peña of the University of St. Thomas. In her self-introduction, she mentioned that she visited Taiwan one year and fell in love with Taiwan as a result. Later, when she discovered her school was offering a course on Taiwan studies, she jumped to register. Hearing her sharing her story was invigorating, and we hope that more people will be involved in Taiwan studies in the future and can get to know this Taiwanese American community more.
The work up for auction this year was a calligraphy work by Mr. Spencer Lee called “平常心” (“Normal Mind”). Spencer’s works give off a sense of peace. The style is lively and light but still has weight, and the arrangement of the text is beautiful. His other works include “台灣心” (“Taiwan Heart”) and “鄉土情” (“Homeland Love”) which are hanging in the TCC and have received positive feedback from our members and guests. The auction was won for $300 by first-time attendee Ms. Cherry Chung. Many thanks for her support!
This year the THSH was happy to invite Dr. Daniel Lu to be our keynote speaker. His topic was “International Public Health Participation – Significance for Taiwan and Fulfillment”. Dr. Lu started out studying engineering, but switched to medicine (pediatric medicine). He was previously a member of the Pingtung Christian Hospital medical corps; he served in Africa prior to Taiwan breaking off relations with Malawi, visiting the 19 countries in Africa; and he is now the Public Health and Welfare Ministry liaison to the U.S. Dr. Lu said that Africa’s medical resources are very different from that of developed nations, to a degree that is unimaginable to most. They have no hospital beds, they lack medicine, and many people still believe witch doctors over modern medicine.
First, Dr. Lu talked about what defines “international health”. He mentioned four factors: (1) paying attention to public health issues outside of one’s own country, especially in poor and developing countries, (2) developing and executing medical and health projects through bilateral and multilateral collaboration, (3) involvement in both group preventive medicine and individual clinical diagnosis, and (4) execution via special projects, especially those focused on public health.
Dr. Lu feels that Taiwan doubtlessly has the qualifications to work on international medicine, and international health is more practical than other forms of foreign relations. The effects of medical foreign relations are less political. Regarding how to realize medical treatment for minorities, Dr. Lu believes we need to respect medical rights and return them to the people, as well as connecting medical rights with basic human rights.
From Taiwan’s perspective, the final goal of international health is to become a member or observer at the WHA (World Health Assembly). It’s still debatable how Taiwan should participate, but currently we should focus on encouraging and rewarding professionals who join international health administration, research and discuss the developments in medicine on a regular basis, analyze the relationship between international circumstances and medicine, and understand how related international groups function. Dr. Lu lamented that while we have the intention to work, but international realities still exist. We need to reevaluate the position of international medicine and decide our own healthy future. Health rights and the Taiwanese national awareness are inextricably linked, so we need to hold on tight to our rights. Thank you to Dr. Lu for sharing this topic of international vision and humanitarian care with us.
This year’s fundraiser result is $83,343.00 and the 2017 annual giving is $13.922.60, so our total funds raised for the whole year are $97,265.60. Thanks again to all to the fundraising committee and the volunteers that have quietly contributed behind the scenes. Whether it was food, transportation, check-in, recording and photography, audio, decoration, auction, printing, entertainment, or organization, none of it could have been done without your help. Similarly, we would like to thank everyone for your support and encouragement to the THSH. We hope everyone will selflessly continue to forever manage this home that belongs to all of us!
The event was hosted by the cute and lively Ms. Yu-ting Chang. Her energetic style brought a light-hearted and humorous air to the party. Serving of the sumptuous dinner began promptly at 5PM. Around six, the Taiwanese Chorus of Greater Houston performed three songs: 台灣翠青 (“Taiwan the Green”), 遊子還鄉 (lit. “wanderer returns home”), and 十八姑娘 (“A Girl at Eighteen”). During “A Girl of Eighteen”, three young girls and three boys danced to the music. Everyone enjoyed the performance, and it officially kicked off the night.
Prior to THSH Chairman Wen Hsiao’s report, he showed an inspirational short film titled “Be A Giver” by director Wu Nien-Jen. The main topic of this short film is to remind everyone that knowledge is meant to be given and used to help others; that appropriate usage of words can bring a sense of comfort and more peace. Chairman Hsiao first thanked the fundraising committee, board members, school board, TYS, and all volunteers for their help. He then reported on three breakthroughs the THSH had this year: (1) During Hurricane Harvey, THSH quickly set up a website and Facebook group to provide information and translations about insurance, laws, recovery, relief, and other useful resources, then collaborated with the Taiwanese School and TAA volunteers to help clean up and repair damaged homes. They also donated over $80,000 to the Houston City Government’s Hurricane Harvey Relief Fund together with other Taiwanese Centers and the Taiwanese Chorus of Greater Houston, doing their part for the Taiwanese American community. (2) The THSH electronic newsletter The Link started publishing an English version. This is a significant breakthrough. We have always hoped to connect more with second generation Taiwanese Americans, and use of English media is one way to do that. We were finally able to start that this year, and are grateful to second-generation Taiwanese American Shenning Chang for providing editing and translation services. (3) This year the glove puppet performances at the Taiwanese Culture & Art Fair held at TCC and at the Asia Society’s Culture Fest received positive reviews; it has received much love from audiences and attention from various groups. Many invitations have been extended to the performers, allowing THSH to take a great step forward in marketing Taiwanese culture to mainstream society.
Next was the awarding of scholarships. This year’s recipients of the Taiwanese American Heritage Scholarship are Eric Hsu, Joseph Hsu, Lillieana Lin, and Andrew Vaughan. This scholarship was established to reward graduating high school seniors, and primarily receives funding from two memorial funds (Dr. and Mrs. Ping-Cheng Wu Memorial Fund & Miss Amy Lin Memorial Fund). The judges not only look at grades, but also passion for community service and recognition of Taiwanese culture. Golden Bank Chairman Kenneth Wu presented the scholarships to these four outstanding students (Mr. Chung-Kuang Lin was not able to attend because he was out of town). THSH also awarded a new scholarship this year, called the Taiwan Studies Scholarship. This award is meant for college students studying in the Greater Houston area who have an interest in Taiwanese culture. They are required to be enrolled in a course relating to Taiwan studies. This year the recipient is Paulina Peña of the University of St. Thomas. In her self-introduction, she mentioned that she visited Taiwan one year and fell in love with Taiwan as a result. Later, when she discovered her school was offering a course on Taiwan studies, she jumped to register. Hearing her sharing her story was invigorating, and we hope that more people will be involved in Taiwan studies in the future and can get to know this Taiwanese American community more.
The work up for auction this year was a calligraphy work by Mr. Spencer Lee called “平常心” (“Normal Mind”). Spencer’s works give off a sense of peace. The style is lively and light but still has weight, and the arrangement of the text is beautiful. His other works include “台灣心” (“Taiwan Heart”) and “鄉土情” (“Homeland Love”) which are hanging in the TCC and have received positive feedback from our members and guests. The auction was won for $300 by first-time attendee Ms. Cherry Chung. Many thanks for her support!
This year the THSH was happy to invite Dr. Daniel Lu to be our keynote speaker. His topic was “International Public Health Participation – Significance for Taiwan and Fulfillment”. Dr. Lu started out studying engineering, but switched to medicine (pediatric medicine). He was previously a member of the Pingtung Christian Hospital medical corps; he served in Africa prior to Taiwan breaking off relations with Malawi, visiting the 19 countries in Africa; and he is now the Public Health and Welfare Ministry liaison to the U.S. Dr. Lu said that Africa’s medical resources are very different from that of developed nations, to a degree that is unimaginable to most. They have no hospital beds, they lack medicine, and many people still believe witch doctors over modern medicine.
First, Dr. Lu talked about what defines “international health”. He mentioned four factors: (1) paying attention to public health issues outside of one’s own country, especially in poor and developing countries, (2) developing and executing medical and health projects through bilateral and multilateral collaboration, (3) involvement in both group preventive medicine and individual clinical diagnosis, and (4) execution via special projects, especially those focused on public health.
Dr. Lu feels that Taiwan doubtlessly has the qualifications to work on international medicine, and international health is more practical than other forms of foreign relations. The effects of medical foreign relations are less political. Regarding how to realize medical treatment for minorities, Dr. Lu believes we need to respect medical rights and return them to the people, as well as connecting medical rights with basic human rights.
From Taiwan’s perspective, the final goal of international health is to become a member or observer at the WHA (World Health Assembly). It’s still debatable how Taiwan should participate, but currently we should focus on encouraging and rewarding professionals who join international health administration, research and discuss the developments in medicine on a regular basis, analyze the relationship between international circumstances and medicine, and understand how related international groups function. Dr. Lu lamented that while we have the intention to work, but international realities still exist. We need to reevaluate the position of international medicine and decide our own healthy future. Health rights and the Taiwanese national awareness are inextricably linked, so we need to hold on tight to our rights. Thank you to Dr. Lu for sharing this topic of international vision and humanitarian care with us.
This year’s fundraiser result is $83,343.00 and the 2017 annual giving is $13.922.60, so our total funds raised for the whole year are $97,265.60. Thanks again to all to the fundraising committee and the volunteers that have quietly contributed behind the scenes. Whether it was food, transportation, check-in, recording and photography, audio, decoration, auction, printing, entertainment, or organization, none of it could have been done without your help. Similarly, we would like to thank everyone for your support and encouragement to the THSH. We hope everyone will selflessly continue to forever manage this home that belongs to all of us!
Houston Citizenship Month Celebration and the Recognition
Yu-Ru Huang
Houston is a city that embraces diversity and civic engagement; a community respects the rights and responsibilities of good citizenship. Citizenship Month (CM) is the end result of a recommendation from members of Houston’s vibrant international community. The first celebration took place in 2009 and we are now gearing up to celebrate our 9th year anniversary throughout the month of November.
Citizenship Month is an initiative of the city’s Department of Neighborhoods Office of New Americans and Immigrant Communities. The celebration is organized in collaboration with members of the city’s Citizenship Month Advisory Committee and community partners.
Taiwanese Heritage Society of Houston (THSH) is proud to champion the celebration of Houston’s diversity through this annual event as a community partner for the past 9 years. Since 2009, Taiwanese American artist Yu-Ru Huang has collaborating with city offices and served CM’s art committee to highlight the contribution of arts from Houston’s immigrant and international communities. For the past years, the committee has helped curated art display in citywide venues and produced projects that engaged children from Houston’s schools and community centers. Art works by Taiwanese American artist and by Taiwanese American children were presented in various city venues form 2009 to 2016. Since 2009, representatives from THSH (such as Mei-Ling Cheng, Gin-Ru Lee, King-Lan Hung, Kathy Cheng, Peter Chen, Yu-Ru Huang, Wen Hsiao, and Lain-Shan Wu) and children from Taiwanese School of Languages and Culture have participated in citizenship month events and embraced the culture diversity and civic engagement of our city.
In 2017 CM planning committees established criteria to honor Hurricane Harvey responders. Yu-Ru Huang shared THSH’s service during Hurricane Harvey to the committee – how did THSH display true “Citizenship” by serving fellow Houstonians during the storm, responded efficiently to the community’s needs during the crisis stage, helped to coordinate and organize relief systems, connected individuals to vital information and raised significant funds in order to make relief efforts possible. She also stated that THSH’s donation to relief fund was a collection of many Taiwanese American communities nationwide. In Citizenship Month’s 2017 reception to Honor Hurricane Harvey Responders, THSH was listed among many organizations to receive recognition for their service to city of Houston.
Citizenship Month is an initiative of the city’s Department of Neighborhoods Office of New Americans and Immigrant Communities. The celebration is organized in collaboration with members of the city’s Citizenship Month Advisory Committee and community partners.
Taiwanese Heritage Society of Houston (THSH) is proud to champion the celebration of Houston’s diversity through this annual event as a community partner for the past 9 years. Since 2009, Taiwanese American artist Yu-Ru Huang has collaborating with city offices and served CM’s art committee to highlight the contribution of arts from Houston’s immigrant and international communities. For the past years, the committee has helped curated art display in citywide venues and produced projects that engaged children from Houston’s schools and community centers. Art works by Taiwanese American artist and by Taiwanese American children were presented in various city venues form 2009 to 2016. Since 2009, representatives from THSH (such as Mei-Ling Cheng, Gin-Ru Lee, King-Lan Hung, Kathy Cheng, Peter Chen, Yu-Ru Huang, Wen Hsiao, and Lain-Shan Wu) and children from Taiwanese School of Languages and Culture have participated in citizenship month events and embraced the culture diversity and civic engagement of our city.
In 2017 CM planning committees established criteria to honor Hurricane Harvey responders. Yu-Ru Huang shared THSH’s service during Hurricane Harvey to the committee – how did THSH display true “Citizenship” by serving fellow Houstonians during the storm, responded efficiently to the community’s needs during the crisis stage, helped to coordinate and organize relief systems, connected individuals to vital information and raised significant funds in order to make relief efforts possible. She also stated that THSH’s donation to relief fund was a collection of many Taiwanese American communities nationwide. In Citizenship Month’s 2017 reception to Honor Hurricane Harvey Responders, THSH was listed among many organizations to receive recognition for their service to city of Houston.
An Unforgettable Night in Houston
Kinglan Hung
On November 28, 2012, Andrea Bocelli offered One-night concert for Houstonians. His superb voice stunned the huge crowd. ” if God could sing, He would sound a lot like Andrea Bocelli ” commented by Celine Dion.
” The voice, that simultaneously melancholic and radiant color, unrivaled in the expression of the song of a lover or a father, a matchless expression of earthly desire or heavenly love, with over 75 million record sales in the first seventeen years of Bocelli’s career to testify to it.” described in the program book. Andrea once said: ” I don’t think one decides to become a singer, it is decided for you by the reactions of the people around you.”
Andrea’s singing with his heart not his sight creates a mesmerizing way of reaching out worldwide audiences. When I closed my eyes, open my heart and ears, I could sense millions of music notes dancing around. The rhythm carried my body floating along in a paradise. ” You can only see properly with your heart. The essential is invisible to the eye” wrote Antoine de Saint-Exupery. In that instant, I totally understood and experienced the feelings.
The night after the concert, I was awake with the orchestra’s melodies, the choir’s harmonious voices, the stage lights, particularly Andrea’s Godly voice and his humble image lingering in my head for the whole night till dawn. I couldn’t fight the urge of sharing the excitement.
” The voice, that simultaneously melancholic and radiant color, unrivaled in the expression of the song of a lover or a father, a matchless expression of earthly desire or heavenly love, with over 75 million record sales in the first seventeen years of Bocelli’s career to testify to it.” described in the program book. Andrea once said: ” I don’t think one decides to become a singer, it is decided for you by the reactions of the people around you.”
Andrea’s singing with his heart not his sight creates a mesmerizing way of reaching out worldwide audiences. When I closed my eyes, open my heart and ears, I could sense millions of music notes dancing around. The rhythm carried my body floating along in a paradise. ” You can only see properly with your heart. The essential is invisible to the eye” wrote Antoine de Saint-Exupery. In that instant, I totally understood and experienced the feelings.
The night after the concert, I was awake with the orchestra’s melodies, the choir’s harmonious voices, the stage lights, particularly Andrea’s Godly voice and his humble image lingering in my head for the whole night till dawn. I couldn’t fight the urge of sharing the excitement.
I Dream of Nan-Ya
Vicki Huang
Nan-Ya, a rural area to the north of Hsin-chu city, is my birthplace and the place where I spent my early childhood. A picture-perfect little village, its residents mostly hardworking farmers and laborers, was surrounded by rice fields, cornfields, sugarcane fields, vegetable beds, arrays of bamboos, and tall trees. Two winding creeks, the water crystal clear, the banks full of brilliant wild flowers, ran through the village, providing water for irrigation. An experimental farm on the outskirts of the village, operated by the city, attracted treasure-hunting, adventure-minded kids with its exotic produce. Further north, lay a famous stream, Tou-Chen-Xi, where adult villagers went fishing, crabbing, or swimming.
My home, in the traditional Taiwanese style, was a U-shaped old flat that housed three families, where my family, including grandpa and grandma, occupied the middle section and a detached two-room house behind. All families shared the den in the middle section and the courtyard, where children, chickens, and ducks roamed free. As a young child, the dark brown, high-arching den looked enormous and intimidating even during the day. At night, under the dim light, I always wondered whether a ghost would sneak out and snatch me. I remembered one night, a huge snake was found in the den, its slimy body coiling on the beam under the rooftop. Armed with long sticks and shovels, Dad and some neighbors battled the intruder, striking the snake, hammering it hard, and killing it. On rainy winter nights, Mom would burn coals in a pot at one corner of the den to keep us warm, and she would cover the steaming heat with a huge rounded lattice made of bamboos to lay clothes on top to dry.
An ancient looking well sat in front of the house, providing water for daily cooking, cleaning, and showering. Villagers retrieved water with a pail and bailer and then dumped the water into a huge barrel in the kitchen. I marveled at the way the adults operated the bailer and the rope – so precise and so efficient. It is an art of life. Sometimes, I raised my head, looking down the well, studying the reflection in the mystical water, watching my face floating gently with the water, wondering how deep the well was and what creatures might have lived at the bottom. In the early morning of the bright summer days, Mom would wash my long hair beside the well, shampooing the hair with the leaves of the Morning Glory snapped from the backyard, rinsing it with cool water from the well. No matter how busy Mom was, she always found a moment to comb my hair and make it into braided ponytail.
The backyard was a wonderland to explore. Trees and bushes served as natural fencing on both sides of the yard, and a creek flowed through the other end of the yard, separating the vegetable beds from the rice fields that belonged to other farmers. Grandpa planted various vegetables: carrots, cabbage, string beans, leeks, and other green-leaf veggies and squashes. Before dawn, the yard was wet from the morning dew, big brownish snails strolling the vegetable beds. Grandpa sprayed the vegetable beds with water from the creek, harvested the produce, and peddled it in the little marketplace. The narrow creek, lined with wild flowers and aquatic plants, shaded under the big old trees, was a heavenly place that any kid could dream of. In the summer, the water was clear and cool. Kids lingered in the creek, picking black-shelled clams from the sand, playing hide and seek with the little soft-shelled crabs, chasing after the jerking white shrimps, or simply immersing themselves in the natural-made refrigerator to escape the heat. On starry summer nights, fireflies gathered in the backyard, their blinking lights dotted the banks of the creek, stealing the limelight from the stars.
On the higher ground around the house, fruit trees and flowering bushes were abundant. The lone Loquat tree that produced sweet, juicy, yellow fruits in the early spring and summer was grandpa’s favorite. Three or four Guava trees, each producing fruits of its own shape and flavor, were the most desirable for the kids. The older kids, climbing up the branches, and little kids, holding the long wooden stick that has split end, purged the big and temping guavas from the treetop. Two peach trees bloomed with pink flowers in the spring. Papaya and banana trees stood tall in the corners. Jasmine, rose, magnolia, gardenia, and the grape vines on the pergola decorated the garden, adding colors and flavors, attracting bees and butterflies from afar.
Time flies and the world changes with it. How can you freeze the precious moment and fight the inevitable? Decades later, the fields, the creeks, and the trees are gone, leaving no trace of the heavenly scenery that once nurtured my soul and enriched my mind. The stream, its water muddy and near still, was reduced to a shallow creek, right next to the residential area and along side the soaring freeway. The village is now a modernized town, crowded with buildings, commerce, automobiles, and wary-looking people.
Once in a while, I dream of Nan-ya, where the bamboos swung with the wind ever so softly, the lonesome scarecrow watched faithfully over the golden rice fields, the white ginger-root flowers bloomed brightly along the creek, and a pony-tailed little girl joyfully chased after the apple-green dragonflies.
My home, in the traditional Taiwanese style, was a U-shaped old flat that housed three families, where my family, including grandpa and grandma, occupied the middle section and a detached two-room house behind. All families shared the den in the middle section and the courtyard, where children, chickens, and ducks roamed free. As a young child, the dark brown, high-arching den looked enormous and intimidating even during the day. At night, under the dim light, I always wondered whether a ghost would sneak out and snatch me. I remembered one night, a huge snake was found in the den, its slimy body coiling on the beam under the rooftop. Armed with long sticks and shovels, Dad and some neighbors battled the intruder, striking the snake, hammering it hard, and killing it. On rainy winter nights, Mom would burn coals in a pot at one corner of the den to keep us warm, and she would cover the steaming heat with a huge rounded lattice made of bamboos to lay clothes on top to dry.
An ancient looking well sat in front of the house, providing water for daily cooking, cleaning, and showering. Villagers retrieved water with a pail and bailer and then dumped the water into a huge barrel in the kitchen. I marveled at the way the adults operated the bailer and the rope – so precise and so efficient. It is an art of life. Sometimes, I raised my head, looking down the well, studying the reflection in the mystical water, watching my face floating gently with the water, wondering how deep the well was and what creatures might have lived at the bottom. In the early morning of the bright summer days, Mom would wash my long hair beside the well, shampooing the hair with the leaves of the Morning Glory snapped from the backyard, rinsing it with cool water from the well. No matter how busy Mom was, she always found a moment to comb my hair and make it into braided ponytail.
The backyard was a wonderland to explore. Trees and bushes served as natural fencing on both sides of the yard, and a creek flowed through the other end of the yard, separating the vegetable beds from the rice fields that belonged to other farmers. Grandpa planted various vegetables: carrots, cabbage, string beans, leeks, and other green-leaf veggies and squashes. Before dawn, the yard was wet from the morning dew, big brownish snails strolling the vegetable beds. Grandpa sprayed the vegetable beds with water from the creek, harvested the produce, and peddled it in the little marketplace. The narrow creek, lined with wild flowers and aquatic plants, shaded under the big old trees, was a heavenly place that any kid could dream of. In the summer, the water was clear and cool. Kids lingered in the creek, picking black-shelled clams from the sand, playing hide and seek with the little soft-shelled crabs, chasing after the jerking white shrimps, or simply immersing themselves in the natural-made refrigerator to escape the heat. On starry summer nights, fireflies gathered in the backyard, their blinking lights dotted the banks of the creek, stealing the limelight from the stars.
On the higher ground around the house, fruit trees and flowering bushes were abundant. The lone Loquat tree that produced sweet, juicy, yellow fruits in the early spring and summer was grandpa’s favorite. Three or four Guava trees, each producing fruits of its own shape and flavor, were the most desirable for the kids. The older kids, climbing up the branches, and little kids, holding the long wooden stick that has split end, purged the big and temping guavas from the treetop. Two peach trees bloomed with pink flowers in the spring. Papaya and banana trees stood tall in the corners. Jasmine, rose, magnolia, gardenia, and the grape vines on the pergola decorated the garden, adding colors and flavors, attracting bees and butterflies from afar.
Time flies and the world changes with it. How can you freeze the precious moment and fight the inevitable? Decades later, the fields, the creeks, and the trees are gone, leaving no trace of the heavenly scenery that once nurtured my soul and enriched my mind. The stream, its water muddy and near still, was reduced to a shallow creek, right next to the residential area and along side the soaring freeway. The village is now a modernized town, crowded with buildings, commerce, automobiles, and wary-looking people.
Once in a while, I dream of Nan-ya, where the bamboos swung with the wind ever so softly, the lonesome scarecrow watched faithfully over the golden rice fields, the white ginger-root flowers bloomed brightly along the creek, and a pony-tailed little girl joyfully chased after the apple-green dragonflies.
Lamar my dog
Jiin Lin
Farewell
My eyes had hard time adjusting to the scorching sun when I walked out of the Sugar Land Veterinary Specialists Hospital, 2009. I had the leash in my hand but there was no pulling from the other end. My Lamar was gone. Although I thought I was well prepared but the void could not be more overwhelming, tears came down and I didn't care to wipe it off.
Dr. Novosad pushed the medicine into the pre-inserted needle socket. My hands were holding Lamar's arm. Letting him know that I was there with him at the last moment was important to me as well to him. Lamar' beautiful wide eyes turned into a blank stare. It did not take even one minute.
"You are my darling, Lamar." Roxanne wraps me up in a nice blanket, inserting the needle with a socket attached to the end into my front leg.
"I know you all love me." I can barely hear myself and have not been able to move much the last couple of weeks. The pain is excruciating.
"Thank you, Irena and Darlene!" I want to say to the two most beautiful ladies who has bathed me, played with me, and taken care of me while Jiin & Mom were away.
"You can have a few minutes with him alone." Dr. Novosad tells Jiin & Mom and walks out the room with Roxanne.
"Don't be afraid, Lamar. You are a good boy and will always be." Jiin's voice is broken up. Mom is holding me tighter than usual.
"Love you too." I try to say it as loud as I can just like the way he said it. Jiin holds my head against his and I kiss him.
"Are you ready?" Dr. Novosad & Roxanne walk back in.
"Yes." I can feel the trembling in Jiin's answer. I look deep into his eyes and see my reflection. I know the time has arrived.
“Nine-nine.” Jiin says.
Love at first sight
It was a sultry summer afternoon 2002. Dense air plus the steady motion of a vehicle usually makes me drowsy. But the excitement from the anticipation of meeting a new family member kept me wide awake. Exit from I-45 and a winding street lead us to a secluded subdivision. The house stood by the curbside is where Shawn brought us our new puppy. She greeted us at the door and we walked into the living room to sit down. Shawn went into another room and within a couple of minutes out came this little furry puppy walking like an overloaded car with his big head swung left and right along with every step he took and the whole body was stumping the floor as if he was an elephant. His head and both ears were covered with silky black hair. Blended into the picture is the white nozzle with extended wide stripe to the forehead and his eyebrows and both cheeks decorated with brownish gold. He proceeded toward the door to the backyard and stood there. Shawn laughed and opened it. He swaggered straight to the lawn, sniffed a little here and there and peed while bending both rear legs. He walked back into the room and looked up with his huge innocent eyes and head tilted to the side. Seeming to ask why so many strangers are smiling at him conspicuously. My heart melted.
My name
"What's his name again?" quips Mei. Behind her a big sign says Lamar University.
"Did you name him after the school or was it the other way around?" Quinn jumps in.
“Hahaha! Lamar is pronounced exactly like bad boy in Taiwanese. Jeff was born on the Lamar Street in Austin. It’s easy to say & nice to remember.” Jiin is more than happy to elaborate.
"My name was Victor." Me, a bad boy? I protest.
"It does not do him justice. He has such nice temperament." Mei looks prettier and prettier with every word.
"Lamar is the second president of the Republic of Texas. Lots of public facilities in Texas are named after him.” I guess Lamar is not too bad after all.
“Actually I was contemplating on changing his name to Trouble.” Jiin blinks at me.
“Quit while you are ahead, Jiin.” I turn my head away.
Lost Maples & Enchanted Rock
Our rendezvous was the gas station at the intersection of I-10 and Highway 6. We arrived early. Lamar started barking when I pulled the car into the parking lot. That's his way of saying "I want to check things out." Linda & Lain were already there. Sue-Jean went to greet them while I put the leash on Lamar before letting him out. I had hard time stopping him from squeezing through the gap in between me and the car. For a dog with such an easy disposition it is fun to see that he is so anxious to explore the world. He did his business as usual and met with Brandon for the first time. It was a brief encounter. Both of them were not too excited about entertaining each other. They did not know they would meet a few more times for similar trips down the road. It's understandable that Brandon was almost ten but Lamar was still at his young age and strangely did not show much interest in other dogs. He usually is more comfortable surrounded by people. The last two cars arrived and we met Susan & David for the first time. Ming hitched the ride with them. It’s the first time Lamar became the center of attention in front of so many people. He showed no stage fright and walked like a star on the runway. Mei & Quinn were the last to adore Lamar before we left for Lost Maples.
The park trail was rugged but neither strenuous nor treacherous. Lamar was leading the way. He could hardly conceal his exhilaration when we visited a new park. His hunting instinct arose from the fresh smell of the roaming wild animals. He wanted to find out what was out there although I believe he was clueless about what to do if he ran into an animal. The scenery suddenly became full of life when I saw him swishing into the spotty sunbeams underneath the shade of the Maple trees.
There were puddles along the way. He went right through it without wallowing. His feet became muddy but I did not pull the leash a bit. The wade through the mud, he enjoyed it and I enjoyed watching him enjoying it. I will wash his feet later as we usually do when the trip is over.
Enchanted Rock lives up to it name plus it offers a little intimidation. Awed by the giant rock standing in front I was wondering how Lamar would react. Well, he showed no sympathy for my hesitation. He charged ahead and pulled so hard as if he were a horse in front of a chariot committed to win a race. I shortened the leash to contain him. He has four legs for balance but I have only two. Besides I had to make sure the rest of the group were ascending slowly and safely. He got the clue after a few tries. I praised him by gently patted his head and I felt he understood me perfectly. When we reached the peak the world seemed to open up. The view was spectacular but my trepidation rose with every step toward the edge. Lamar did not look impressed at the height but maybe picking up my uneasiness he was content to move alongside me as if he were my guardian angel. He sat still with his head high and straight when I stopped to take in the breathtaking views. The picture of the Lion King sitting on the edge of the cliff jumped into my mind. "Attaboy!" I let him know I was proud.
Car ride
"Lamar, let's go!" That's music to my ears. It means car ride to the park.
"I am ready! I am ready! " This is the happiest moment of my day. I can't stop myself from jumping up and down.
"Sit!" Jiin says with leash in his hand. But I am too excited for that. I have to run to the door and circle myself till I have trouble catching my own breath.
"Sit!" He raises his voice a bit. I can feel the softness in there. I am not stopping. I am so happy.
"Yes, Yes, Yes!" I want that leash now!
"Please, Please, Please!" How come there is always strange noise every time I say this? I can't say it right when I am excited.
"Easy, Easy." Jiin runs his hand through my neck and pushes my Adam's apple back a bit. That stops my hyperventilation for a moment. I think that's what they said I have.
"Hurry, Hurry!" It doesn't matter. I want to go. I want to go now!
"Calm down, Lamar." Jiin has to do it again so I can breathe normally.
"Get in the car." You don't have to tell me. I do this every day. My seat is in the back. I know that.
"Can I sit in the front with you?"
"No." Mom Sue-Jean always says no but I have to try. Jiin lets me do it when she is not around. But once in a while even Mom will give in. You have to know the correct button to push. I know I am cute. I can get away with anything.
"Please, Please, Please!" I push on and give them my irresistible look.
"It's too dangerous to sit in the front." Mom says, softening.
"It's okay. Let him come up. I will drive slowly." I know Jiin is the weak link. He surrenders easily.
“I love you.” I kiss him all over his face.
“Love you too.” Jiin replies always.
"How dare you pass us!" I turn and shout at the next car whilst moving to Mom's lap.
Illness
The Wisconsin Protocol was what Doctor prescribed for lymphoma.
1st week, Vincristine -- The side effects of the chemo are numerous. We were worried. We monitored him closely. Lamar seemed to handle it well.
2nd week, Cytoxan – The drug worked its magic. Lamar's lymph node significantly reduced. We were hopeful.
3rd week, Vincristine -- His appetite picked up, saw continuing improvement.
4th week, Adriamycin -- Lamar had trouble with this one. We could see his alertness went way down. He was obviously hurting. It's a relief to see a break coming up.
5th week, Break
6th week, Start over for another three cycles.
While he is under chemo we had to give him Prednisone daily as well. We followed the guideline religiously. One small side step could mean disaster. His lumps were almost undetectable after 2 cycles. The Doctor believed Lamar was in complete remission. We are ecstatic.
The debate of whether sending Lamar for a bone marrow transplant heated up in our family. The Wisconsin Protocol is not a cure; it provides only a short term remission. No one knows how soon it would come back. On top of that, each remission becomes shorter and shorter.. Although I didn't want Lamar to go into a painful operation which he might not come out of followed by a month long isolation, but Jeff was adamant and I know that's the only hope to completely eradicate the disease. We decided to go for it. Jeff got in touch with Dr. Suter at North Carolina State University who is the best and the first in the United States to successfully perform this procedure on a handful of dogs. The equipment was designed for dog over forty pounds. Lamar would be the first undersized dog to try and Dr. Suter was willing to give us a chance. We were thankful.
Before the date was set for our trip to NC State University, his lymphoma stormed back. It was vicious and merciless this time. Lamar was motionless for days and could not eat or drink. I woke up several times at night to check if he was still breathing. It killed me to see him suffer like that. Again Jeff insisted that we try other Protocols. Two more weeks of torture was to no avail. I informed Dr. Novosad of our decision and choked in words.
Topeka, Kansas
Scooby is at it again. Everyday after dinner he bites my ear and drags my tail even after we have played for like an eternity. He won't stop until I completely ignore him for a while. Mini is his next target but she is always ladylike and the play usually won't last too long. But today after he is done with both of us the havoc unfolds. He dashes toward the other end of the room and circles the table while bumping the chair. The toy falls into the bowl full of food and water and flips it. That creates a huge mess on the carpet. He goes on to pick up the wet toy and shakes it so hard that the food travels to every corner in the room. He then runs over the mess and continues his sprint round and round. "Oh my God, Scooby, what have you done?" Shawn storms into the room, hitting the panic button.
"Boys will always be boys" mama Victoria sighs.
"But mama!!!" I yell.
"Sorry Victor. I should not say that but Scooby is definitely something else. I hope you will not be like him."
"But I am not like him. Mini and I are Tri-color and Scooby is Brenham."
"I do not mean it that way. That's okay. You are a good boy and will always be."
"Thank you mama." Snuggle next to Mini under mama, I yawn and start suckling with sleepy eyes.
“Nine-nine!” I hear.
To Be Taiwanese
Victor Hung
Being a Taiwanese person raised on American soil, one might find difficulty in truly understanding what it means to be Taiwanese. A person is not Taiwanese simply because his or her parents were born in Taiwan. One has to remember their roots and where they came from. Though to ideal in this world is unity and for all of mankind to be at one with everyone else, there is nothing wrong with knowing about your cultural background and to be proud of your heritage. One should uphold certain ideals, customs, and traditions that are particular to the Taiwanese people.
Many people say they are Taiwanese but do not truly know what that means. They have family in Taiwan and sporadically utter phrases like “jia beng” and “bung sai”, but being Taiwanese is more than that. Someone is not Taiwanese because they have Taiwanese blood or because their parents sing to cheesy karaoke videos of women in 80’s clothing walking around a temple or forest. One has to realize that being Taiwanese comes with a great deal of resourcefulness and strength. Just witnessing the recent earthquake incident in Taiwan (September 21, 1999) on television will prove this. The inhabitants of the island were struck with a great destructive force. Building collapsed and people’s homes were torn part. Loved ones and fond memories were lying underneath crumbled layers of stone and brick. However, the citizens of Taiwan were able to pull together and form teams of relief groups almost immediately. People whom had lost their families were able to keep their heads on straight long enough to help rescue survivors from within the rubble. Only a few days after the terror of the quake struck, people were already returning to work or doing their best to put together what was left of their lives. The Taiwanese on the island were not only working together to help. Vast groups of Taiwanese here in the United States were able to provide large quantities of monetary assistance by raising money with donations, car washes, and other fund-raisers. This macabre earthquake took many lives but it also helped illustrate the compassion that the Taiwanese have for each other. Instead of lamenting their own losses the people of Taiwan and their families in other parts of the world came together and kept Taiwan from falling into chaos and pandemonium.
One who claims to be Taiwanese should also recognize the customs that are the defining qualities of their culture. Taiwan’s history and culture is rich and colorful. Its traditions have been greatly influenced by the Dutch, Spanish, Japanese, and Chinese while still retaining its original culture from the aborigines. Speaking the language is very important. The native tongue is rarely spoken in today’s world. There are even people on the island that are not fluent speakers. The Taiwanese language is a beautiful and poetic linguistic tradition that must be kept alive. How can one vindicate being Taiwanese if one cannot watch “Gwa Hee” (Taiwanese opera) and understand what is being said? Taiwanese cooking and life styles must be also be sustained. One cannot truly be an indubitable Taiwanese person if one has never eaten “bha zhang” (rice balls wrapped with bamboo leaves) or captured gold fish with toilet paper at the night market.
Being Taiwanese is not just about being handsome, pulchritudinous, and witty. It is not just having dark hair, and sexy brown eyes. Being Taiwanese is taking care of and looking out for those other people around you, even if they are not Taiwanese. Feeling compassion not only for other Taiwanese but also for anyone that may need help. So speak an elegant language, eat good food, and know where it all came from.
(The recipient’s speech for the 1999 Taiwanese Heritage Society of Houston scholarship )
Many people say they are Taiwanese but do not truly know what that means. They have family in Taiwan and sporadically utter phrases like “jia beng” and “bung sai”, but being Taiwanese is more than that. Someone is not Taiwanese because they have Taiwanese blood or because their parents sing to cheesy karaoke videos of women in 80’s clothing walking around a temple or forest. One has to realize that being Taiwanese comes with a great deal of resourcefulness and strength. Just witnessing the recent earthquake incident in Taiwan (September 21, 1999) on television will prove this. The inhabitants of the island were struck with a great destructive force. Building collapsed and people’s homes were torn part. Loved ones and fond memories were lying underneath crumbled layers of stone and brick. However, the citizens of Taiwan were able to pull together and form teams of relief groups almost immediately. People whom had lost their families were able to keep their heads on straight long enough to help rescue survivors from within the rubble. Only a few days after the terror of the quake struck, people were already returning to work or doing their best to put together what was left of their lives. The Taiwanese on the island were not only working together to help. Vast groups of Taiwanese here in the United States were able to provide large quantities of monetary assistance by raising money with donations, car washes, and other fund-raisers. This macabre earthquake took many lives but it also helped illustrate the compassion that the Taiwanese have for each other. Instead of lamenting their own losses the people of Taiwan and their families in other parts of the world came together and kept Taiwan from falling into chaos and pandemonium.
One who claims to be Taiwanese should also recognize the customs that are the defining qualities of their culture. Taiwan’s history and culture is rich and colorful. Its traditions have been greatly influenced by the Dutch, Spanish, Japanese, and Chinese while still retaining its original culture from the aborigines. Speaking the language is very important. The native tongue is rarely spoken in today’s world. There are even people on the island that are not fluent speakers. The Taiwanese language is a beautiful and poetic linguistic tradition that must be kept alive. How can one vindicate being Taiwanese if one cannot watch “Gwa Hee” (Taiwanese opera) and understand what is being said? Taiwanese cooking and life styles must be also be sustained. One cannot truly be an indubitable Taiwanese person if one has never eaten “bha zhang” (rice balls wrapped with bamboo leaves) or captured gold fish with toilet paper at the night market.
Being Taiwanese is not just about being handsome, pulchritudinous, and witty. It is not just having dark hair, and sexy brown eyes. Being Taiwanese is taking care of and looking out for those other people around you, even if they are not Taiwanese. Feeling compassion not only for other Taiwanese but also for anyone that may need help. So speak an elegant language, eat good food, and know where it all came from.
(The recipient’s speech for the 1999 Taiwanese Heritage Society of Houston scholarship )
Growing up with My Dear Sons
Kinglan Hung
Michael’s Greek Mythology report at Lanier Middle School in 2001
“ Hurry! Hurry! You need to get shot,” I gasp while giving a pair of socks to Victor and holding Michael in my arms. “We have to be ready for a doctor’s appointment in five minutes.” “ Mommy, are you going to kill me? I didn’t do anything wrong,” Victor replies tentatively. “ Oh, I get it. You mean to get a shot for my health record? Hey-hey,” He pauses for seconds and giggles. “Mom, my friends and I are going to Fuddruckers. Are you coming along?” Michael calls me from his friend’s house. “ Have I told you not to say ‘F ’ word?” I scold him harshly. “ No! Mom, it is a restaurant selling delicious hamburgers. I thought you might like to have dinner with my friends and me. Isn’t that what you always want to do?” Michael defends
himself gently. Oh, Mighty God. I wish somebody would give me a set of cloned English-speaking tongue and ears.
Victor is my first-born, Michael my second. They are six-and-a-half years apart. Both were born in America, Victor in Boston and Michael in Houston. I don’t remember a time when they were not chubby till high school. Being chubby is part of growing up for Taiwanese descendent. Whenever Victor and Michael visited their parents’ hometowns, the locals would always gather around them on streets or in stores, touching their arms, caressing their cheeks and say enviously: “ I wish my sons/daughters were like you. How does your mother feed you? You must be from America. People there feed their children with hamburgers and milk, right? ”
Yet, I remember quite well when both of them were in grade school and they would often complain about being bullied for being “ the chubby Asian boy.” And my husband and I were insensitive about the problem because we are baby-boomers who grew up in Taiwan where childhood obesity was not a problem. Having chubby children even made us feel prosperous and proud. From then on, Victor and Michael had to deal with their body-weight issues on their own while their poor mother worked very hard to re-adjust her Taiwanese mentality.
The education systems of America and Taiwan are completely different from each other. In Taiwan college options are limited. Once each year, a national test in many subjects, such as mathematics, chemistry, physics, history, Chinese literature and English, is given to prospective college students. And how well your test performance determines where you will attend college. Everyone wants to enter the most prestigious university; National Taiwan University because the college you enter has big influence on your eventual profession and career. Once young children enter preschools, they are trained endlessly to memorize the material from textbooks that meets the college entrance examination criteria until the day of the national test. Parents and teachers join their struggles by pressuring the students to be bookworms. No extra-curricula activities are allowed whatsoever.
On the contrary, I found the American education system to be creative. There are numerous hands-on projects, extra-curricula programs, and inspiring activities for children. During my sons’ school years, I involved myself with their homework, communicated with their teachers and school administrators, and most importantly served as their chauffeur until they went to college. I recall clearly when Michael was in middle school; his English teacher required students to write a book report on Greek Mythology. Instead of driving Michael to every public library around the neighborhood, I was surprised and amazed by Victor and Michael’s way of making the report. They turned their old-timer mother and themselves into picture models for Greek goddesses and gods, as well as actors, directors and photographers in a short film called The Trojan War. As you can see in the attached pictures, even Cougar (our pet) was transformed into the three-headed monster Cerberus and happily appeared on the cover page of the report. No doubt about that the report was awarded “ The Extraordinary Presentation” at Lanier Middle School in 2001.
As an immigrant parent knowing little about Western culture and American heritage, I was aware of that a huge gap would exist between my sons and me. In order to fill the holes and bridge the divergences, I took every possible opportunity of mingling with their daily lives, and accommodated my thoughts to the interests of their growing minds. Thus, the “ Three Company Team” was formed, and it has gone through the boys’ childhoods and young-adulthoods in laughter and tears for many years.
All of us have a thirst to know our heritage. Without that knowledge, we will feel empty inside no matter our achievement in life. Growing up with my dear sons in America, I am content and fulfilled with my new Taiwanese-American identity and assimilated well into American society. Also, I am pleased and appreciative for being treated as their cool mother, their friend, and their best student.
himself gently. Oh, Mighty God. I wish somebody would give me a set of cloned English-speaking tongue and ears.
Victor is my first-born, Michael my second. They are six-and-a-half years apart. Both were born in America, Victor in Boston and Michael in Houston. I don’t remember a time when they were not chubby till high school. Being chubby is part of growing up for Taiwanese descendent. Whenever Victor and Michael visited their parents’ hometowns, the locals would always gather around them on streets or in stores, touching their arms, caressing their cheeks and say enviously: “ I wish my sons/daughters were like you. How does your mother feed you? You must be from America. People there feed their children with hamburgers and milk, right? ”
Yet, I remember quite well when both of them were in grade school and they would often complain about being bullied for being “ the chubby Asian boy.” And my husband and I were insensitive about the problem because we are baby-boomers who grew up in Taiwan where childhood obesity was not a problem. Having chubby children even made us feel prosperous and proud. From then on, Victor and Michael had to deal with their body-weight issues on their own while their poor mother worked very hard to re-adjust her Taiwanese mentality.
The education systems of America and Taiwan are completely different from each other. In Taiwan college options are limited. Once each year, a national test in many subjects, such as mathematics, chemistry, physics, history, Chinese literature and English, is given to prospective college students. And how well your test performance determines where you will attend college. Everyone wants to enter the most prestigious university; National Taiwan University because the college you enter has big influence on your eventual profession and career. Once young children enter preschools, they are trained endlessly to memorize the material from textbooks that meets the college entrance examination criteria until the day of the national test. Parents and teachers join their struggles by pressuring the students to be bookworms. No extra-curricula activities are allowed whatsoever.
On the contrary, I found the American education system to be creative. There are numerous hands-on projects, extra-curricula programs, and inspiring activities for children. During my sons’ school years, I involved myself with their homework, communicated with their teachers and school administrators, and most importantly served as their chauffeur until they went to college. I recall clearly when Michael was in middle school; his English teacher required students to write a book report on Greek Mythology. Instead of driving Michael to every public library around the neighborhood, I was surprised and amazed by Victor and Michael’s way of making the report. They turned their old-timer mother and themselves into picture models for Greek goddesses and gods, as well as actors, directors and photographers in a short film called The Trojan War. As you can see in the attached pictures, even Cougar (our pet) was transformed into the three-headed monster Cerberus and happily appeared on the cover page of the report. No doubt about that the report was awarded “ The Extraordinary Presentation” at Lanier Middle School in 2001.
As an immigrant parent knowing little about Western culture and American heritage, I was aware of that a huge gap would exist between my sons and me. In order to fill the holes and bridge the divergences, I took every possible opportunity of mingling with their daily lives, and accommodated my thoughts to the interests of their growing minds. Thus, the “ Three Company Team” was formed, and it has gone through the boys’ childhoods and young-adulthoods in laughter and tears for many years.
All of us have a thirst to know our heritage. Without that knowledge, we will feel empty inside no matter our achievement in life. Growing up with my dear sons in America, I am content and fulfilled with my new Taiwanese-American identity and assimilated well into American society. Also, I am pleased and appreciative for being treated as their cool mother, their friend, and their best student.
Homeland Security - No One Can Get In
Vicki Huang
Five minutes to midnight. Standing outside the steel-gated door, I gently pushed the door-bell, using my fingertip as though the rusted bell were a piece of precious yet fragile jewelry. Oh, how I wished I could just sneak in without having to face the scrutinizing eyes, not one, but two pairs, from a curious-minded, eighty-plus-year-old couple. What was a single woman doing out so late at night?
Attempting to fence off a string of questions that were sure to come my way, I quickly volunteered a firm answer, short of explaining where I was the whole night: “Sorry, I tried but couldn’t get away earlier.” Unsatisfied, yet feeling out of place to pursue, the stone-faced old couple, my in-laws, looked at each other and became silent. Not to deceive them, but I just wanted to spare myself the uneasiness of telling the truth. The truth was that I had gone to a memorial concert dedicated to Fong Fei-fei, a Taiwanese pop-diva with natural beauty, whose exceptional singing, warm personality, and determination to succeed inspired me. My in–laws, who listen nothing but classical music and opera most of their waking hours, attend only the “high-class” concerts. When it comes to musical taste, it’s a world apart between my in-laws and me, the exquisite taste for the social elites vs. the so-so taste for the commoners.
After carefully locking up the front doors, my mother-in-law became lively again. “The crime rate in Taiwan has been rising in recent years, so we have to exercise extreme precautions in and out of the house,” she alarmed me. “Come, I will show you how we secure our master bedroom.” Grabbing my arm, totally ignoring my will, she walked down the hallway to begin her presentation of “homeland security.” I smiled, not because she did not press the hard question of my whereabouts, but because I thought of her stacking many empty soft-drink cans behind the locked front-door as an extra measure during one of my previous visits.
From the spacious living/dining area, a narrow hallway joins the kitchen, the powder room, the full bathroom, and the master bedroom on one side and the guest room and the storage room on the other. My mother-in-law enthusiastically escorted me down the hallway, her skinny cold fingers still clutching my arm. From a distance, my father-in-law watched with indifference and perhaps some impatience. It had long past their 10 PM bedtime. On the wall, under the dim, yellowish lights, Degas’ ballerinas of different poses and costumes seemed to be blinking their eyes at me in mischief. I winked at them in return. My mother-in-law stopped at the white door to the full bathroom.
The door was not locked. She pushed the door open, turned the light on, and led me in. Once inside, she immediately shut the door. “See, there are three different locks,” she started to demonstrate her locking mechanism: On the top, a sliding lock with a chain; in the middle, a reversible latch-bolt; on the bottom, a sliding lock with a bar. Like beating a dead horse, as she completed sliding, turning, and pressing the locks, she would slide, turn, and press again and again to be absolutely certain that the locks are indeed secured. A trait that is all too familiar to me as I often observed the same behavior from Mike, her eldest son, my husband. Is it perfection or compulsion? I always wonder.
She then pulled the door knob several times attempting to rock the door open. The door trembled a little but was perfectly sealed. “This way, no one can come into the master bedroom from this entrance.” Like an inspector, she was satisfied with the results. “You have to see the lock we use for the master bedroom; it’s the best,” she continued her preaching as she walked me through the side door that leads to the master bedroom. “We always leave this door unlocked so we can easily get in and get out. You know how old people are … have to get up in the middle of the night.” I nodded my head in agreement and … in sympathy.
As we entered the master bedroom, I noticed that my father-in-law already sat on the edge of the bed staring at the floor, his head lowered and arms crossed. Although a hard headed, rigid, reserved man, he always shows great tolerance and affection for his energetic, sociable, free-spirited wife. It’s no wonder that she is the centerpiece of any gathering while he quietly watches with adoration. A marriage made in heaven, I thought. “Da-di, I am going to show Vicki our best lock in the house,” she cheerfully declared, overlooking the obvious sign of his growing anxiety. Seeing his weary eyes and reading his mind, I almost uttered, “Thank you but no thanks. Mike and I have the most sophisticated security system installed in our house.”
The dark, brown door, the focal point of the demo, looked thick, heavy, and a bit intimidating. “It’s made of the finest solid wood; nowadays you won’t easily find wood with such quality on the market,” she said, her fingers gently massaging the door panel. “Look at the lock! it’s a double deadbolt, the best of its kind. You should get one for your home in Houston. Now, see how it works,” she showed me the trick, setting and resetting the lock. Finally, she was ready to pull the trigger. Again, she grabbed my poor arm while she pushed me out of the room and pulled up the door behind her with the other hand. “Clapped,” the door was so closed, so solid, so like a wall that it would not shake and hardly made any sound even when she pounded on it. “Now, no one can get in.” She assured me. The demo was supposed to end here; however, it took a sudden, dramatic turn that eventually put a sour note to the otherwise a beautifully executed presentation. Indeed, No One Can Get In! I looked down on my cell: 12:42 AM.
When my mother-in-law realized that Da-di was not in the master bedroom to open the door, she became panicked, her face quickly turning pale. “Da-di, Da-di, why did you sneak out of the room?” She covered her mouth with her fingers like a little girl getting caught stealing candies from the cookie jar. Da-di quietly appeared in the hallway, hands on his waist, shaking his head, “I…I…” “Do you have the key? The key? Where is the key?” my mother-in-law abruptly cut him short. “I went to the kitchen to get some water. Now, why would I have the key with my pajamas on ready for bed?” Sleepy-eyed and irritated, Da-di finally got to complete his sentence in a raised voice. “Oh-Oh, the gentle giant is awakening, watch out.” I told myself to steer out of trouble, as I vividly recalled how he once threw a tantrum at Mike over a trivial matter in my presence while Mike and I were still dating. Not a pretty sight.
“What to do now?” My mother-in-law murmured, her eyes alternatively scanning Da-di’s and my faces … and settling on mine. Oops! I quickly offered whatever came to mind, “It’s too late to call the locksmith. You all can sleep in the guest room, and I will take the sofa in the living room.” Unsatisfied, my mother-in-law stepped up to the door of the adjacent bathroom that had already been reinforced with three layers of locks from inside. She started hammering the door with her fists then bumping the door with her shoulders, right then left, left then right. The door, made of thin, engineered plywood, shook violently yet refused to compromise. With great determination, my mother-in-law continued her warfare against the same door that had made her proud just minutes before.
“Wait, wait,” I called out. “You will break the door and the locks. Is that what you want?” “We need to get in,” She replied, short of breath, still throwing her hands and tiny body at the door. Da-di, who had suffered a minor stroke two years before and was slowly recovering, remained silent. “Allow me,” I said politely, rolling up my sleeves. Standing firm after making sure the bright red slippers snuggly covered my feet, I raised my right leg and gave the door an ultimate kick. “Yuk!” Under my command, the door surrendered without much resistance. No kidding, all that disgusting weight that had crept upon my face, my waist, my thighs, and my legs in recent years had finally paid off. I grinned.
My mother-in-law dashed inside to examine the damage from the fatal strike. Again, fingers over her slightly opened mouth, she sighed, “Hmm…Hmm..” Standing next to her, I was actually quite pleased with my kick: clean, neat, right on target. The door panel remained intact; the only casualties were the top and the bottom locks, where the portions that were supposed to attach to the door fell apart and dangled from the chain and the door frame. I almost cracked up when my mother-in-law said, “Let’s tape them up.” After carefully applying two layers of Scotch Tape, with my mother-in-law watching over my shoulders, I concluded, “Done.” Not quite, my mother-in-law grabbed the tape from my hands and continued to reinforce the lock, building two more layers of tape on top of my beautiful work. “Now, that’s much better.” She finally felt secure and was ready for bed. I looked at the “makeshift locks” and suddenly felt insecure for them.
That night, I had a dream of singing Fong Fei-fei’s song while I took a shower in the bathroom. And, when I was ready to leave the room, the door suddenly collapsed on me. Ouch!
(April 2013, Taipei)
Attempting to fence off a string of questions that were sure to come my way, I quickly volunteered a firm answer, short of explaining where I was the whole night: “Sorry, I tried but couldn’t get away earlier.” Unsatisfied, yet feeling out of place to pursue, the stone-faced old couple, my in-laws, looked at each other and became silent. Not to deceive them, but I just wanted to spare myself the uneasiness of telling the truth. The truth was that I had gone to a memorial concert dedicated to Fong Fei-fei, a Taiwanese pop-diva with natural beauty, whose exceptional singing, warm personality, and determination to succeed inspired me. My in–laws, who listen nothing but classical music and opera most of their waking hours, attend only the “high-class” concerts. When it comes to musical taste, it’s a world apart between my in-laws and me, the exquisite taste for the social elites vs. the so-so taste for the commoners.
After carefully locking up the front doors, my mother-in-law became lively again. “The crime rate in Taiwan has been rising in recent years, so we have to exercise extreme precautions in and out of the house,” she alarmed me. “Come, I will show you how we secure our master bedroom.” Grabbing my arm, totally ignoring my will, she walked down the hallway to begin her presentation of “homeland security.” I smiled, not because she did not press the hard question of my whereabouts, but because I thought of her stacking many empty soft-drink cans behind the locked front-door as an extra measure during one of my previous visits.
From the spacious living/dining area, a narrow hallway joins the kitchen, the powder room, the full bathroom, and the master bedroom on one side and the guest room and the storage room on the other. My mother-in-law enthusiastically escorted me down the hallway, her skinny cold fingers still clutching my arm. From a distance, my father-in-law watched with indifference and perhaps some impatience. It had long past their 10 PM bedtime. On the wall, under the dim, yellowish lights, Degas’ ballerinas of different poses and costumes seemed to be blinking their eyes at me in mischief. I winked at them in return. My mother-in-law stopped at the white door to the full bathroom.
The door was not locked. She pushed the door open, turned the light on, and led me in. Once inside, she immediately shut the door. “See, there are three different locks,” she started to demonstrate her locking mechanism: On the top, a sliding lock with a chain; in the middle, a reversible latch-bolt; on the bottom, a sliding lock with a bar. Like beating a dead horse, as she completed sliding, turning, and pressing the locks, she would slide, turn, and press again and again to be absolutely certain that the locks are indeed secured. A trait that is all too familiar to me as I often observed the same behavior from Mike, her eldest son, my husband. Is it perfection or compulsion? I always wonder.
She then pulled the door knob several times attempting to rock the door open. The door trembled a little but was perfectly sealed. “This way, no one can come into the master bedroom from this entrance.” Like an inspector, she was satisfied with the results. “You have to see the lock we use for the master bedroom; it’s the best,” she continued her preaching as she walked me through the side door that leads to the master bedroom. “We always leave this door unlocked so we can easily get in and get out. You know how old people are … have to get up in the middle of the night.” I nodded my head in agreement and … in sympathy.
As we entered the master bedroom, I noticed that my father-in-law already sat on the edge of the bed staring at the floor, his head lowered and arms crossed. Although a hard headed, rigid, reserved man, he always shows great tolerance and affection for his energetic, sociable, free-spirited wife. It’s no wonder that she is the centerpiece of any gathering while he quietly watches with adoration. A marriage made in heaven, I thought. “Da-di, I am going to show Vicki our best lock in the house,” she cheerfully declared, overlooking the obvious sign of his growing anxiety. Seeing his weary eyes and reading his mind, I almost uttered, “Thank you but no thanks. Mike and I have the most sophisticated security system installed in our house.”
The dark, brown door, the focal point of the demo, looked thick, heavy, and a bit intimidating. “It’s made of the finest solid wood; nowadays you won’t easily find wood with such quality on the market,” she said, her fingers gently massaging the door panel. “Look at the lock! it’s a double deadbolt, the best of its kind. You should get one for your home in Houston. Now, see how it works,” she showed me the trick, setting and resetting the lock. Finally, she was ready to pull the trigger. Again, she grabbed my poor arm while she pushed me out of the room and pulled up the door behind her with the other hand. “Clapped,” the door was so closed, so solid, so like a wall that it would not shake and hardly made any sound even when she pounded on it. “Now, no one can get in.” She assured me. The demo was supposed to end here; however, it took a sudden, dramatic turn that eventually put a sour note to the otherwise a beautifully executed presentation. Indeed, No One Can Get In! I looked down on my cell: 12:42 AM.
When my mother-in-law realized that Da-di was not in the master bedroom to open the door, she became panicked, her face quickly turning pale. “Da-di, Da-di, why did you sneak out of the room?” She covered her mouth with her fingers like a little girl getting caught stealing candies from the cookie jar. Da-di quietly appeared in the hallway, hands on his waist, shaking his head, “I…I…” “Do you have the key? The key? Where is the key?” my mother-in-law abruptly cut him short. “I went to the kitchen to get some water. Now, why would I have the key with my pajamas on ready for bed?” Sleepy-eyed and irritated, Da-di finally got to complete his sentence in a raised voice. “Oh-Oh, the gentle giant is awakening, watch out.” I told myself to steer out of trouble, as I vividly recalled how he once threw a tantrum at Mike over a trivial matter in my presence while Mike and I were still dating. Not a pretty sight.
“What to do now?” My mother-in-law murmured, her eyes alternatively scanning Da-di’s and my faces … and settling on mine. Oops! I quickly offered whatever came to mind, “It’s too late to call the locksmith. You all can sleep in the guest room, and I will take the sofa in the living room.” Unsatisfied, my mother-in-law stepped up to the door of the adjacent bathroom that had already been reinforced with three layers of locks from inside. She started hammering the door with her fists then bumping the door with her shoulders, right then left, left then right. The door, made of thin, engineered plywood, shook violently yet refused to compromise. With great determination, my mother-in-law continued her warfare against the same door that had made her proud just minutes before.
“Wait, wait,” I called out. “You will break the door and the locks. Is that what you want?” “We need to get in,” She replied, short of breath, still throwing her hands and tiny body at the door. Da-di, who had suffered a minor stroke two years before and was slowly recovering, remained silent. “Allow me,” I said politely, rolling up my sleeves. Standing firm after making sure the bright red slippers snuggly covered my feet, I raised my right leg and gave the door an ultimate kick. “Yuk!” Under my command, the door surrendered without much resistance. No kidding, all that disgusting weight that had crept upon my face, my waist, my thighs, and my legs in recent years had finally paid off. I grinned.
My mother-in-law dashed inside to examine the damage from the fatal strike. Again, fingers over her slightly opened mouth, she sighed, “Hmm…Hmm..” Standing next to her, I was actually quite pleased with my kick: clean, neat, right on target. The door panel remained intact; the only casualties were the top and the bottom locks, where the portions that were supposed to attach to the door fell apart and dangled from the chain and the door frame. I almost cracked up when my mother-in-law said, “Let’s tape them up.” After carefully applying two layers of Scotch Tape, with my mother-in-law watching over my shoulders, I concluded, “Done.” Not quite, my mother-in-law grabbed the tape from my hands and continued to reinforce the lock, building two more layers of tape on top of my beautiful work. “Now, that’s much better.” She finally felt secure and was ready for bed. I looked at the “makeshift locks” and suddenly felt insecure for them.
That night, I had a dream of singing Fong Fei-fei’s song while I took a shower in the bathroom. And, when I was ready to leave the room, the door suddenly collapsed on me. Ouch!
(April 2013, Taipei)
What Happens In Vegas
Carol Chang
Fifteen years ago, I was working a trade show in Vegas with several young ladies. One day, I saw my co-workers were whispering and laughing amongst themselves. I couldn't help to think, 'Are they laughing at me? For eating too much at the buffet last night?' But I only had three plates! I had to get my monies worth. Don't you hate whispering? It makes you think there is a secret and you are not in on it. I needed to know! I asked, ‘What are you whispering about?' They whispered back to me, 'Chippendales.' 'What? Chipmunks?' 'No.' , 'male strippers.' It turned out, last night, two of my co-workers were too full to sleep, so they went to the Chippendales show.
‘What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas’ is the most famous slogan in tourism. It helped to drive millions of visitors to Sin City. Vegas gives them the freedom to do things they couldn't do at home. It allows them to begin their own Vegas adventures. I am only telling you my Vegas adventure because I needed a speech topic. I, A 50 years old woman watched a male stripper show, that was my secret for many years. Besides, now, I am TOO OLD to feel embarrassed about anything. And, certainly not too old to Google Chippendales. Wow! A lot of Racy images popped out. You can see their uniforms is like a tuxedo shirt being ripped off, leaving only a white collar, a black bow tie and two cuffs.
The day I heard about Chippendales, I stared at their poster. Don't get me wrong, I was not staring at their half naked bodies, I was staring at the words. It read, 'put sin back into the sin city,' 'sin'? I wouldn’t dare to commit any sin. If I must go to hell because of it, I might as well grab someone to go with me! I announced to my co-workers, 'If anyone accompanies me to the show, I will pay for your ticket.' Money talks! Quickly, I got myself not one but two companions. One insisted to sit at the front near the stage, and I paid extra for her seat. But I did not want to see naked bodies right in front of my nose. The other one chose to sit in the last row, but I wouldn't have been able to see rippling muscles and tight butts from that far. I had no choice but to sit at middle section without their companies. Ai, I should spend their ticket money on more buffets.
Before the show started, Chippendales showed up to meet the audience. One of the Chippendales looked to be of Asian descent. He was irresistibly sexy, with dreamy eyes and mysterious smile. All the Asian girls in the audience went crazy for him, they were screaming so loud. I saw him come towards me, the girls around me all stood up and cheered. I did not budge, I sat like a statue. I assumed he would only pay attention to young girls. Boy, Was I wrong? He came straight to me, I struggled to get up, and he gave me a big hug. I was stunned. My eyes were glued on him every second until he disappeared on me!
After much anticipation and screaming, the show began. Like toastmasters, Chippendales wear many hats. One minute, They were military men marching, next minute, they were Cowboys dancing, and construction workers hammering, motorcycle riders racing, last but not the least, as romantic gentleman. The show was fantastic! Do you know how fast Chippendales ripped off their shirts? It was like lightning strike. Do you know what happened at the climax of the show? When the audience held their breath and anticipating, the light was suddenly shut off. Oh, thank God for saving me from committing the sin. Overall, the show was much better than what I expected, it was definitely worth my buffet money!
After the show, there was a long line of women waiting to take photos with the Chippendales. My coworkers were at the end of line, after they were done, and we were about to leave, the long-haired Chippendale called out to me. 'Yo, that lady with the big bag, come over, we'd like to give you a free photo shoot!' 'Me?!' Hurriedly, I ran to them, and I got a picture of my Vegas adventure. In the picture, a line of Chippendales were behind me, and I held my bag with two hands in front of my tummy. I looked like an old lady who felt out of place and didn't know what to do. What surprised me further was that, in the picture, the long-haired Chippendale was leaning towards me, and his hand was touching my hair, lovingly... as if he was caring for his granny.
‘What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas’ is the most famous slogan in tourism. It helped to drive millions of visitors to Sin City. Vegas gives them the freedom to do things they couldn't do at home. It allows them to begin their own Vegas adventures. I am only telling you my Vegas adventure because I needed a speech topic. I, A 50 years old woman watched a male stripper show, that was my secret for many years. Besides, now, I am TOO OLD to feel embarrassed about anything. And, certainly not too old to Google Chippendales. Wow! A lot of Racy images popped out. You can see their uniforms is like a tuxedo shirt being ripped off, leaving only a white collar, a black bow tie and two cuffs.
The day I heard about Chippendales, I stared at their poster. Don't get me wrong, I was not staring at their half naked bodies, I was staring at the words. It read, 'put sin back into the sin city,' 'sin'? I wouldn’t dare to commit any sin. If I must go to hell because of it, I might as well grab someone to go with me! I announced to my co-workers, 'If anyone accompanies me to the show, I will pay for your ticket.' Money talks! Quickly, I got myself not one but two companions. One insisted to sit at the front near the stage, and I paid extra for her seat. But I did not want to see naked bodies right in front of my nose. The other one chose to sit in the last row, but I wouldn't have been able to see rippling muscles and tight butts from that far. I had no choice but to sit at middle section without their companies. Ai, I should spend their ticket money on more buffets.
Before the show started, Chippendales showed up to meet the audience. One of the Chippendales looked to be of Asian descent. He was irresistibly sexy, with dreamy eyes and mysterious smile. All the Asian girls in the audience went crazy for him, they were screaming so loud. I saw him come towards me, the girls around me all stood up and cheered. I did not budge, I sat like a statue. I assumed he would only pay attention to young girls. Boy, Was I wrong? He came straight to me, I struggled to get up, and he gave me a big hug. I was stunned. My eyes were glued on him every second until he disappeared on me!
After much anticipation and screaming, the show began. Like toastmasters, Chippendales wear many hats. One minute, They were military men marching, next minute, they were Cowboys dancing, and construction workers hammering, motorcycle riders racing, last but not the least, as romantic gentleman. The show was fantastic! Do you know how fast Chippendales ripped off their shirts? It was like lightning strike. Do you know what happened at the climax of the show? When the audience held their breath and anticipating, the light was suddenly shut off. Oh, thank God for saving me from committing the sin. Overall, the show was much better than what I expected, it was definitely worth my buffet money!
After the show, there was a long line of women waiting to take photos with the Chippendales. My coworkers were at the end of line, after they were done, and we were about to leave, the long-haired Chippendale called out to me. 'Yo, that lady with the big bag, come over, we'd like to give you a free photo shoot!' 'Me?!' Hurriedly, I ran to them, and I got a picture of my Vegas adventure. In the picture, a line of Chippendales were behind me, and I held my bag with two hands in front of my tummy. I looked like an old lady who felt out of place and didn't know what to do. What surprised me further was that, in the picture, the long-haired Chippendale was leaning towards me, and his hand was touching my hair, lovingly... as if he was caring for his granny.
Prayer for My Dad Robert Lee
Simon Lee
In light of my dad's cancer, I wanted share one thing about my dad. I laid in bed this afternoon thinking about my dad. Tears filled my heart as I remember what a great dad he was to me. He gave me the seed money to start our first company. He drove up to Austin because I was struggling with depression as a freshman at UT. He gave me money to go to Harvard business school. He never put pressure on me to be like him. He allowed me to be free and do my best. He played tennis with me when I was little and beat me each time. He allowed me to work at McDonalds in the summer to earn a few dollars in high school. Taught me a great deal about hard work. He never told me how much he made until college. I can literally go on and on. I am turning 43 this year so the stories would be endless. However through it all there was one gift that was greatest of all! It was the gift of marriage. My parents have been together all their lives. Almost 50 years! I know not all my friends experienced this so I know I am very blessed in this respect.
As I write this, my eyes are filled with tears knowing that my dad had a lot to do with the way I am today. I treasure my wife because he treasured his. 16 years of weekly date night is nothing comparing to the 50 years of commitment that my parents to made to each other. I remember growing up hanging out with my dad when my mom was not around. I would see if he was checking out other women. He did not do it once. Never. Ever! I even went as far as going into his closet to see if I can locate any porn magazine. Nothing. Clean!! I am so proud of him to remain faithful to my mom and to our family. There is no other gift other than the gift of salvation that can trump this. He gave me the best gift this earth has to offer. Faithfulness to his wife and to us. Tears are running down my face as I am overwhelmed with gratitude to God. Today I don't want to be a good husband or good dad. I want to be an excellent husband and an excellent dad. My dad gave me a great example and I want this legacy to continue for generations to come or till Christ come back.
I know this is such a rare gift from a father to a son so that is why I have to share this with everyone. Let's strive for excellence. Though our past may be different, God can make the wrong right. He can heal and forgive. If we allow Him, our legacy can be realigned. I love you guys! Dad I love you. Thank you for being my example! Praying for full healing for you and that God's peace would carry us through.
As I write this, my eyes are filled with tears knowing that my dad had a lot to do with the way I am today. I treasure my wife because he treasured his. 16 years of weekly date night is nothing comparing to the 50 years of commitment that my parents to made to each other. I remember growing up hanging out with my dad when my mom was not around. I would see if he was checking out other women. He did not do it once. Never. Ever! I even went as far as going into his closet to see if I can locate any porn magazine. Nothing. Clean!! I am so proud of him to remain faithful to my mom and to our family. There is no other gift other than the gift of salvation that can trump this. He gave me the best gift this earth has to offer. Faithfulness to his wife and to us. Tears are running down my face as I am overwhelmed with gratitude to God. Today I don't want to be a good husband or good dad. I want to be an excellent husband and an excellent dad. My dad gave me a great example and I want this legacy to continue for generations to come or till Christ come back.
I know this is such a rare gift from a father to a son so that is why I have to share this with everyone. Let's strive for excellence. Though our past may be different, God can make the wrong right. He can heal and forgive. If we allow Him, our legacy can be realigned. I love you guys! Dad I love you. Thank you for being my example! Praying for full healing for you and that God's peace would carry us through.