Father's Day

I haven't had anytime to write in the last few months. After planning for a trip to Viet Nam was unsuccessful, there were not much to talk about ... until now. I have to continue to write, or else ...
There are only a couple of days before we celebrate Father's Day. I did not want to talk about the relationship with my dad. I wanted to bury it as deep as I could. Talking about it is the last thing that I wanted to do, but here I am, talking about the relationship between a father and a son on the Father's Day.

It all started in the last few days. First my younger brother came for a business deal which went really bad, due to many differences between our ways of doing business. He had to stay longer than he intended because he could not get an open seat on any flights back to Houston Texas. Staying with us is boring because I don't drink, I don't smoke, I don't swear, and most of all I don't BS too much like him. There are big gaps, and differences between us.

I haven't seen him for quite a long time, a few years at least. After many tries, he finally talked to me again over the phone in the last few months. We had not talked for over 3-4 years before that. The more I learn about him, and his life, the more I see the exact image of our dad.

My father has been a heavy drinker, an alcoholic for all his life, as long as I can remember. Even now, after suffering from strokes after strokes, being paralyzed over half of his body, he comes back and drinks again, ignores the advice of his doctors and everyone around him.

My brother is very much the same. He would try to find any reason to drink. He's lived like there is no tomorrow. He drinks, smokes, eats without caring for any consequences. His health is a mess. His life is a bigger mess. Barely at the age of fifty, he suffered a mild stroke, which should have warned him about his health, but he just ignored it like nothing ever happened. The excuse phrase of everybody has to die sometimes really piss me off. It irritates me to no end. I wanted to scream at the top of my lung that most likely you will not die right away, but suffer for a long long time on a wheel chair, or laying half dead on a bed without hope. You will cause all kind of heartache for people around you, and your love ones. But it all falls on deaf ears. He finally left for home after putting up a bigger barricade between us. I am giving up on him. The only thing I can do now is pray.

Yesterday, my little sister came here from California an hour or two after he left. She stays in my other sister's home which is about half an hour driving away. I came home after a few hours meeting up with her. While I was doing dishes, all the memories flooded back just like water gushed out from a broken dam. I could not hold it back. All the year of growing up in Viet Nam after the falls of Sai Gon came back in vengeance.

I remember growing up as a teenager with eight younger siblings, the youngest one was barely four years old. The hardship caused by my unskilled father who could not manage enough money to feed his children. It was getting harder and harder everyday. I remember it vividly during the hardest time of our young lives, the year 1978-1979. During these two year period, the communist forced people to work for the government in which they called "hop tac xa" meaning "work together like prisoners in the camp". You own nothing, the government owns everything. By the end of a working day, every body receives equally no matter how hard you try. What motivation is there that makes you work harder.

The country went into shock. Those were the years that there was very little to harvest. Almost all the rice field were bare. Nobody cares. Everyone receives the same, then nothing motivates you to work harder. The cost of rice shot up thru the roof. The majority of the population had very little to fill up their stomachs. Southern Viet Nam had never been this hungry before and probably never will be again.

We were no exception. There were so many days that we had very little to fill our already empty stomachs. It did not matter what we wanted to put in there, as long as it made us full. I couldn't bear to see my little sisters crying due to hunger. You don't know how it feels like being hungry all the times. You are dreaming about food every minutes of the day.

During that time, my father made very little, but the saddest part is he spent sometimes more than half of what he was making for the day on alcohol. The rest was spent on the food for the whole family, which was next to nothing.

I have to skip because even to this day, it's so hard to bring back these memories.

My father and I are two different worlds. We can not talk for more than a few minutes before an argument erupted. We are just like water and fire. Later on when I was getting older, I was more patient to put up with his arrogance, and ignorance without a fuss. But still, it's pretty hard to communicate with my dad. I have to put up my mask, and carry on the conversation as civilize as I could to keep our fragile relationship intact.

So much so, Father's day always comes with mixed emotion. I feel really bad if I don't call him to wish him well. At the same time, I don't feel comfortable calling my dad to chit chat, or to share any past memories. In another word, we don't have much to talk about.

Today, I no longer having the hatred feelings toward my dad any more. He is who he is. He has not changed for most of his life as I have known him so what the next few years are going to be any different. I've tried to mend the gap between us. Hopefully, it will bring us peace.

For the rest of my life, I don't think I will ever be able to say "I love you, dad". But at least, I can now say from the bottom of my heart: "Have a happy Father's day, dad!".