MY DAD

It was Wednesday, April 30^th 1975. The sky over Saigon was gray, and the river bled a mucky muddy-brown color. Our family had just been picked up by a ragged ill-repaired river tanker. Duong Bay had just helped get the old diesel engine restarted, and the old boat began its continuing struggle down the river. On deck, things settled down to an eerie uneasy calmness. At the stern of the ship, Dad stood silently looking back at the shore. His lips quivered. The evening sun answered him by shedding its golden rays reflecting over the waves as though to say goodbye to the lieutenant colonel.

… Late November of 1975 in Charleston, South Carolina: Dad turned the old beat-up white Plymouth Valiant down a dirt road to go pick up his first paycheck at Charleston Waste Refuge Center. The wind picked up, and a putrid stench hit the non-air-conditioned car like a tsunami. I pinched my nose quickly, but Dad remained unfazed. We were still more than a mile from where he worked.

… One day in 1984 in Houston, Texas: Dad emerged from the walk-in cooler in his tattered pilot jacket smiling. My Dad, the 7-Eleven Store Manager, did the heavy lifting, so I could stand at the register in my clean orange uniform.

These are some of the images of Dad that I will never forget.

Dad has always been a solid anchor to me. From that fateful day on the Saigon River, when he stood at the stern saying goodbye to the land of his ancestors, to the shaky steps he took going from his hospital bed to the portable toilet; this man I called Dad was always solidly grounded in my heart.

Every time I thought of Dad, I want to yell out at the top of my lung, “I love you, Dad.” although it is an un-Vietnamese thing to do.

Last Sunday, I spent a full day with Dad at MD Anderson. We talked about many things. Things that are important to him at this time: God, religion, theology, faith, and family. We talked at length about his life mission, his hope, and his unfinished dreams. He faded in and out during our chat, but his mind was still sharp, his manner gentle, and his smile ever present.

“I love you, Dad.” I wanted to yell out at the top of my lung, though it is an un-Vietnamese thing to do.

But I did not have to say it so loud, Dad said it for me. He said it in the way he shifted his weakened body to gesture, when he excitedly told me about how much he loves my daughter Van and my sons Vinh and Minh. He lit up when he described his hope for them and for our family. He said it when he acknowledged in gratefulness for my thoughts and prayers for him. He saw in my actions that I love him. The man never thought of only himself. Yes, that is my Dad—a man who always thinks of others even on his death bed. This is my Dad, my hero of war and peace—a man that fought for his beloved country, sorted trash to feed his young family, worked long night shifts hours to put his children to college. This is my Dad. My Dad is a man filled with love.

My Dad is also a man of courage. For 25 years, he gave his very best for a country of his love. He never bragged about his Purple Heart and a host of other medals he had deservedly earned during the War. To him, it was duties, honor and country. He proudly defended South Vietnam, until that fateful day in April. I remember that day, as though it was yesterday: how my Dad calmly pushed each of us onto the tanker amidst the raging waters, then swiftly came back for Mom. His actions were deliberate and valiant. His manner was intrepid and steadfast.

Then in America, he demonstrated his courage in different ways. He worked hard to feed his family. It did not matter whatever job it was at the time, my Dad did everything with pure determination—a determination that fueled by the hope of a better life for his children. At 7-Eleven, he replaced the danger of war with the risk of nightly robbery. He exchanged the fire fight in the jungles for the dark nozzle of a stick-up gun on the night shifts. Yet, he came back again night after night determining to make a better life for his family.

Then late last year, he got tired more easily. By the time my sister Ha convinced him to go to MD Anderson for check-up, it was too late. The leukemia was wide spread. The doctors gave him only days to live, but he fought on. Last month, when they sent him home saying there was nothing else they can do for him, again he fought on. My sisters gathered around to care for him, and he fought on never to give up. It is his will to live that drove God to grant him the extra time.

But now the time has come. The fluttering flame on the candle that had nothing left to burn is gone. In his last days, he told me about his dream of having his children and grandchildren continue his legacy. His is a legacy of love, courage, and determination. His life is the epitome of these characters. My Dad loves unconditionally, he dares to take on challenges, and he determines to persevere. Using the words of Saint Paul: my Dad has fought a good fight; he has finished the race; and he had kept the faith (2 Tim 4:7).

“I love you, Dad.” And I want to continue your legacy.

Though I may not have the intensity of love, of courage, and of determination that you exhibited; you must know that the blood that runs through my veins is that of yours. You must also know that your actions and manners are the lessons that I have learned. You must also know that the quirky, nerdy ways that I behave; I have inherited them from you. I will try my best to carry on your legacy, and perhaps, my children too will one day be immersed in that heritage as well.

It is now time for you to sleep. With love, courage and determination, you must make one last move. You must reach out and touch the Face of God. Let the Lord embrace you in your final moment. Let the angels in heaven welcome back one of their own. Let the choir of heaven sings out “Be Not Afraid”. O Dad, let your final act be one of celebration of a life well lived—a mission well accomplished.

As you wish, in the end, we will dress you in the traditional Vietnamese Áo Dài and Khăn Đóng for your eternal sleep. This is to symbolize your desire of paying the ultimate respect for the country, tradition, and values you so deeply loved. It speaks volume for your yearning for legacy. And with this legacy, I will be proud to continue.

 

May the Lord bless you and keep you.
May the Lord let His Face shine upon you and be gracious to you.
May the Lord look kindly upon you and grant you Eternal Peace.
Amen. (Numbers 6:24-26)

I love you, Dad, and go in Peace.

Le Cong Vui
August 20, 2014
Houston, Texas