Thai Describes Her American Education

My son was finalizing details on his project and planning on studying for his tests the next day.

I listened to him complain how he will have to stay up late. I told him he needed to go to bed.  This bring back lots of memories for me. 

When I first came to the United States, I did not speak any English.  My way of  communicating was using  my English/Vietnamese and Vietnamese/English dictionary.

My everyday routine  after coming home from school was help with the chores, have dinner with my family and do my homework.

I would have to use the dictionary to translate any reading material I had for my homework.

This could take several hours, until all the words translated and carefully penciled in on top of the word. Then I would go back and try to read the chapters and answer the questions.  Even after all this hard work I still could not understand much of the chapter. It did not make much sense, but I did my homework anyway. 

Months later, when I was able to know English a little better,  I realized that words I tried to translate were not necessarily the same meaning of what was in the chapter or a sentence.  My realization made me frustrated.  I would rather not know that and just do my homework the best  I could understand. 

With this realization I became discouraged, not wanting to study anymore, and yet I had to spend more time into the night trying to do my homework.  I knew that this was the only way for me to succeed and gain education in this country.  If I wanted to live here and have a future here, I HAD to learn the language.

There were times when my mom peeked into my room with worried eyes because it was so late in the night, but she left me alone.  She knew this was the only way for me to better myself.  With this memory in mind, I told my son I loved him and goodnight.

Vietnamese Church Confession

I was raised as a Catholic.  As far as I remember my parents told me that we have been Catholic for many generations.  I grew up going to church every Sunday and every holy obligation day.  I went to Bible school every Sunday, and know to go confession at LEAST once a year. That's what I learned, but once a year was not what my family did.  According to my parents, I had to go once a month and I guess maybe because of my culture or the way I was raised, I still do whatever my parents said. I didn't argue then and I still do it now.

I remember one time I rode my bike to the church on a Saturday afternoon for my monthly confession with the priest.  It took me about twenty minutes to get there, and it was raining hard, too.  By the time I got to the Church, I was very wet.  The confession line in the Chapel was long.  I got in, kneeled at one of the chairs and did my usual prayers.  After that, I stood in line with the rest of the people and waited for my turn.

My heart was pumping so loud I felt that everybody could hear it.  When it was my turn, the priest told me he was going ask me a few questions about the Bible lessons I learned.  I don't remember what the one question was, but I did not know the answer.  The priest then opened the curtain, peeked his head out and yelled at me in front of everybody that he would not do the confession for me, to go home, study and come back next week.  I left the church with a heavy heart, felt humiliated and the thought of the ride home in the rain made me want to cry.

Nowadays,  I try to get my children to go to the reconciliation at least twice a year, and they still complain. I told them my story and tell them that was why my heart pounded so hard every time I faced the priest.  Today, we call it reconciliation. Just the word itself sounds easier than confession.  I don't understand why  the Vietnamese priest had to make it so scary and terrifying then. After all, we were going to make peace with our God and knew that he would always love us, no matter what we did.  The Catholic church today is more understanding and easier. My children shouldn't feel so terrified to go face God at the reconciliation booth.  Actually, I don't think they are scared. They are just lazy.  I hope my experience will help them see how lucky they are that they don't have to go through what I went through.  I look forward to reconciling with God every time. I feel good about it.

Death Reflection and a Dream of Peace

The front of my house in Bong Son had a porch with painted rails.  The top of the rail was wide enough for me to sit or lie on.  In the early morning I liked to like lie on it, so I could feel the coolness of the cement base on my back and enjoy the early morning sun.  One morning I was lying there feeling the sun and dreaming who knows what at that age.  I heard my oldest sister's voice calling for me. Her voice was loud and somewhat hysterical.  I did not want anything to disrupt my dreamy morning, so I decided to ignore her calling me.


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After a while, I decided to run to the back of the house. There I saw my sister  kneeling on the ground beside the rabbits' cage and our dogs were there, too.  I was terrified at the sight and realized that our rabbits were having babies  and the cage's rails were too big to hold the babies so they were dropping on to the ground, and the dogs were trying to attack the baby rabbits.  I ran to my sister and tried to shoo the dogs away. She was crying, and I felt so bad for not coming to her sooner.   A couple of the baby rabbits died from the attack of our dogs.  I told her I was sorry. We picked up the lifeless bodies of the rabbits and buried them by the lemon tree.

We lived in a place where we saw dead bodies carried up on our street almost every day  because of the crossed gun fires of the previous nights and where because of the war, human lives seemed so unimportant. But that does not means we do not value our lives and the lives of the others.  If the life of a tiny baby rabbits means that much for us to shed tears, then we know we wanted to live, and live with a peaceful happy life.  I wished the war had ended differently, and with a different government even if it meant we would die in the sea or in the jungles as long as we have freedom.  Also many of our soldiers  were jailed and many have died even after the war ended, and we are supposed to have peace in our country.  And let's not forget all the soldiers who have fought and died for the peace and happiness of Vietnam.  I hope one day Viet Nam will have real peace and happiness so all of our tears  had not been shed in vain.

Bombing the Bong Son Bridge

The explosion was so loud that it woke up the whole entire city of Bong Son.  I opened my eyes to this loud noise so close by my house. At the same time I saw all of the windows and doors of our house spring wide open.  Things on the shelves in my house were crashing down on the floor.  I heard my mom's terrifying voice called out to us to go in to the more secure room to hide.  I was crouching low
on the floor while there were guns firing outside.  We knew right away that loud noise was a bomb meant to sabotage someone or somthing specific, but we did not know what got hit. 


After what seemed like an eternity, the gun fire wore down, and we all went back to bed. The next morning we found out the bridge that helped us to travel from the village to the city of Bong Son had been sabotaged last night.  It was the saddest sight I have ever seen.  I had always known that our lives were connected to war and we could be killed any time, but seeing the broken bridge, which had taken me and my friends to school, to church, to the market etc. in the city of Bong Son saddened me. It made me realize war was close to home, and we were helpless to do anything to stop it.

Vietnam 1970's Wedding: Thai attends her first wedding

My mom told me one night she would take me to a wedding reception with her in the morning.  Being very young, children often do not attend these important events. Only the adults are invited.  Imagine my excitement.

My mom and I left early for the wedding ceremony at church. She reminded me to get ready.  I was excited not because of the food, but because I had not attended any weddings yet.  I wanted to see what happened. 

We went to the groom's house first.  All the ladies dressed in Vietnamese Traditional Dress (Ao Dai). They were all sorts of different colors with flowers imprinted on their dresses.  Some men also dressed in Ao Dai,

and some wore regular slacks and shirts.  My little brother and I were escorted  to the table where all the kids were sitting while my parents went up to the main room of the house. 

There were big signs all over the house starting at the gate that said "Tan Hon," meaning newly weds.  From the gate through the courtyard into the front door were decorations of red fabric ribbons and flowers.  I noticed that even the landscape pots were tidy and pretty. 

I saw the bride in her red wedding dress woven with golden.  She paired it with a white satin pants and a red round hat.  She topped her dress with outer wear made of sheer fabric rimmed with gold.  I thought she was so pretty.  To me her husband was a different story.  He also wore white satin pants and a long silk shiny blue ao dai. On his head also was a round blue hat but he did not look pretty like the bride.  I thought he looked weird.

Then there was music, but by this time, after the ceremony at the home, introductions of the relatives,

and passing around the teas and gifts, I was tired and ready to go home.  I wanted to get out of my pretty

dress, which I was so excited to put on that morning for the occasion.  I saw some children running around the courtyard and playing. I started to join them, but my mom looked at me with a smile and shook her head.  I knew she wanted me to behave.

I do not know how long a time had passed, but I finally got to hold my mom's hand and go home.  What a relief! I remember thinking weddings weren't fun at all.

My Mother in Vietnam, Now I'm a Mother to Her in America

Taking care of my mom  every weekend is an honor,  a privilege, and a duty  I am glad I am able to share with my siblings.  This Saturday when I was at my mom's,  to my surprise she was not her usual quiet self.  She patted gently on her bed and told me to come lie down next to her.  I came and put my head on her pillow,  my face to her.  To be this close to her, I was able to see how beautiful her skin is for her age.  I giggled to her, "Mom, you are so pretty. Do you think maybe because you have been eating just vegetables,  fruits and milk?"  She did not answer me, but just touched  my face and smiled.  I saw the glistening tenderness in her eyes.  I did not know what she was thinking, but I thought how ironically our positions had changed.  I was the one she was taking care of,  and now I  am taking care of her.

I remember being very young and sick one time.  I did not know what my temperature reading was, but my fever was high.  My mom asked a nurse in the next village to come see me.  He gave me some pills.  I guess it was kind of like Tylenol nowadays.  We did not have antibiotics to help me feel better the next day.  I was in bed with a high fever for days.  My mom did everything she could to help my body fight the virus.  She made me orange juice she picked from the tree.  She cooked me congee with lots of  peppers in  it.  She put a wet towel on my forehead every so often.  Because of the fever I had many weird scary dreams.  Every time I woke in the night, my mom was always there watching over me and hugged me, so I won't be alone.

Now, sometimes my mom wakes up  in the middle of the night and opens the front door. Because I am sleeping and tired, this makes me frustrated at times.  She was so patient with me. I only hope I can be  patient with her. I understand now that no love on this earth can compare to a mom's love,  and my love for my mom is nothing compared to her love for me.  Thanks Mom.

Flood in Vietnam

Flood is something my village had to endure every year.  If we were lucky, we would have one flood every year. Most years we ended up with two or sometimes three floods.  My village was between a mountain, brook and the Lai Giang River.  The river's end connected into the ocean.  When it rained for days, the water would overflow the river and the brook. On top of that we would have water coming from above the mountain and all of that flowed into our village.

Because of the flood, most of our homes in the village had raised foundations.  Sometimes the flood would just hit the foundation and withdraw, and sometimes it would come into our homes and rise high up, almost to the ceiling.  For my parents and the adults this was a
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hard time, but for us children, when the water started to creep into our streets we were overjoyed. As children we were excited to feel the water at our feet on our own street and yards.
The crickets came out from their holes, so we caught and stored them in jars.  My dog and I used a hollow
door and floated around our yard until the water was too high for safety.  After the fun, we were all soaked
and wet. We went upstairs. My mom would feed us steamed rice with salty fish.  This was the best
meal...ever!

My beloved people  had to suffer not just from the war, but also had to endure so many other catastrophes in life. And yet we were always there for each other. We shared the same values and love as my mom shared when she provided that small pot of steamed rice with the rest of the villager who were there at our house
on a rainy, stormy day.