Bút Ký: BA - THE DAD (1) - Trương N. Hương

BA - THE DAD Rumor has it that my first word was “Ba”, which in Vietnamese means Dad. My Ba is a man of little words for his children but plenty of words for others who seek his advice. I have never seen a dinner table gone silent if he was seated with food in front and drink in hand. He enjoys telling stories of his picturesque experiences, joking with his friends about nonsensical happenings in the news, and always, jousting about politics as if he himself was a prime minister some time in his past life. By the time I was born, he wore a bald crown and a receding hairline that was quickly thinning away from black to gray to white. The earliest memories I hold of him involves a lot of karaoke, house parties, and him being an MC on stage at weddings and temple celebrations. He is the life of a party for his generation, the brave who crossed oceans in ’75 to America from Vietnam. Apart from the his party attire, (picture baggy gray suit pants paired with an oversized white button up covering his rotund beer belly accented with dark brown loafers and a light blue tie made in the 80’s) my earliest image of my father is him in his bright red, oversized Ford work t-shirt frayed at the edges, blue, baggy, oil clad jeans, and sturdy, beat-up, black work boots half hazardously laced and tied. His hands were always covered in machine oil. As hard as he partied, he worked even harder to provide for his family. Through his work ethic, he also made sure his children understood the value of an education. BA being an MC at Temple

“Get an education so you do not have to work a dirty factory job like your mom and I,” said my father as he picks up eight-year-old me from school. Third grade was around the first time I heard him mention that line, which he will continuously bring up until this day. In the beginning, I would always reply by telling him not to worry and that I would one day become a very successful, very rich doctor. As time passed, my answers became more vague. “Don’t worry, I’m planning to go to college” or “Yes, I know. Don’t worry.” He knew from about the time I began high school that the doctor card was no longer playing. My dad never really questioned my decisions or the choices I made. He allowed me to make my own mistakes and learned from them. As long as I understood authority, respect, and the consequences if my plans fell through, he had no quarrels with me doing whatever I wanted. However, that never stops a parent’s worries. If I were to ever call home to request a little funding for school or even a day trip somewhere, he would as quickly as possible transfer me money. Now that does not mean he spoiled me or gave me every thing I ever requested. He gave me what I deserved, what I need to focus on my studies, and what provided me the essentials of living. Currently, being six and half hours away from home, that means money. When I was younger, he would either wait months to get me a toy or a movie if I asked. There was one item he never waited to get me if I asked nicely, books. While my friends’ parents were outside playing catch and shooting hoops with them, my father was literally throwing books at me and telling me to read. I never understood why he did this until I began to register for college realizing that some people do not experience this privilege. Education, to my father, is invaluable. He does not have a college degree and works a six to overtime factory job. To him, seeing me go to college is the fruit of his labor and his own ambitions. (to be continued)