The Way of THIS Dragon

The writer Victoria Holt famously said, “Never regret. If it’s good, it’s wonderful.  If it’s bad, it’s experience.”  Sorry, but I have to disagree with you.  There is only one thing that I truly regret in my life and it’s an experience that I wish I could take back.

I had mentioned in my first post that English was the only language that I speak.  Being a Mother now, I wanted to learn everything I could about what I was like as a “youngin.”  My Mom told me years ago that when I was a baby, she taught me some basic Vietnamese and I was very good at speaking it.  I can’t remember that far back, but she said how cute it was to hear this little girl voice, speaking back to her in her native tongue.  It was a special connection between us that was profound and indescribable.

My Mom was born in South Vietnam in 1952, the Year of the Dragon.  There are A LOT of Dragons in my family, but that will be another post for another day.  She was one of nine children.  The Vietnam War, or Chiến tranh Việt Nam, didn’t begin until November 1, 1955.  When my Mom was in high school, there were classes that taught English, but she said there was no need for her to learn, she lived in Vietnam.  Why would she need to learn English?  Little did she know, at that time, it would have been a good idea to take those classes.

My Dad was born in Nebraska in 1947, the Year of the Boar.  He was one of four children.  Wanting to have some adventure in his life, he joined the Navy in 1966.  After serving honorably for 4 years, he was discharged as an E-5 Second Class Petty Officer in 1970.  He was a Maintenance Mechanic that maintained fighter jets, as well as Huey helicopters.  Those skills led him to be contracted by Northrop Grumman, where he would travel to Vietnam in 1971 to instruct the South Vietnamese how to do the same.  Little did he know, at the time, that fate would lead him to his future wife.

Like something out of a movie script, my Mom worked as a hostess in a restaurant owned by her Aunt.  In the early half of 1972 my Dad descended upon that eatery for a little chow and became enamored with a beautiful local girl who worked there – my Mom.  After that first night, he continued to eat there every night for a week until he got her attention.  He eventually did, and he ended up falling in love with that beautiful girl “with hair so long that she had to pull to one side in order to sit.”

They were married in 1974.

When my Mom came to the United States she brought both of her sisters – Mimi and Tuyet.

Ultimately, the three went their separate ways; my Aunt Mimi to New Jersey, my Aunt Tuyet to California and my parents to Colorado, where my Dad’s family resided.  It was difficult for my Mom, not knowing English and having her sisters live so far away, but the hardest part was meeting my Dad’s relatives.  The war was over, but the residual feelings still lingered for many people, those for and against the war.  Never truly accepting her as part of the family, my Mom was a constant reminder of the war.

She told me that the only family member who was kind to her was my Dad’s Grandmother.  Grandma Cora would sneak gifts for my parent’s new abode in Empire, CO when no one was looking.  When she passed, my Mom only had my Dad for support.  They made the best of what they had and lived their lives.  Then I came along. 😉 I wasn’t planned, but they were both happy they had another chance for a family after losing my older sister to diphtheria years earlier.

When I was old enough to start kindergarten, my Mom warned me not to speak Vietnamese around the other kids.  I had no idea that they wouldn’t understand me.  After all, didn’t everyone have a family like mine?

Well, of course, I didn’t listen to her and was made fun of for the weird sounds that I was uttering.  After that first traumatic day, I returned home and exclaimed: “I hate you, I hate your stupid language and I’m never speaking it again!”

For whatever reason, I never asked my Mom how she felt when I said that.  Probably not very good, but since that day, I never again spoke another word of Vietnamese.

I had no idea, at the time, that I would be missing out on so much.  In 1981, we moved from Colorado to California where my Aunt Tuyet lived.  We lived in California for a short time and then back to Colorado we went.  Eventually we moved to New Jersey in 1982 where my Aunt Mimi lived.

Once in Jersey, I connected for the first time with my cousin, Susi, my Aunt Mimi’s daughter.  She didn’t know how to speak Vietnamese either, so at least I wasn’t alone in that regard.

However, when the three sisters would get together, it was like Little Vietnam.  We would watch in wonder, at the speed of their diction, speculating on what they were saying about us.  They would talk, look as us and then talk some more.  It drove us nuts!

It was during those times that I most longed to regain what I’d lost in those early years.  A part of me secretly wished I would have ignored the jeers and continued learning my native tongue, at the time.

Flash forward to now.  I still can’t speak Vietnamese, but one of my goals this year is to learn.   I want to be able to pass down to my son a special part of his heritage, but to also reconnect with my Mom in a whole new way.  Rosetta Stone, don’t let me down!