The Vietnam War ended long before I was born so the pain and suffering was all endured by my parents, aunts and uncles.
I didn’t know about war until I arrived in the states. My grandma’s oldest son had successfully escaped by boat and eventually started making enough money to fly his brother’s and sister’s away from communism.
By the time it was my Mom’s turn to come over to the US, most of her siblings were already living here.
Before we left, my parents told my sister and I that Dad wasn’t coming with us because of passport issues. The plan was for him to spend the next two years working on getting his green card and reunite with us in the states.
So at 7 years old my Mom, Sister, and I flew from Vietnam to Houston Texas.
When we arrived, the housing situation that awaited us was not ideal. Three family branches were stuffed inside a 3 bedroom one story house. Along with our sweet grandma.
If you had asked the 7 year old me, sweet is not the word I’d use to describe her. I grew up hating her for most of the years I’ve got to spend with her. It was not until recently that I now understood my hate was miss guided.
In her old age, she wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. In my eyes, she never fully escaped the war. The scars left her playing defense for the rest of her life. So its not like her intentions were ever ill because all she ever wanted to do was to project her kin, but her methods are irrational. As a kid I failed to understand her.
My Dad constantly kept up with our life in the states. He would call us monthly to catch up with all of us and to ask my Mom for money.
While working minimum wage jobs, raising two stubborn kids, and living with no privacy, she agreed to send him money. Till this day I don’t know whether to commend her heart or judge her stupidity in that decision. She decided to send him money over providing more for herself or her kids.
After a year and six months had gone by prior to arriving in the states. My Mom had saved up enough money to buy 3 plane tickets and take a 1 month vacation back to Vietnam. I remember complaining about going on that trip because all of my cousins were going on a separate fancy vacation with our rich uncle. Man was I right.
The airport we arrived back in Vietnam was a three day trip away from my home town. On the way home from the road, we stopped by a few places to revisit as tourist. The happy part of the trip lasted for two days. On the third day, I woke up hearing someone crying. As I walked towards the moaning and weeping my heart slowly sank as I realize who it was. My Mom was balled up on the bathroom floor trying to keep her volume down. When I tapped on her shoulder and asked, she said to go ask your Dad and his mistress back at the house.
What the hell is a mistress???
I ran out to find my dad sitting alone smoking a cigarette. He answers that there was another woman back home.
The mistress was not the only surprise my Dad had in store for us. He thought that his family living in the states would appreciate the fact that he had been using the hard earned money from my Mom to build a hideous sky blue three story house, right behind our old house.
It looked like a giant blue Lego piece was dropped into the backyard, surrounded by poverty. You’d think something like that would excite a kid like me but even I knew it was stupid and a waste of money.
As we walked through the front door, the mistress greeted us. She was just as surprised as us and immediately my mom kicked her out then went right back to sobbing.
It was a tough month for us but eventually we got back to the states and my Mom began the divorce process.
Of course when we came back to the states none of us had our happy faces on and the entire family soon found out. My grandma got so angry about it one day that it erupted a huge argument between my mom and her that they had to evacuate the kids out of the house until it ended. After standing outside for an hour I came back to see my Moms face bruised up from the tears.
I believe it was at this point that I started to hate her. From that point on my grandma was no longer my grandma, but The Lady that made my Mom cry.