My Father, a Soldier in the Former Republic of South Vietnam-by Hải Lê

On this Father's Day and Ngày Quân Lực VNCH, I translate this from Hải Lê for the Vietnamese American young people who are not fluent in Vietnamese.

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I have an old father, a disabled man, with one leg amputated.

When I was born my father was almost 50 years old. For a long time, my father played the role of a mother. Although he had difficulty moving, but because he was concerned I might not receive enough care, I might miss something that other kids had, he tried very hard.

My friends often called him the "homemakers" and complimented that although he was a male, he was very skillful in raising children.

When I was a kid, I couldn't understand why not my mother, but my father, who always stayed at home to look after me. Slowly I realized that, among my friends, I was the only one who always had a father by my side. Even though I lacked the love of a mother, I also felt comforted. I was a very lucky person, more than many children who lacked the love of both parents

Later I found out, my father was an ARVN soldier, wounded on the battlefield. He was sponsored by my mother to come to the United States to reunite, and she helped him fill out papers for his disability benefits. When I was more than 3 years old, my father and mother divorced, she married another man, leaving me to my father to care for. In my childhood, I remembered my mother's image, when she visited a few times. I had lukewarm and rather strange feelings because she was always accompanied by a man who looked at me with cold eyes.

I occasionally felt a little bit of embarrassment due to my father's status in society, when I compared him to other children 's fathers. But my father’s care for me was perfect. He took care of me from big to little things— I did not have to touch and do anything. During my time in elementary school, he had persuaded the bus driver to pick me up for school at my door, instead of at the bus stop, four blocks away from my house. When I got home, my father always had lunch ready: braised fish, simmered pork, vegetable dishes, and even soup. Occasionally there would be American food; sandwiches, hamburgers, peanut butter, and even seasonal changes: Christmas cake with green border in pine shape, Valentine in heart shape, etc.

When I was a little older and in my first year of high school, I liked to live a little more independently; I wanted to escape my father's gestures of love, for fear of being made fun of by my friends.

But he never let go of me. Sometimes I was very upset. In high school, I couldn't go home to eat anymore and had to start practicing to take care by myself. But my father woke up earlier than usual to prepare lunch for me. He carefully wrote my name on the food paper bag. He flipped the bottom of the paper bag; there were always some small drawings, sometimes the house, the stream, the mountain, the birds and the heart with the words "I Love You, Tammy!".

But that’s not all to my “embarrassment” to my friends: inside the paper towels or napkin were also the words of affection like "I love you very much". He always wrote, or made some jokes, to remind me that he loved me a lot, and wanted to make me happy.

I often sneaked to have lunch alone so no one could see the paper bags and napkins. But that did not work long. One day, a friend accidentally saw my napkin, he grabbed it, shouted and passed around the room for everyone to see.
My face turned hot, confused, embarrassed, and wanted to hide my head on the ground.

That day when I returned home, I was very upset at my father and "forbade" my papa to write, draw any “silly” things on paper towels, or napkins anymore, so that my friends do not treat me like a kid who always needs to be taken care of. That’s the first time I saw my father sad. He came into his room, closed the door, and quietly spent the evening.

The next day, I was surprised that all my friends were around me, waiting to see the napkin, but this time it was empty, with no words or pictures. Looking at their faces, seeing their disappointment, I suddenly realized that they had all wished for someone to show such sweet love to them. At that time, I felt secretly happy—surging in me was a sense of pride.

I rushed home that day to make up with my father, and the words and drawings of love continued.

In the remaining years in high school, I still had those special paper towels or napkins. And henceforth, I kept them, contained in a separate, hidden box.

And yet, when I went to college, I had to leave my father, I thought that his old message would end. But my friends and I were very happy because my dad's affectionate gestures continued in another form.

(…When I was in college, due to the cost of long-distance calls, my father started to write to me…)

Sometimes outside the envelope, the address was written in pencil and followed by letters with the picture of a cat and a dog; of my family, painted old towers, spanning bridges above the waves.

One summer, my father and I traveled to Vietnam, at that time I began to know about the One Pillar Pagoda (Chùa M ột Cột), Thien Mu Pagoda, Trang Tien Bridge and so on.

After that trip, I learned more about Vietnam, especially the war before 75. I began to feel a different kind of love for my father’s sorrow, who was a defeated soldier. But that army(of South Vietnam) had fought bravely for freedom, for the welfare, safety of the people in the South for 20 years. If the ally had not sold us of the South out, who could have been sure of an outcome ; who could have won ?

Letters to me arrived and were delivered daily after lunch. I often walked out to receive mail and take it with me when I went out for coffee.

I realized there was no need to hide anything anymore, because my roommates were friends in high school. They knew very well about the paper bags and napkins.
And then it became like a custom: I read the letters; the envelopes and drawings were passed around. My father’s letters became the joy of the whole room.

During my last year in college, my father suffered from cancer. Every time I didn't receive a letter on Friday, I knew he was seriously ill, unable to write. He often woke up at 4 am so that he could sit in a quiet home and write letters. If he did not make it in time for the mail delivery on Friday, then after a day or two, the mail would arrive.

My friends voted him "the most loving father in the world!" . On a Father's Day, they sent a card that gave him that title, and they all signed on the card. I believe that he taught all of us about paternity, and my friends started to get napkins like mine from their families…

I stayed with my father for a few days in the hospital before he died. A few hours before he died, he held my hand and said, "I need a favor. Go home and get the wooden box on the top of the closet. I want to look at it once. ”

I drove home, and found the box— dusty of time. What's inside?

I opened the lid curiously. Tears started to well up in my eyes when I saw pictures of my father— so young, in nice military uniforms.

There were pictures of men holding guns; behind were battlefields that still smelled of smoke. At back were the names of them, in the old days, the years of 68, 70, 71, 72 ... with strange places: An Loc, Binh Long, Dong Xoai, Khe Sanh ...

At the bottom of the box was the military id, discharge paper ; the medals, insignia on collar when he was wearing the military uniform.

Now I understood all, and no longer felt embarrassed of having a disabled father whose job was only taking care of the "housewife" duty. On the contrary, my father was once a manful, tough soldier, who had shed blood, and gave a part of his body for a just war— to protect our homeland.

It is so clear and apparent to me now: my father looked after me, happy doing the things of a woman for many years, only out of his love for the child.

What a wonderful father! I hugged the box, rushed to the hospital, and was about to say apologies to my dear father, but it was late!

The nurse on duty said that my father had just taken his last breath. Then the nurse handed me a hospital paper towel, with the last trembling words of a father for me. “Tammy, I love you so much! Farewell! ”

My tears poured down like a stream. As I held the tissue in my hand against my chest, the last tissue, which my life would never receive again, tears fell and fell.

When it was time to shroud my father’s body, I put his soldier's memory box with him. I kept the paper towels, the napkins. I would keep them beside me my whole life. Now the paper towels have turned yellow, but my love for my father is more and more intense, immortal, forever unchanged.

Happy Father's Day! Celebrating Military Day of old South Vietnam.

19/6/2011.

Hải Lê

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REF

Original in Vietnamese :

Tôi có một người cha già, lại tàn tật, cụt một chân.

Khi tôi sinh ra đời bố tôi cũng đã gần 50 tuổi. Trong một thời gian dài, bố tôi đóng vai trò của một người mẹ, tuy di chuyển khó khăn, nhưng ông lo lắng cho tôi không còn thiếu một thứ gì. Bạn bè thường gọi là “Ông nội trợ” và khen là đàn ông mà bố tôi có đầy đủ các đức tính của người phụ nữ Á đông “công, dung, ngôn, hạnh”, nuôi con khéo léo không ai bằng.

Hồi còn bé, tôi không hiểu được, vì sao không phải mẹ tôi, mà bố tôi luôn luôn ở nhà chăm sóc cho tôi. Từ từ tôi mới nhận ra, trong đám bạn bè, tôi là người duy nhất luôn luôn có người bố bên cạnh. Thiếu tình mẹ, tuy nhiên, tôi cũng cảm thấy an ủi, mình là người rất may mắn, còn hơn nhiều đứa trẻ thiếu cả tình thương của cha lẫn mẹ.

Sau này tìm hiểu thì tôi biết, bố tôi là một lính VNCH, bị thương trên chiến trường, được mẹ tôi bảo lãnh đến Mỹ theo diện đoàn tụ, bà lo cho ông hưởng tiền trợ cấp tàn phế.

Lúc tôi được hơn 3 tuổi, bố tôi và mẹ tôi ly dị, bà đã lập gia đình với một người đàn ông khác, nhường tôi lại cho bố tôi nuôi. Trong ký ức trẻ thơ, tôi có hình dung được hình ảnh của mẹ tôi một vài lần, khi bà đến thăm, nhưng rất xa lạ, vì luôn luôn bà đi chung với một người đàn ông nhìn tôi với ánh mắt lạnh lùng.

Tôi có tí mặc cảm về địa vị bố tôi ngoài xã hội, so với bố của những đứa trẻ khác, tuy nhiên việc chăm sóc tôi thì hoàn hảo, ông chăm lo cho tôi từ việc lớn đến việc nhỏ, không phải đụng tay vào bất cứ thứ gì.

Trong suốt thời gian tôi học tiểu học, ông còn thuyết phục ông tài xế xe bus đón tôi đi học ngay tại cửa nhà, thay vì ở trạm xe , cách xa nhà tôi 4 dãy phố. Khi tôi bước vào nhà, lúc nào bố tôi cũng chuẩn bị sẵn thức ăn trưa, nào cá kho, thịt kho, rau xào và có cả canh nữa. Lâu lâu cũng có thức ăn Mỹ, sandwich, hamburger, bơ đậu phộng, và còn thay đổi theo mùa. Giáng Sinh bánh có viền xanh hình cây thông, Valentine có hình trái tim..vv…

Khi tôi lớn hơn một chút, vào năm đầu tiên trung học, tôi lại thích sống độc lập, tôi muốn thoát ra những cử chỉ yêu thương dành cho con nít của bố, vì sợ chúng bạn trêu chọc.

Nhưng chẳng bao giờ bố buông tha tôi cả, một đôi khi tôi rất bực mình.

Cấp trung học, tôi không thể về nhà ăn cơm được nữa, phải bắt đầu tập tự lo cho mình. Nhưng bố tôi lại thức dậy sớm hơn thường lệ để chuẩn bị bữa ăn trưa cho tôi. Ông cẩn thận ghi cả tên tôi bên ngoài túi giấy đựng đồ ăn. Lật dưới đít bao giấy, luôn luôn có một vài hình vẽ nhỏ, khi thì căn nhà, khi thì dòng suối, ngọn núi, chim cá và hình trái tim với dòng chữ “I Love You Tammy!”

Nào hết đâu, bên trong những chiếc khăn giấy cũng có những dòng chữ triều mến “Bố thương con nhiều”.

Ông luôn viết, hay có những câu nói bông đùa như thế để nhắc nhở là ông yêu thương tôi nhiều, và muốn làm cho tôi vui.

Tôi thường lén ăn trưa một mình để không ai thấy được cái túi giấy và khăn ăn. Nhưng cũng chẳng giấu được lâu.

Một hôm, một đứa bạn tình cờ thấy khăn ăn của tôi, nó chộp lấy la lên và chuyền đi khắp căn phòng cho mọi người xem.

Mặt tôi nóng bừng, bối rối, mắc cỡ muốn chui đầu xuống đất.

Bữa hôm đó tôi về, đã làm mặt giận với bố tôi và “cấm” ông ấy không được viết, vẽ “bậy bạ” trên khăn giấy nữa, để bạn bè không coi tôi như đứa con nít lúc nào cũng cần người lớn chăm sóc.

Lần đầu tiên tôi thấy bố tôi buồn, lặng lẽ vào phòng đóng cửa.

Ngày hôm sau, tôi vô cùng ngạc nhiên vì tất cả bạn bè bu chung quanh tôi, chờ để được xem chiếc khăn ăn, nhưng lần này thì trống trơn, không có dòng chữ hay hình vẽ gì cả. Nhìn mặt bọn chúng thất vọng, hụt hẫng, tôi mới hiểu ra, tất cả chúng nó đều mong ước có một ai đó biểu lộ tình thương yêu ngọt ngào giống vậy đối với chúng.

Lúc đó lòng tôi len lén cảm thấy vui vui, dâng lên niềm tự hào về bố.
Tôi vội về làm lành với bố, và những giòng chữ, những hình vẽ yêu thương lại tiếp tục.

Những năm còn lại trong trường trung học, tôi vẫn đều đều có những chiếc khăn đặc biệt ấy. Và từ đó, tôi giữ lại, chứa trong một cái hộp riêng, giấu kín.

Chưa hết, khi vào đại học, tôi phải rời xa bố, tôi nghĩ thông điệp xưa kia của bố sẽ phải chấm dứt.

Nhưng tôi và bạn bè rất vui sướng vì những cử chỉ biểu lộ tình cảm của bố tôi vẫn tiếp tục qua hình thức khác.

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