Part 24: Love Knows No Distance

As I may have mentioned before, my dad grew up in a strict Baptist family in the South, but that didn't stop him from being a rather rebellious young boy, which also might explain where I get those tendencies from. When he was younger, he would sneak away from the dinner table while his mother's back was turned and scrape whatever casserole she had made that night into the toilet. After the toilet backed up and overflowed two inches of water throughout the house, his only defense would be, "Well, the toilet didn't like it either!"

In college, he thought that perhaps the fountain in front of the girls' dormitory would look nice if it had a small flame floating on the surface of the water. So, after much encouragement from his friends, he poured a tank of oil into the fountain, lit a match and threw it in. Nothing happened. Apparently, the oil's density was greater than the density of the water, which caused it to sink to the bottom. The match was then, obviously, extinguished by the layer of water over the oil.

My father, being an intelligent collegiate, grabbed a tank of gas from the back of his truck and proceeded to pour that into the fountain, as well. He lit a match, threw it in, and boom.

Much, much more than a small fire on the surface of the water.

He got away with it, too - even after being called in by the dean, who had eye-witnesses - except for a few singed arm-hairs and burned eyebrows.

...

My dad attended college for seven years without obtaining any sort of degree, mostly due to the fact that he changed his major every year. His parents were fed up with paying for his incessant indecisiveness, and after several threats, he quit school and moved to Hawaii. He worked for a small dime store called Ben Franklin's doing cash-register repair and saved enough money to buy a house. He spent most of his days body surfing at the beach in front of his house in Kihei and picking fresh pineapple and passion fruit straight from their plants.

My father fell into a coma some years later after he had been given a shot with a needle that was infected with spinal meningitis. (Back then, not all hospitals used disposable needles, and this one had not been properly sterilized.) He had originally become sick after eating worm-infested sashimi, which caused the worms to also eat holes through his intestines. The pain in his abdomen was excruciating. So, my dad was rushed to the hospital (which was more like a dirty little house with hospital beds in it) to have the perforated sections of his intestine removed. The surgery went fine, except for the fact that he slipped into a coma.

My father awoke from his vegetative state 23 days later, with his worried grandmother by his side (who had been praying unceasingly that he would awake). It was at that point, after his near-death experience, that he decided to do something more meaningful with his life.

He sold his house in Hawaii and joined the Navy.

...

My mother is a Vietnam-born Chinese, and grew up in Vietnam during the war in a small apartment with her family. They had mosquito nets around their beds and the noise of the bugs flying around and landing on the nets was enough to keep her awake at night. Geckos and lizards crawled on the walls and ceilings, sometimes dropping like bombs unexpectedly onto their food or in their hair.

During the Vietnam war, my mother said she recalls that the sky was never dark, but always glowing red. They had a curfew of 9:00, and if they weren't in the city gates by then, they could be locked out. They were required to walk on sidewalks and paved areas because of land-mines, and often heard horror stories about their classmates and friends being killed because they weren't following the safety precautions.

Luckily for my mom's family, my grandfather worked for the American Embassy in Vietnam, and as a result, his family had priority to leave to American refugee camps for safety. My mother's family, minus my grandfather who had to stay behind, was boarded onto a helicopter with other Vietnamese families and flown to Florida. When my grandfather was finally able to join them two months later, they left Florida and were put in a refugee camp in Stockton, California, less than an hour away from San Francisco. They lived at the refugee camp for two years.

My grandpa finally found a job in San Francisco and moved everyone there, close to China Town. They were in a foreign land, and except for my grandfather, didn't speak any English. My mom was only 17 at the time, and hadn't even graduated high school.

...

My father, a new Navy-man, was stationed in San Diego, where he hoped to meet a beautiful, tall, blonde and tan wife (with big "bazoombas," as he says). His ship, the U.S.S. Cooke, often made trips to Treasure Island in San Francisco for repair and re-stocking. One particular time, they were told that their ship would be docked for a period of 6 months. The sailors were encouraged to attend City College for a semester, since the Navy paid for their education, anyway. My dad was studying to be an electronic engineer on the ship, so he thought it would be a good idea to enroll for classes at night, after his daily shift.

My mother had also started taking some night classes at City College to help her learn English, and also to earn her general Associates Degree to help her get along with her new life in America.

They met by chance at the campus cafeteria, which both frequented around dinner time in-between classes. At least for my dad, it was love at first sight; she was a vision, although not tall, blonde, nor tan. My dad asked her out, and my mom, not knowing how to say 'no' in English, agreed. He proposed two months later and they've been in love ever since.