anything we told you. Why are you so stupid? Stop talking about Vietnam.”
Browbeaten, yes. But not knocked down. I knew resolve previously unknown.
“No, I won’t,” I barked in a forceful tone. I had bought my ticket, and I was going no matter what. Her words couldn’t stop me now. “He told me a story, and…”
“Oh no,” my Mom interrupted. “Not the girl? The girl story? Really? Is that what this is about?”
“Well…”
“Well, is it or not? The girl story. The beautiful girl in the white flowing dress that unrobed for him under the banana trees?”
She knew the girl story. I couldn’t believe it.
“Well, yeah, he did tell me a story about a girl.”
“How many times did that drunkard tell me about the beautiful girl he had his way with under the banana trees. The biggest piece of BS in the world. So just drop this whole ridiculous thing. Just drop it. I don’t want to hear another word of it.”
But Mom wasn’t there on his deathbed the night before he passed. Mom didn’t hear the sincerity, didn’t see the tears, didn’t hear the pleading. I felt bad for her that he would have ever told her that story. She didn’t deserve that nor did she deserve what Vietnam did to her husband. But I couldn’t change any of it. I couldn’t change his drinking rage, his belittling nature, or his crass talk about women. But I could fulfill his dying wish, which I intended to do even if it upset my mother. I had to do it.
“Mom, I know you aren’t going to like this. But listen to me. Honestly, I hated Dad. I loathed being around him. I hated everything about him – how he treated me – how he treated you. But on his deathbed, he was a different person. He talked to me for the first time like I was a man, like I was his son. And for the first time ever, he asked something of me. He wasn’t asking it out of his overwhelming need to belittle me and dominate me. He asked me out of humility because he needed my help. And I promised him that I would do it for him.”
“Promise,” my Mom said with disgust. “He never kept a promise in his life. Why should you care about a promise to him?”
“Because I’m not like him,” I said bluntly. “I refuse to be like him.”
I looked down at the tile for a minute. I had tears in my eyes. I just wanted to scream; I felt like the house was condemned and ready to collapse in around me. I never felt so smothered in all my life, but I was also never this determined.
“I will keep my promise. I leave for Vietnam on Friday.”
I turned and walked out of the kitchen.
“Do whatever the hell you want,” she yelled after me.
I would. I designated Thursday as the day to pack, and the first order of business was to figure out how to transport the ashes. I didn’t want to be separated from dad, so I thought I would need to carry it onto the plane. I got a two quart Rubbermaid container from the kitchen and thought that it would have to do. I hoped beyond anything that dad was no more than two quarts, even though that seemed like a very morbid thought. I put the plastic container on my bed and went into my closet, peered through my shirts to the small shelf hidden in the back where I had hid the urn. I carried it to my bed, opened the lid and stared intently at the grey fine ash. Then I poured the contents into the Rubbermaid; it filled up the whole container with just a little left over, which I left in the urn and put back on the shelf. Careful not to spill any ashes, I put the lid back on the container, sealed the whole thing with grey duct tape and placed it in my backpack. My carry-on was set.
Hanoi
“Excuse me, sir. Congratulations on eating the whole rack of ribs. For doing so, you get a free pint of beer,” said the thin Vietnamese waitress holding a glazed over mug topped with a frothy head.
“Oh, that’s nice. But I’m sorry, I don’t drink beer,” I said and looked over at Jason. “Jason?”
“Oh, no. Not me. My teaching organization
Browbeaten, yes. But not knocked down. I knew resolve previously unknown.
“No, I won’t,” I barked in a forceful tone. I had bought my ticket, and I was going no matter what. Her words couldn’t stop me now. “He told me a story, and…”
“Oh no,” my Mom interrupted. “Not the girl? The girl story? Really? Is that what this is about?”
“Well…”
“Well, is it or not? The girl story. The beautiful girl in the white flowing dress that unrobed for him under the banana trees?”
She knew the girl story. I couldn’t believe it.
“Well, yeah, he did tell me a story about a girl.”
“How many times did that drunkard tell me about the beautiful girl he had his way with under the banana trees. The biggest piece of BS in the world. So just drop this whole ridiculous thing. Just drop it. I don’t want to hear another word of it.”
But Mom wasn’t there on his deathbed the night before he passed. Mom didn’t hear the sincerity, didn’t see the tears, didn’t hear the pleading. I felt bad for her that he would have ever told her that story. She didn’t deserve that nor did she deserve what Vietnam did to her husband. But I couldn’t change any of it. I couldn’t change his drinking rage, his belittling nature, or his crass talk about women. But I could fulfill his dying wish, which I intended to do even if it upset my mother. I had to do it.
“Mom, I know you aren’t going to like this. But listen to me. Honestly, I hated Dad. I loathed being around him. I hated everything about him – how he treated me – how he treated you. But on his deathbed, he was a different person. He talked to me for the first time like I was a man, like I was his son. And for the first time ever, he asked something of me. He wasn’t asking it out of his overwhelming need to belittle me and dominate me. He asked me out of humility because he needed my help. And I promised him that I would do it for him.”
“Promise,” my Mom said with disgust. “He never kept a promise in his life. Why should you care about a promise to him?”
“Because I’m not like him,” I said bluntly. “I refuse to be like him.”
I looked down at the tile for a minute. I had tears in my eyes. I just wanted to scream; I felt like the house was condemned and ready to collapse in around me. I never felt so smothered in all my life, but I was also never this determined.
“I will keep my promise. I leave for Vietnam on Friday.”
I turned and walked out of the kitchen.
“Do whatever the hell you want,” she yelled after me.
I would. I designated Thursday as the day to pack, and the first order of business was to figure out how to transport the ashes. I didn’t want to be separated from dad, so I thought I would need to carry it onto the plane. I got a two quart Rubbermaid container from the kitchen and thought that it would have to do. I hoped beyond anything that dad was no more than two quarts, even though that seemed like a very morbid thought. I put the plastic container on my bed and went into my closet, peered through my shirts to the small shelf hidden in the back where I had hid the urn. I carried it to my bed, opened the lid and stared intently at the grey fine ash. Then I poured the contents into the Rubbermaid; it filled up the whole container with just a little left over, which I left in the urn and put back on the shelf. Careful not to spill any ashes, I put the lid back on the container, sealed the whole thing with grey duct tape and placed it in my backpack. My carry-on was set.
Hanoi
“Excuse me, sir. Congratulations on eating the whole rack of ribs. For doing so, you get a free pint of beer,” said the thin Vietnamese waitress holding a glazed over mug topped with a frothy head.
“Oh, that’s nice. But I’m sorry, I don’t drink beer,” I said and looked over at Jason. “Jason?”
“Oh, no. Not me. My teaching organization
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