Second Generation

It was a cool and breezy fall evening. The sun had just started to set, and the sky began to look as if someone had spilled red and purple paint all over the clouds. After a long period of warm Richmond days in October, it was finally cold enough to pull out the heavy coats.

I wanted to talk to someone who had a real story to tell. Somebody who not only would make this interview feel less like an interview and more like a thought-provoking conversation, but would be able to provide an insight to anyone that reads this. A deep, human truth maybe. So, I invited my mother. 

There was guilt in my heart before she arrived. I hadn’t seen her since August. She lived in Maryland, two hours away. I was busy, and so was she. But there was still this empty feeling inside of me that felt like I was a bad daughter. “Why didn’t I call her more?” I thought to myself. As soon as her blue Toyota Corolla pulled into my driveway, the guilt was soon replaced by love and joy. My mother has always been my hero.

“Hi Shannon!” She exclaims in her usual, chipper voice. 

I smile and wave. 

“Hey, mom. Come inside.” 

We get settled as we sit on the couch. I made us some green tea and lit a candle so she felt more comfortable. She takes the cup I made for her and proceeds to take a long sip. Afterwards, she tucks a lock of her shoulder-length black hair behind her ear.

 “So, what kind of questions are you going to ask me?”

I look down at the piece of paper I had scrawled on before she came. 

“Well, I guess I’ll start with your childhood. Tell me where you grew up and how it has contributed to the person you are today.”

My mother sighs with a knowing smile, as if she just remembered an inside joke.

“You know where I grew up, Shannon,” she says with a hint of humor in her tone. “I grew up in southern Vietnam, on the outskirts of Saigon, which is now known as Ho Chi Minh city. I was one of seven children, the youngest actually. I’ve always been the baby in the family.”

She was right. I already knew where she had grown up, but it always surprises me to hear that she was the youngest. I can’t imagine someone that has always taken care of me, looked after her family, someone so hard-working and so humble to be the baby of the family. 

My mother continues, this time looking into the distance. 

“My childhood centered around my family. Family has always been one of the most important, if not the most important part of my culture and my upbringing. My mother was a stay at home mom that always looked after us, and my father was a business-man. He worked in a water production company and also had his own farm. We had chickens in the backyard. I remember my duty was to go out into the wheat fields of the countryside and pick out as much wheat as I could carry back home. I never complained, though. It was school, the wheat fields, then repeat. It was an honor to work for my family.”

She pauses and takes another sip of her tea, petting my cat. 

“Vietnam has contributed everything to who I am today,” my mother states with pride.

“And what about your siblings? Having six older brothers and sisters must have been hard.”

“Well…” she begins, a strained look now on her face. 

“One of my older brothers died when I was only four. I think it was from a disease. I don’t really remember because I was so young. My other brother, Co Meng, he died on the boat at sea. My mother told me it was because his friends left him. I was only seven years old, so I don’t remember the details. But it was hard. And very sad… I guess it was… what’s the word… normal for siblings to pass away in Vietnam. My friends had lost their older brothers, too. Disease, war. It made me feel less alone. Like, at least somebody else is going through the same pain I am, you know?”

I nodded.

“But I only had one sister, and that was your aunt Ma Nam. She’s a fierce one. She’s always had a strong head on her shoulders. She always knew what she wanted and had a strict moral code that she stuck to. I have always admired her for that.”

Ah, yes. My aunt Ma Nam. She lives in Florida now with her husband and her son. When I think of family, I think of my aunt Ma Nam. We would spend every summer in Orlando to see her. I knew her and my mother were very close.

“And your uncle Co Souix, he still lives in Vietnam, as you know. He is happy there I think. I do wish he would stop smoking those cigarettes.” She rolls her eyes as she finishes her words. “But he was my best friend growing up. In a way, all of my siblings were my best friends, but Co Souix was the closest in age to me than any of the others.”

It was no wonder why my mom had always pushed my brother and I to have a close relationship. I remembered a memory right then and there. When I was younger, maybe about ten years old and Sam (my brother) was twelve, we were arguing about something insignificant. My mother just yelled at us, “You two better love each other! Because when the world turns your back on you, that’s all you have! Family! Your siblings are your first best friends in this world! So apologize!” 

I guess you can say I now understood the reason why she valued family so much.

There was still so much more I wanted to know.

“What about when you came to America?” I ask with enthusiasm.

My mom takes a deep breath. “It was hard. Like really hard. I was in a relationship with someone at the time I was leaving, and--”

“MOM!” I shout. “You never told me that!”

“Well that’s because I didn’t think it was any of your business!” She says while laughing and taking another sip of her tea.

“Yes, his name was Anh. We were together for four years. He didn’t want to get married, though. He was a soldier. And your aunt Ma Nam asked me if I wanted to move to America. She found a way to get there, somehow. So I was like, okay. I needed a new start, anyway. And to be an American girl! Every popular movie I saw was based in America. I was partly excited, partly scared.”

“So when did you meet my dad?”

“That wasn’t until a few years later. I was working at a music store. You know, back when they had cassette tapes and all. Probably something you don’t remember.” She laughs.

“Anyway, he had the night shift and I had the day shift. So when we switched, we got to know each other a little bit… and I guess we had Sam and you.”

“Ew, gross.” I say.

She giggles. “Anything else you want to know, Miss-Nosey?”

I look down at my paper. I guess I got a little off track. There were still several questions I had originally written that I didn’t get to yet. 

“Has it been hard? I mean, adjusting to the American lifestyle. You have a successful job as a high school math teacher, but what were some of the obstacles you’ve faced?”

She pauses, a thoughtful look taking over her eyes.

“Having to go to school with you and Sam being so young was really hard,” she begins. “I can’t believe it now, but there was actually a point where I didn’t want to do it. You were in kindergarten and I remember you asked me why I wasn’t there to pick you up like all of the other moms. It broke my heart.”

“I’m sorry. But you did it anyway?”

“Yes. I wanted to be able to show you and Sam that I went to school and worked hard for you.”
“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” We laugh for a minute.

“Well, I’m going to try and conclude this interview. What is one piece of advice you would give to your younger self, and then to me?”

My mother finishes her tea and then thinks for a moment.

“To myself, I would say, be yourself even if nobody understands you. And to you? Well there’s a lot of advice you need, it’s hard to choose..”

“MOM!”

“Okay, okay… I would honestly say the same thing. Be yourself. That’s all.”

We conclude our night by watching The Little Mermaid and ordering Chinese food. The red and purple sky from before was now pitch black, and my mother drives off of my driveway and into the distance, waving until I can’t see her anymore. If there’s anything I can learn from my mother, it’s the value of family. I am proud to have a Vietnamese middle name, to carry my heritage through my mother, and to have someone in my life that not only worked hard for the life she lives today, but teaches me that I can do it, too.