My Father, the Square

As a creative freestyling everything I did, I could never relate to my dad's straight-laced ways. Made sense that he chose engineering as a profession. He tried his damn hardest to put me on the straight and narrow. Which resulted in constant battles, and I resented him for the longest.

My dad was such a lame, always playing Simon and Garfunkel records in the house. Always proud of how the Beach Boys made great music without the need of booze or drugs. "Come on Dad, you know their music sounds like shit. It'd only hold an edge if I filed their vinyl down to a shank." And, they did in fact get into drugs and sex in the later half of their career.

I could never get him to listen to Led Zeppelin or Nirvana. His usual retort being, "The one who blew his brains out? How good could his music be if it made him do that?" I once threw a fit at the Honda dealership, when I wanted to go home to watch Nirvana Unplugged on MTV. The dealer was dragging ass while we were buying a new minivan, and I was sure we would miss it. We finally get home and I rush to turn on the TV, catching the last songs. Kurt sings either "Lake of Fire" or "Where Did You Sleep Last Night" with such emotion in his voice. My dad looks at me impressed, "Ahhh, I see what all the fuss you made is about now."

Family van for a family man. Unlike my uncles, he wasn't into racing motorcycles or out-running cops in a Toyota Supra. This is the man who made me cut up my license in front of him, when he caught me drunk at a football game in high school. Knowing full well it'd be a death sentence for my social life. He was going to report it to my soccer coach and get me kicked off the team. But thank God my mom talked him out of it.

It was a good thing I had already moved out of the house when I got thrown in jail during one St. Patrick's Day. Lord knows what he would have done to me.

St. Patrick was the one saint I knew well, despite my dad ingraining into us the ways of Mother Teresa. This is the guy who was always taking my brother and I to church, pushing God and Jesus parables on us. Playing lead guitar for the choir. Making us be altar boys, standing in front of everyone in ridiculous garb the entire mass. Telling us about the visions of Mother Mary that other Boat People saw when they escaped Vietnam. "No Dad, that's so lame. Ghosts don't exist."

How come I couldn't have one of those cool dads like the other kids or even my cousins?

My aunts cracked jokes and gave him nicknames on how straight laced and straight edge he was. Every time before I would go out, he'd sit me down to have the talk—don't have sex before marriage. He once walked out of my uncle's bachelor party because they were joking about strippers and slipping money into each other's pants. There weren't even actual strippers there!

When my daughter was born, I was a nervous wreck. I had thoughts of driving off in the Subaru Outback never to return, as I went to grab the baby seat from the car to bring into the hospital. I didn't know how I could ever be a good dad. 

I called my old man for advice, and he laughed. "When you were born, I didn't have a clue what I was doing either. We didn't have YouTube back then." What?? He was supposed to know everything. The fixes to all my problems. Morals for all the parables of my bad decisions. That was unbelievable to me.

And that above all else, was the thing that made him: his humor and ability to play off anything, no matter how serious the situation. That's why I never realized the gravity of his life, until I was much older. 

When my brother and I were still small enough, he'd carry both of us to bed, racing up the stairs, pretending to run from the Viet Cong as they shot us in the ass. He was always joking about the War and the Viet Cong and the Communist. It took the edge right off. Ironically. Until I realized the horrors of life and death he went through when he was only 13.

At 13, my dad and his family were almost killed by his own uncle in the confusion and chaos during the Fall of Saigon. When his uncle thought they were Viet Cong sabateours trying to board his escape boat. Only reason they weren't shot, was a former student of my grandma happened to be packed in that crowded boat and recognized them. He ran up and told my dad's uncle that he knew them and they were good people.

This was one of the improbable miracles of my dad's life.

At 13, my dad only survived because of miracles a diety could've conjured. His escape boat made it through the Mekong Delta and into the open ocean, after getting shot up by soldiers guarding a bridge across the river. The soldiers thought they were Viet Cong trying to ram the bridge. With the engine clinging to life from numerous bullet holes, they barely averted collision with a navy ship. Angry at first, the seamen on the navy ship calmed down when they realized the poor shape the escape boat was in. They told them to head to a location where another navy ship could pick them up.

Running low on fuel and hope, they limped towards the rendezvous point. Out of food and water, the people grew desperate. Plotting on who to eat first once the cannibal desperation kicked in. My dad was packed below in the sweltering hull of the boat. Next to him was a 16 year old soldier who had fled from battle. He talked to my dad. And the more he talked, the more it became clear that he wasn't right in the head. Suffering from PTSD and fearful that the Communist would catch and torture him, the young soldier pulled out his last grenade. Blowing up himself and everyone on board sounded like a satisfactory end. Somehow, my dad talked him out of it, and he put his grenade away.

To make matters worse, the boat was adrift in the ocean when the engine finally gave out. Miraculously, a passing navy ship spotted them and turned around to pick them up. Not the one that the had intended for. But a savior non the less. An act of God.

So I finally understood where he was coming from with the strong faith. He had survived through some things he had no reason surviving. My dad had to grow up at a young age. Made me realize how lucky I was. I didn't want to be some punkass son of a refugee anymore. I realized what I had to do - to grow up.

That's the strength of my dad. Nothing ever fazes him.

And with the carseat on the hospital floor awaiting my daughter as I lifted her up, I thought if I could have just an ounce of that strength, I'd be the best dad in the world to her.