Hà
It was the winter of 1975. Our family's first winter in the US, and the little house on 147 St. Johns Avenue in Charleston Heights, South Carolina, could not keep all of us warm enough. Hà was about one year-old. One night she came down with a severe fever. Mom put dầu cù là vapor rub on her, and gave her aspirin, but to no avail. Hà's fever kept getting worse. Mom, Dad and the whole family were in great panic.
Dad and I went to the Eckerd store, next to the old Winn-Dixie. It was late at night, and the store was about to close. The clerk behind the counter looked at us like troublemakers, and was anxious to get rid of us. Dad struggled so hard to tell the clerk what he needed, but the lack of vocabulary was so overwhelming that the frustration between the two was unbearable.
Have you ever seen a 45 year-old man on the verge to tears trying to communicate to save his daughter? Have you ever stood there helplessly watching your Dad struggle so hard to the point of breakdown? Dad was trying with all his heart to do something for his youngest daughter. All he wanted was to purchase the suppository drug for Hà's fever.
I was at the hospital last Thursday, when the Cardiologist discharged Dad. This time, Dad was the one that is ill, and Hà was there to help. With her limited Vietnamese language skills, Hà was trying so hard to interpret the words from the doctor, trying to be thorough without scaring Dad. The Vietnamese words that Hà used, and her frustration with the language reminded me of that cold night in Charleston.
This winter, Dad was risking his well being to attend Hà's wedding, and Hà was trying to do the right things for Dad.
One thing was clear. Our youngest sister is growing up to be a fine person. Another thing: our family is still struggling to help each other. And that is a really good thing.
Vui
