Last Tuesday I had art group as normal. One artist painted an image of a plant with tiny greenish leaves and pink flowers on the paper. I asked her what plant it was.
She gently explained to me that was a plant that when touched, the leaves would sensitively be enclosed and moved inward. Instantly, I knew exactly what the plant was.
My eyes were opened as well as my heart.
I asked her later, where did you see that plant? Here in
Seattle?
She said, “No. I do not know if Seattle has this kind of
plant. I see it from my memory.”
She said the name of the plant in English is Touch Me Not.
The Vietnamese name of this plant is Mắc Cỡ ( mắc cỡ is shy. )
All of my childhood memories with my father flooded back at once.
After that
Tuesday, I have been crying periodically missing my father for the first
time.
We drove to Utah from Las Vegas last weekend for Bánh Xèo’s big swimming meet of the year at the Utech campus, St. Goerge. The drive was roughly 2 hours long. Nguyên played YouTube music randomly to keep us entertained. One tune called Tennessee, a theme song from Pearl Habor, was on. When I listen to this piece, I always feel empowered, epic, sad, and beautiful. I always love this kind of music.
I remember the first time I realized that Tennessee was the name of the Navy USS battleship that got hit by two bombs during the attack in 1945 when
I told Nguyen, “Did
you go to the memorial graveyard when
you came to Pearl Habor Museum last year?”.
He said “No”.
I told him. That was a beautiful,
and powerful white memorial in the
middle of the deep blue water of Oahu built on top of a resting Arizona Navy Ship.
The theme of the memorial design is
called Tree of Life.
With the image of the white abstract sculpture of Tree of Life simply standing up in the middle of the blue sky in mind and a theme song still on, I burst out crying.
I told Nguyen. Out of the blue. That I missed my father. Crying my eyes out, I gazed out to look at the endless horizontal ranges of reddish gigantic mountains and rocks as we were driving.
The Touch Me Not plant that the artist painted last Tuesday stirred unexpected emotions and sadness in me as I slowly remembered that Mắc Cỡ plant from my childhood.
When I was 5 or 6 years old, I remember my father used to pick me up at an elementary school named Ấp Bắc, several blocks away from his radio station company. He rode me and my little 2-year-old brother home on the back seat of his bicycle. His bicycle was yellowish brown, race type designed for males.
I remember Sai Gon streets in the late afternoon were quiet and empty. Typically, Sai Gon always has tall hollong ( cánh dầu) trees along the streets, that have huge shades to keep us cool from the tropical heat. I remember the hollong seeds or flowers had two wing petals, reddish and brownish in color. When they fell from the tree, they spun beautifully in the air before slowly hitting the ground.
My dad would pick some for us to take home to play with. Along the street, there would be kids or teenagers sitting down next to the tall tamarind tree to sell sweet brownish-long tamarind fruits. My father would buy the fruits for us to snack on. The fruit was then wrapped carefully with newspaper before being handed to him. I remember my father was always amazed at how polite the customer service in Sai Gon was. He told my mother that, "they wrapped the fruit with newspaper and nicely hand them to me. I know the kids did not have a store and they picked the fruits on the ground. I am touched by how they respect the products and their customers. they will be successful in life.'
People in Sai Gon mostly biked to commute back there. Along the street, there would be a lot of Touch Me Not Mắc Cỡ plants humbly grew from the cracks of grey cement pavement. He would stop the bike, and let me and my little brother down so we could touch and view the plants shyly move inward.
He would say, “Be careful. Do not touch the thorns. Just the leaves.” Both of us would be careful and gently touch the leaves with our fingers to see the leaves react with our curiosity and enthusiasm.
The childhood joy was pure and simple. The memory came back with my father in the middle of it. He was small/ He was quiet and gentle. He was caring and lovely.
The memory came vividly for the last several days. Those
tiny, invisible plants on the pavement 45 years ago came back strongly. In my mind, the image of the green plants/tall trees and his bike stays solid and huge like Utah's red mountains and rocks.
I saw my father for the first time.
I miss him for the first time.
Crying my heart out does not do justice to how I miss my
father.
Me and Nguyên drove to Utah to fulfill our parenting duty to our child.
We came to Utah to enjoy our child’s performance as a successful swimmer who belongs
to the varsity team of Hawaii University. We
were proud. Other parents came to Utah last weekend to do the same. All children went to universities and continued to perform well at one of the most
important swim meets of the college year.
We came to see them swim. We came to cheer them up. We came to hold them in our arms.
I witnessed parents hugging their children dearly in the lobby when we had a break between races. I witnessed the full-grown healthy kid burst out crying in his mother's arms. I witnessed the athletes flashing the water, roaring their hearts out at the block ready to compete, being eager to win the races. Yet, they cried uncontrollably when they saw their beloved parents whenever the family saw each other. I witnessed a big guy who almost collapsed slouching his long back and crying in front of his petite mother. He tried to hold back his emotions while listening to his mother’s comforting voice. This was compelling to see the human's vulnerability revealed in such rawness, and truthfulness, unfiltered in front of my eyes.
My daughter, Bánh Xèo, in a dark green Hawaii uniform, walked toward me when I was on the swim deck to
do timing for Friday night’s races. We hugged each other. She cried, hiding her face on my chest. Her shoulders were strong and
powerful. Yet, I could feel her gut and stomach breathing and sobbing quietly as she said, “I
was exhausted. I could not sleep. I told the coach that I would pull it through
this meet.”
My heart was softening and squeezed as I felt her concerns
and worries.
I whispered to her ears,” Everything will be fine. We are here for you, baby.”
She smiled. Her face was bright, sweet, and warm. We kissed each other. I had a long kiss on her cheek.
In my mind. I kissed her
for her.
For me.
And for my father.
My father would never have such a lovely moment with me and
my siblings when he was alive. He did not have a chance to do his parenting to
us like I was doing to my daughter.
Angels sent the image of my childhood’s Mắc Cỡ plant via the artist from my art class?
If I miss my father that much for the last 7 days, it must
be some lovely memories which I am trying to recollect.
By now, the image of the Touch Me Not Mắc Cỡ plant on the cracks of the pavement in Sai Gon Street zoomed out 200% as a magnificent Tree of Life to fill my vague memory with pure love that I am growing for my father.
Some sketches of Hoa Mắc Cỡ over old book I did after writing this post.
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