Fathers

My father passed away today, about 5pm central time. He is survived by a wife, two children, three grandchildren and five great grandchildren. Our conversations over the last three decades since I left the midwest were typical of many immigrant Chinese and their children in that they revolved around food. In my case, I'd ask what he was making for dinner, he'd tell me and then ask if I was coming home for dinner even though I'd be calling from several time zones away. I'd tell him I didn't think I could get there in time if I drove. We'd laugh, and that would be it until my next phone call. Only now does it occur to me that he was asking me when I was going to visit the next time.

I come from a judeo-christian world view. There are a lot of things about God I don't understand and I never will understand; how can a finite mind fully comprehend the infinite? But there are some things I think I've figured out about God's intent. Like fathers.

The family is designed to have two parents and each parent plays a unique role. I can't find anything to support this in the Scriptures, but I believe that God intended that to help us understand how God can be holy/just and merciful at the same time. Dad is the rule enforcing parent that sends you to your room without dinner and Mom is the parent that sneaks a plate up to your room when Dad is napping or watching TV.  Together, they raise and teach you.

Even in an ideal world where moms typically love unconditionally, dad's love and affirmation often bestowed acknowledgement of a child's level of maturity - and could be withheld. Most significantly, it's my take that only fathers can bestow the acknowledgment of a child passing into adulthood.  I'm reminded of a quote by baseball player Jose Canseco after hitting a home run:

"All-Star Game. Home Run. My dad is here (to witness it). I'm covered." 

While this is important for men, it might be even more important for women; how many women do we know that we describe as having 'daddy issues'?

My father's childhood was far from ideal. He was born into a large poor family in southern China, and his family 'sold' him to a rich family in their village who had lost their only son; my dad took on their family name. Unfortunately his adoptive father was emotionally abusive; according to my mother, who moved in with my grandparents after she married Dad and witnessed Dad being reminded over and over: "You're not my real son. I merely bought you!", and Dad would go into another room and cry.

The bar was set pretty low in terms of an example of fatherhood, and it should have not been a surprise if my father had been much the same way, but he wasn't. Still, our interactions were limited during my childhood. My dad worked 6 days a week, 10 hours a day as a short order cook even though he had been trained as a mechanic in Hong Kong. Unfortunately, he spoke no English when he came to the States. So when I got up for school he was usually still asleep. When he awoke, I was in school. When I came home, he was at work and when he got home, I was in bed. In high school, when he had Wednesdays off, I often had play practice after school, and in the fall, marching band practice after dinner.

Still I'm grateful that Dad in his own way communicated that I had become an adult in his eyes. After graduating from college, it took me over three years to find work in my chosen field of study (computer science). During that time I once had done something to irritate him to which he responded: "You f--k up everything." Fortunately I did eventually do well and he came out to CA every time I bought a new home. However, I got laid off from a job and went unemployed for a pretty long time. My mom worried, but just once, my dad asked: "You got everything covered?". I replied "Yeah." He said: "Ok." and he never brought it up again. That told me he thought I could take care of myself. (What I actually did is another story for another time.)

My father was a big baseball fan. He loved watching the Cleveland Indians (I grew up in NE Ohio) on channel 43 until the Indians went to cable. Starting about 20 years ago (at the urging of my sister  who deserves credit for thinking of it), I took my dad to see a baseball game whenever I visited in the summer, I tried to include days when the Indians were playing at home so I could take Dad to a game. After each visit, Mom would tell me how much Dad bragged to his cronies for weeks how his boy had bought box seats, eaten THREE $12 hot dogs, etc. (that I could afford to do so, not that I was glutton - at least I hope not).

Earlier today, I called shortly before he passed away. According to my sister who was there, once Dad found out it was me on the phone he grabbed for the phone and made noises trying to talk. Unfortunately I couldn't make out anything he tried to say, but it was clear to my sister that Dad was glad to hear from me and that was one of the last things he did.

Any dads out there reading this with adult aged children, and you haven't already done so, PLEASE affirm what they've done to demonstrate their maturity. It'll be one of the best things you ever do for them.

dad diagnosed with covid-19

my father contracted covid-19 earlier this month. at the time of diagnosis, he was still up and about, and initially there was hope he might get through this. however, he became bedridden within a day, and his health deteriorated to the point where he had to be hospitalized requiring 100% oxygen. it wasn't a complete surprise; he's 96 and he has underlying conditions including diabetes.

the level of symptoms varies, but in extreme cases like my father's, covid-19 causes acute respiratory distress syndrome, which after recovery may still result in:
- Limited lung capacity compared to their peers.- Psychiatric issues such as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), depression, cognitive impairment, and anxiety, due to the trauma of the illness and treatment.- Kidney complications which could lead to a need for long-term dialysis.- Poor conditioning due to limited lung and/or organ function.
although covid-19 driven ARDS may differ somewhat from sars driven ARDS, it was deemed very likely that even if my father were to recover, he'd be dealing with these long term effects. this understanding greatly influenced our decision to elect for comfort/hospice care for dad a couple of days ago. this level of care is about treating the symptoms and making the patient as comfortable as possible while no longer attempting to cure. under hospice care protocols, his oxygen is being reduced and eventually will be shut down entirely. the plan is to do one last facetime before that happens later today.

Do Ga Ni Tang 2019

The weather finally got cold enough to renew the early morning Korean soup special at a nearby restaurant.  I've missed the ritual. This morning my hopes for a chance to contemplate the past year were shattered midway through my meal when the wait staff cranked up the background music. The playlist for the morning in general seemed to be candidates for James Bond movie theme songs. Despite my best efforts to ignore this and continue my contemplation, I eventually noticed that all the songs were being sung in the Mandarin dialect of Chinese, which is quite different from Korean. This reminded me that this particular branch of the restaurant was catering to a Chinese clientele, which in turn prompted a tangential line of thought sparked by my continuing to mourn the passing of CNN host Anthony Bourdain. While it was nominally about the food, when he got to CNN the tenor of his show changed and it became about finding out the real & relevant stories of the people there. I really respected and admired that even as it become apparent that what he did came at an apparent cost to himself. While I'd love to get a chance to do what he did, something I'd read suddenly made a lot of sense. I wish I could give an exact quote but I'm going to have to paraphrase it. In essence, the point was that when you travel the world, the world gets bigger - but you become smaller. If you explore and invest yourself into your own neighborhood, the world gets smaller - and you become bigger - in a good way. And this is part of the path I've chosen by feeding the homeless. I've got a 501(c)3 funded by someone who hoped we could get 6-7 figure funding and allow me to draw a full time salary feeding hundreds of people weekly - if not nightly. If it comes to that, great. But if not, that's OK too.

WiTW 1-1

Walking in Two Worlds - this may seem trivial, but a great portion of the memories Chinese-Americans have about home are about the aromas, mainly from food. It's not been an issue until my living situation changed and I went from being a landlord to a tenant - and having landlords who were/are extremely sensitive to the smell of food. It is actually one of the most jarring changes to my lifestyle that I have foregone not just making certain dishes, but even foregoing using certain cooking techniques and even using certain spices in an effort to minimize smells in the kitchen.

I'm not starving or anything, but it's had an impact on my morale that I didn't recognize until today. I miss cooking and eating certain dishes I've eaten for decades. On the flip side, I'm probably eating healthier as a consequence, but there are just trade offs that just aren't worth it to one's soul.

Walking in Two Worlds

This one's been germinating for a while. The seed's been there all my life, but I suppose it got exposed to the elements by reading an article in an alumni magazine about how a student ending up doing two different internships during a recent summer break. It was personally poignant as the student's parents turned out to be Chinese immigrants from the same region of China that my parents  originally emigrated from. The first internship was in Washington D.C. where all his fellow interns' parents were all people with influence within the Beltway able to pull strings while his immigrant parents run a Chinese restaurant in a small city in Michigan. While his peers' parents were actively involved in furthering their careers, conversations with his parents are limited to topics such as how to make rice porridge. Unable to explain how he wishes to be an international policy maker in terms of immigrant migration, he's told his parents that he helped his teacher while in Washington, and that he wants to be a teacher someday. At the same time, he wants his goals to bring honor to his family.

There's a lot of memories dredged up by this article, but the ones that resonate most deeply at the moment are tied to the struggle of living in two different worlds trying to reconcile the differences between in the values of my parents' ethnic culture and what I will loosely describe as American culture. Let me try to explain. I've lived in southern California for almost 30 years now. I feel a lot more at home here than I ever did living in the midwest. I'm still different from most people - but no one is like anyone else here. Instead of one dominant culture out here, LA consists of a number of different subcultures, even within different ethnic groups; a therapist who treats only asian-americans was at first fascinated by me where we first met: an american asian from the midwest, who didn't act or speak like any other asian male he'd ever met. A Nisei (Japanese-american) himself, raised in the (San Fernando) Valley, he told me that when speaking to any other LA-raised Nisei, within a few minutes he could discern where that person had been born and raised: the Valley, Little Tokyo, the south bay (Gardena), etc. There is no one-size-fits-all story to express the Asian-american experience. But that's not going to stop me from trying to identify the commonalities. (And there's an even more profound difference that I didn't recognize until recently; the culture is different here because western/central european heritage and traditions really don't exist here. The immigrants by a huge majority come from elsewhere. So the dynamics are different here.)

So as I continue to explore what it's meant to walk in two worlds, I'm going to need to keep reminding the reader that while a lot of my experience will be applicable to many fellow asian-americans with immigrant parents, a lot of it might not.

Mad As A Hatter

I recently discovered a song on youtube with this title written by a two sister band called Larkin Poe (they recently did a great album of blues covers called "Peach". Find a copy).  The lyrics (written for their grandparents who apparently suffer from some sort of dementia) follow:

I know what time is, Time is a thief. It'll steal into bed and rob you while you sleep. You'll never feel it. It pulls off the covers, and rifles through your head. Then you'll wait to find you can't remember what you just said... It happens to everyone... Just like the father of my father, time stole his mind and I can't forget that one fourth of his blood is mine I try not to worry... ~~~ PLEASE don't come for me I promise I'll be great Just let me keep what's mine. Please don't come for me, If you must then just please wait and let me have some time. Please don't come for me. Mind over matter when you're as mad as a hatter... ~~~ It's hard to draw a clear distinction When you are who you are. Through the looking glass, the past and future begin to blur though I keep playing Well they say the world is what you make it you think, speak and breathe. and those rules solidify, stuck in a world of make believe. You make the best of what you are given.... ~~~ Off with the head, off with the head... paint the roses, paint the roses.... Please...
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While we don't know all that much about Alzheimer's, it's believed that genetics play a large part:
I can't forget that one fourth of his blood is mine I try not to worry...
My mother is now exhibiting symptoms of Alzeimer's. And as I've aged, I've become aware that my mind is no longer as agile as it was 20 years ago. So I suppose it's a mix of fear and anxiety that prompts me to imagine my exhibiting these symptoms someday.

I find it ironic as I contemplate losing more than most; when I was five, my teachers asked me to read some college textbooks for them. And I did. I didn't understand the fuss. I got accustomed to being able to see/perceive things in a certain way, and getting skeptical/incredulous looks when I tried to explain how I reached that conclusion (which typically turned out to be correct). The best way I've come up with explaining it after a number of decades is that I just connect the dots. Patterns exist. I see them. This also allows me to see changes in the pattern as well. (That's how I perceive music as well - patterns and contrast. More on that in another blog post.)

While I wouldn't trade what I can do with my mind for anything, having this ability has also come with a cost in how I can relate to others. For want of a better way to put it, I've let myself be anxious about other people feeling dumb and I've deliberately filtered and stifled my contributions to many conversations. I'm doing it even now, when I desperately want to be able to just sit around in my mental underwear and just let it all come out. It's a bit like driving a car that's got unlimited HP, but also has a governor that prevents you from going more than 55 MPH on the highway. Instead of just letting my brain work, I focus a lot of conscious effort on minimizing the risk of making others feel dumb.

Who's the madder one?

It's complicated even further because I often express things with snark that conveys the element of humor in the thought. The snark is almost never genuine - but it's also never completely irrelevant. Fortunately, I do have a small group of friends who let me do the equivalent of sitting around in my mental underwear and speak freely,

I guess I've let this train of thought meander. My mom's mind is going. I fear I'm only a few miles back on the same path. And it's further complicated by the ambivalence I've struggled with concerning my intellect. And there's something else I have yet to mention - the prospect is even more daunting as I remain single with no offspring. But that's an anxiety I can deal with.

Fear vs. Anxiety - or is it Pride?

This topic is an extension of my (most recent) previous post concerning the type(s) of fear that prevents us from accepting certain truths which in turn allow us to reach different (and more intellectually honest) conclusions.

Now, if someone is wielding a box cutter and is poised to stab me in the neck because they want to kill me - I *should* be afraid. In my case, I never saw it coming. So I never had the time to be afraid. However, a few weeks later, while I was back at the park engaging one of the homeless in conversation, I was asked if I wasn't concerned about being attacked again. Right at that moment, another homeless person came up and hugged me from behind. My response: "If I really was worried, *that* (being hugged unexpectedly from behind) should have freaked me out." The point is that it's not really fear but anxiety when you are worried about something that *might* happen.

For want of a better word, fear is legitimate and should be the normal response to actual danger. I'm not sure it applies to people who need to be right all the time - the only real danger is to their own self images - which could probably use a little deflating anyway. Perhaps it's pride more than fear which is the prevailing emotion that needs to be checked. It seem to require humility to consider the possibility that one might be wrong. So perhaps it's more about conquering anxiety and pride that allows us to make truly informed choices?