An Unexpected Gift

Sometimes you don’t find out about the life of a man until that life is gone.

I lost a cousin last week.  He was far too young to go.  I knew him as a down to earth, unassuming, and good-humored person. I knew he liked to take pictures.  I knew that if there were a family reunion, no matter what, cousin Horace would be there.

But most of what I knew of him I learned when we were both kids.

He loved gadgets and electronics.  He loved music and comic books.  He liked to fish, and the fish seemed to sense his joy by rewarding him with a lot of activity while my line would sit noticeably still in the water.  At the time, he lived close to us and since he was a couple years younger, it often felt like I had a 2nd little brother when he was around.

Time goes on, and while he only lived about two hours away, except for our annual family reunions, life often takes you down separate paths.  He stayed single while I got married and ended up with a carload of kids.  Life moves on and before you know it, you start to lose touch.

Of course, when I found out that he had become gravely ill, like much of our extended family, we rushed to his side, in the hopes that he might just make it.  Instead, each of us got to stand by him, and quietly say our goodbyes.

It wasn’t until then, and in the following days, that I really got to know cousin Horace.  I learned so much more about him.  I learned his life was about so much more.  I learned about how beloved he really was.

I learned all of this from his friends.

The moment we arrived in the hospital to see him, there were waves of people, crowding the waiting room, lined up along the hospital corridor, many sobbing, completely grief stricken.  At one point there were 50 people, practically lined up down a hallway, waiting to get a chance to see Horace.

I spoke to many of them.  Each one of them had a unique story to tell, describing in great detail how Horace had gone out of his way to help a friend or lend a shoulder to cry on.  He would help friends who never asked for his help.  He would surprise friends by dropping by to cook a fancy dinner or buy a welcome mat with a dog pictured on it because he knew his friend liked dogs.

I met one woman who told me that Horace had taught her to speak English when she came to the U.S. in the 1980’s.  Another friend sobbed as she told me that Horace had bought her a new car when she needed one.  Two or three more friends explained how Horace helped them get through a tough divorce.

Horace would drop by unexpectedly at one workplace or another and volunteer to fix their computers or deliver some food.  He would arrive for a party and serve as the unofficial photographer for the evening.  In a casual conversation, if someone happened to mention that they needed a book, or stapler, or panty hose, Horace would go out of his way to get it for them.

One friend mentioned, “Horace always has a smile on his face.  At the end of the day, that is the one thing you can count on – Horace is smiling.”

The outpouring of love and support from Horace’s huge network of friends was a surprise to many of us in the family.  Not that anyone was surprised that he had friends, but mostly from the sheer magnitude of it.

I can’t speak for anyone else, but my first reaction was a pang of guilt – I should have paid more attention.  I should have made more of an effort.  I should have known.

But such feelings can’t change the past, and fortunately, my life has been full of blessings already.  For cousin Horace – his life, at least according to his friends, was exceptionally happy.

Instead, I’ve come to the realization that while I could have had a closer relationship with Horace, I still have time to make a difference in the lives of all my other cousins and all my friends.

I have a handful of friends where I can recall one or both of us saying that while we rarely stay in touch, we both know that we are the best of friends and will remain so.  Yet, ever so gradually, time has passed and I can barely remember the names of their children, or if they’ve moved on from a job recently.

Last year I got together with an old friend and didn’t immediately recognize him as his hair had turned gray.

I know now, that a true friendship needs to be nurtured, just like anything you truly care about.  What I’ve learned from Horace, in the way he lived his life, is that I need to be present in the lives of those I care for.

That is the unexpected gift Horace has given me, and I am just one more person who owes him debt of gratitude.  Thank you so much, Horace.

I know, somewhere out there – Horace is smiling.

The first time for a pointed conversation

Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

I’ve always wondered where that expression started.  Nowadays, the expression is reserved for people who have overcome an obstacle or endured a hardship.

But, it’s not usually used in a truly life threatening situation.  I doubt the first thing you’ll hear when you see a guy get run over by a bus is, “Somebody call a doctor!  I hope he’s OK.  Well, you know what they say…”

I have my own theories on where that expression started.  My guess is that the expression was coined the first time someone was experimenting with some new discovery.

It could have been an engineer testing automobile air bags for the first time before someone else had discovered “crash test dummies”.  Maybe it was the first person to try cooking metal in a microwave.

My own guess is that it started with some medical advancement hundreds, maybe even thousands of years ago.  I wonder if some ancient medicine man in Asia might have uttered this now famous expression the same day they discovered acupuncture.

Now, before anyone starts writing me e-mails on why I’m poking fun (pun intended) at an ancient and proven method of eastern medicine, let me just say that I absolutely believe in the benefits of acupuncture as well as all other alternative Asian remedies.  My only question is what motivated the first person to come up with the idea of sticking sharp objects into ones body for medicinal purposes?

I’ve got a raging headache.  I wonder what would happen if I shoved this huge needle into my toe?

What I am poking fun at (OK, now I’m just being redundant) is how this alternative medicine came to be.  At some point, thousands of years ago, I imagine a poor guy with some painful malady went in to see the village healer.

At some point in the diagnosis, the village healer must have said something like this to the patient:

Village Healer:  OK.  I see the problem.  You have a hernia.  We will have to operate.  Let me give you your choices.  In the past, our only choice to curb the pain during surgery was to take a huge mallet and knock you senseless with it until you are out.  While you are still, we perform the procedure.  You’ll heal from the surgery in a couple of days but it might take you a few weeks to wake up and recover from the beating.

Patient:  Village healer, you said I had a choice.  What is the alternative to the mallet? (hence the term, alternative medicine).

Village Healer:  The alternative is a new procedure we’ve been looking at where we insert these sharp needles into your body in an attempt to block out the pain signals from reaching your brain.  However, since this is the first time we’ve attempted this and don’t know what goes where, we’re going to have to poke around until we hit the right nerve.  Since this is experimental, I would still recommend going with the mallet.

The patient spends the next few minutes shifting glances between the mallet and a huge pincushion while the village healer impatiently looks at his sundial while waiting for a decision.

Village Healer:  Well, have you made up your mind?

Patient:  Umm…I think I’ll just keep the hernia.

Village Healer:  Nonsense.  Look, whatever doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.

And with that, an expression was born.

Time Marches On, Unless You Uninvite Yourself

On any given day, life presents challenges.  The key is in how you roll with the punches.

When things get you down, take a deep breath.  Turn the other cheek.  Take time to stop and smell the roses.  Go to your happy place.

Even better – draw a nice, warm bath, light some scented candles, and for an extra touch, toss a handful of freshly picked lavender petals into the water to set the mood as you ease in to the perfumed, silky smooth water.

Ahhh…gurgle, gurgle…life is sweet.

If you keep yourself in the right frame of mind, you can handle anything life throws at you.

Last week, someone backed into my car as I was about to leave and slightly dented my fender.  Sure, I could have been upset, but I’m sure he was in a hurry and obviously didn’t do it on purpose.  Then, a few days ago, I had lunch with a friend and the waitress brought me the wrong order – twice.  Again, she didn’t mean it and I’m sure she was just having an off day.

Yesterday, a colleague of mine canceled a meeting that we’ve had to re-schedule three times already.  Well, I thought, I’m sure it must have been something really important.

I just think life is too short to get worked up from such minor distractions.

So, it was with my serene peace of mind that I went about my day today.  I got up, dropped my son off to school, jogged a couple of miles, made a few phone calls, and then went out to the mailbox to retrieve the day’s mail.

There, among the junk mail, bills, and letters, was an invitation for me to join…AARP.  The American Association of RETIRED Persons.

What?!?  Is this some kind of friggin’ joke?  I’m only 44!

My first reaction was confusion.  Perhaps there’s another AARP.  I got on the internet and started doing a search for other potential names using the acronym AARP.  I started with “Asian Americans for Rhino Preservation” and “Athletic Americans for Recreational Parks”.  Nothing.

A search for “Awesome Association for Rad People” didn’t come up with anything either.

Once I realized that this invitation was indeed for me, and that there really is only one AARP, I started to panic.
I immediately called my mom, and naturally assumed that she, like anyone else over 60, was automatically enrolled in the AARP and must know everything about it.

“Mom”, I said, with a slight tremble in my voice, “I just got an invitation to join AARP!”
“OK…” she said, calmly, without the slightest hint of disgust in her voice.
“What do you mean, ‘OK’?  I just got an invitation to join A…A…R…P!”
“So?”
“What do you mean, ‘So?’  I’m only 44 years old!  You’re not supposed to be getting letters from AARP when you’re 44 years old!  There must be some law against that.”
“Just calm down.  Why don’t you go relax and take a nice hot bath?”
“I don’t need a stinkin’ bath!!!”

Now, don’t get me wrong – I would love nothing more than to live a long, healthy life.  I want to enjoy the sunset of my life and the wisdom that I’m sure comes with it.  But, the fact is, I am not in the sunset of my life!  At this point in my life, it’s only about noon!

In a minute, I’m going to get back on AARP’s website and find out the minimum age for membership.  If need be, I’ll call them up and insist that they rescind my invitation and “blacklist” me for at least ten years.

Forget all that stuff I said about “smelling roses” and “turning cheeks”.  When it comes to getting older, “denial” is as good as it gets.

A Promise to Keep – A Letter To My Daughter

To my beautiful girl,

It has taken me quite a while to bring myself to write you this letter.  I write this to you now in the hopes that many years from now, with a lot of hard work, patience, and no small measure of luck, this will be a faint reminder of the past.

It has been several months now since we first learned of your diagnosis.  Learning that your child has the telltale symptoms of autism has affected both your mother and I in different ways.

It has hit your mother the hardest.  I married your mother because of the way she lives her life.  She has a beautiful heart – simple, innocent and pure.  She’s worried about your future.  She’s worried about your future if and when we aren’t here to care for you.  She is sacrificing everything she has to provide for you.

While I support everything your mother is doing for you, because it will help – I see you walking down a different path.

From everything I have read about this condition, it is like each child has a door to open.  It’s a door to your consciousness, a door to your being.  It’s a door to you.

For whatever reason, God has made your door a little heavier – a little harder to unlock.  Yet with each passing day, your mother and I are pushing a little harder on the door, and some times you manage to peek your head part way through.  While it sometimes only lasts for a second, we see you struggling as hard to come out as we are trying to get in.  Yet for each of those moments, we can see that the potential and promise is worth every effort.

A few days ago you told us you wanted to watch Elmo.  Just the other day when mom asked you where her nose was, you showed her and pointed at her nose as if you had known for years.  You laughed and mom cried, yet you were both happy.

You are already a beautiful child.  I have no doubt in my mind that you will be a beautiful grownup.  I believe when all is said and done, you will surprise everyone – including me.

Regardless of what the future brings, as your Dad, I have signed on for the duration.  You should know that you will never go hungry, be without shelter, or be without love.  As long as I draw a breath and even beyond that, you will be cared for.

Let me be more specific.

When you start walking to school on your own, try not to mind the gray-haired fellow hiding behind every bush or sign behind you.  He just wants you to show him the way.

When you start to read and run into one of those hard words, come to me.  I probably won’t know it either but at least I’ll help you find the dictionary.

When you start to play soccer, softball, or make the cheerleading squad, try not to mind the gray-haired fellow jumping up and down in the stands.  He is your cheerleader.

If there is any time you can’t do something even when all your friends can, let me know.  You can do it.

These are some of the promises your mother and I have made.   I am sure we’ll make up some more along the way.

The door will open soon enough.  Good morning, sweetheart.  Wake up, come out and play.  It’s beautiful out here.

A Belt-Free Vacation

When does a craving become an addiction?

We all know that true addiction can be a life or death situation.  With cravings, not so much.  It only seems that way.

Case in point – our summer vacation in Vancouver.

Every summer, we spend a few weeks in Vancouver, Canada.  It’s a time to unwind, enjoy time with friends and family…and eat like it’s going out of style.

Seeing as how Vancouver has a huge influx of people from Hong Kong, most of our meals revolve around Chinese food.  For those who don’t know about my family, when I use the phrase “revolve around”, what I really mean is “consists entirely of”.

I will be the first to admit my craving – steamed buns with black sesame seed paste.  I know it doesn’t sound like much but ohhhhh, even the thought of biting into one of these scrumptious little buns oozing with my version of black gold.  Ahhhh…oooh…buns of mouthwatering goodness.

I know, it sounds oddly erotic but I don’t know how else to describe it.

Calling my wife’s love of dungeness crabs a craving is an understatement, and it doesn’t matter how they are prepared.  Steamed, stir fried, baked, or live out of an aquarium, she will take it any way she can get it.

Anyone who knows my wife Maya will tell you that she’s a picture of sensibility, always a healthy eater, and always looking for nutritious foods that are both nutritious and flavorful.  But put a platter of crabs in front of her and it’s best to keep your hands to your sides and wear protective eyewear in case the remnants of flying crustacean debris are flung your way.

In fact, during our stay we spent two days crabbing off a local pier, but we didn’t catch much.  I don’t know whether our lack of luck was due to it being late in the season for crabs or maybe all the crabs near the pier hightailed it for deeper waters every time a certain wild-eyed woman approached the pier wearing a bib and carrying a bowl of drawn butter.

Most interesting were the cravings of two of my best buddies, Victor and Vinh, who have lived in the U.S. most of their lives but grew up in Hong Kong and Vietnam, respectively.

Sure, being active types we had a terrific time biking around, hiking, going white water rafting, and generally seeing the sights, but what impressed me the most was when we went shopping for groceries in a local market and came upon the fruit section.

You could see each of them, stop in mid-stride, with their eyes wide open and mouths agape.

As one of my buddies started blubbering in some incoherent, oblivious way, I could faintly hear the other say something like, “Ohhh….Mama.”

What they were both staring at were a variety of exotic fruits, some of which just aren’t sold back home.

“They’ve got bon-bons here.”, Victor said, in mid-blubber.
“And Mangosteens”, Vinh said, after wiping away a bit of drool.

“Mangosteen and bon-bons?”, I asked, feeling puzzled as I saw no evidence in this section of any cattle or chocolate truffles.

Apparently, both Victor and Vinh had come across a number of exotic fruits, many of which they had not had since they were seven or eight years old.  I’d heard about how the scent or taste of something could trigger vivid memories of your childhood, but I had no idea of the magnitude of their reaction.

For the rest of the trip, our days would start early and our activities were planned based on our proximity to the nearest Asian supermarket for whatever bizarre produce we were after for the day.

“Psst…Wayne, wake up.  We’re going on a bon-bon run.”

“What?  We’re going on a what?  What are we going to do?”

“Get up.  Victor and I are going to Kingsway Street to get some longans and some bon bons.”

“Vinh, Kingsway is nearly an hour away.  You do know that, right?”

“Good point.  We’re going to need some gas.  Let’s go.”

Obviously, my friends were not sensing the silliness of their actions.  For a moment, I thought I might try to talk some sense into my friends by explaining what a waste of time it was to drive an hour away just for some exotic fruits and that they were getting a little carried away.

I thought that if I reasoned with them, they would come to their senses and realize the folly of going on some wild bon-bon chase.

Then I realized that I was getting dangerously low on my black sesame seed bun stash and that we’d better get moving if we were going to get back before sundown.

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