A Meat and No Potatoes Kind of Guy

It was a moment two months ago that I will never forget.  I stood on the small digital scale in my office, staring at the readout, unable to comprehend the number that flashed in front of me. “That can’t possibly be right”, I thought to myself.

The next thought was – perhaps the scale needed to be recalibrated.  The good news was that I was right – it did need to be recalibrated.  The bad news was that with the correct calibration I now weighed two pounds more.

Getting desperate, I started looking around the scale wondering if any of my children or my dog Bingo was jumping on the scale behind me whenever I turned away.  No children. No dogs.  There was only an overwhelming feeling that I needed either to go on a diet or gain a few more pounds and look into sumo wrestling as a new profession.

Since that fateful day, I’ve lost about 20 pounds on the Atkins diet.  Atkins, of course, is the diet that limits carbohydrates.  I did some research on “The Zone Diet” and “The South Beach Diet”, which are two other popular diets designed to help you lose weight as painlessly as possible.   For those of you who are also interested in finding a diet that lets you “have your cake and lose it too”, let me just save you some time – there’s no such thing as the “Krispy Kreme Diet”.  Believe me, I’ve checked.

The Atkins diet claims that you can eat as much steak, eggs, and bacon as you want as long as you stay away from starchy foods (rice & bread, for example).  I decided to test this theory out to the extreme for the first few days.  I went to an all-you-can-eat establishment, holding a platter the size of a spare tire, layered from one edge to the other with steaks, chicken, hot dogs – anything protein related.

By the time I made my way back to the table, looking at my plate I thought, “That should be enough meat… if I were a bear getting ready to hibernate.

As an Asian, Atkins is hard to follow since I am addicted to noodles, rice and dumplings.  I recently went to a Vietnamese Pho restaurant (beef noodle soup) where I proceeded to order a bowl of noodle soup minus the noodles.  I’ve had lunch at a dumpling house where I shucked all the dumpling skins like they were peanut shells only to gorge myself on individual fillings.  Do you know what it’s like to try and tell a sushi chef that you’d like a California roll without the rice?

The real problem is my metabolism.  A bowl of chicken broth can sustain me for a week and a half.

Yet, this really should be a blessing.  It could be a product of evolution.  Could it be that my slow metabolism is a centuries old response to my ancestors having to struggle in China with a minimum of resources and very little to eat?  Perhaps I should be grateful that my ancestors have passed along the ability to survive in a sparse environment.

It’s something to ponder over as I sit down to eat spaghetti and meatballs sans the spaghetti.

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.

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.

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