Monday, December 15, 2014
Saturday, December 6, 2014
Lifelong Learning
My mother came into my room last night wanting to talk…
I received a phone
call this afternoon. It was from Linda,
the daughter of one of my oldest friends.
I was so surprised to hear from her, as it had been years since I had spoken
with her. “How have you been doing?” I
inquired. “I’m doing fine, getting
older, but my life is good now.” We
chatted awhile when she told me that she was still living with her policewoman
friend and they had been together for over 40 years now. They apparently have owned a house together for
many years and they also own a boat together as well! She told me that I might not understand her
relationship with her friend but that Irving would know.
I remember that Linda
was married when she was 18 years old but ran away from the marriage after only
3 days. Her mother was incensed because
it was generally felt that her husband was a decent fellow. She apparently moved in with the policewoman
friend shortly thereafter and they have been together ever since. I remember telling Linda’s mother not to be
too hard on Linda, that we really didn’t understand what was going on after
Linda left her marriage. Maybe her
husband was abusive! I realize now that
Linda was talking about being in a gay relationship. I don’t think I fully understand the choice,
but I do know that they have been together for a long, long time. If that is what it takes Linda to be happy,
then I am happy for her. After all, it
is her life and it doesn’t interfere with anyone else’s life.
We had just returned from a weeklong family reunion in
Virginia Beach last week. “Do you know
that one of the young couples in the reunion are gay?” I asked my mother. “Really?
I didn’t know!” I went to
Facebook and showed her pictures of one of my favorite couples in the world and
who both happen to be of the female persuasion.
“I remember them from last week.
They look very happy together in these pictures,” she exclaimed. “I know that I didn’t approve of such things
when I was younger. Maybe I just didn’t
understand it. But they seem so happy! I’m glad for them. And I’m happy for Linda. She was always a good girl.”
My mother is 85 years old and proof that you can teach an
old dog new tricks. We are never too old to learn and to change.
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
The Buddha and the Rickshaw
The Buddha and the Rickshaw
I spent this past Labor Day weekend with my mother in her
condominium in Jackson Heights, NY. In
her living room she has collected a number of knick-knacks and she questioned
why she had spent money on such trivial items.
As she spoke, I realized that she had endowed each inanimate object with
priceless memories. Here is one of them:
Do you see that Buddha
statue over there? Over on that left
bookshelf? I have other Buddhas on the
shelf, but that one is the most special to me.
Your sister made a trip
to Taiwan when she was living in Hong Kong.
She was trying to decide whether she wanted to take a holiday to Canton
or Taiwan, and I told her that the Mandarin dialect would be easier for to
understand than Cantonese, as it is much closer to our Shanghai dialect. Also, one of your father’s best friends lived
in Taipei and would look forward to having your sister visit.
They went sightseeing
and your sister had a wonderful time. As
she was shopping she spotted a pearl white statue of a Buddha that caught her
eye. She thought it was quite exquisite:
about 18 inches tall, finely carved and depicted a slim feminine Buddha
variant. Your father’s friend saw that
she was quite taken by the statue. “It’s
quite beautiful, isn’t it?” he commented.
”It really is. And I think it is
the Buddha whose name ends every mantra that my mother recites during her daily
prayers.” “Let me buy it for you,” my
father‘s friend offered. “No, I really
want to get it for my mother. If you
purchased it, the gift would be more from you.
I really appreciate your offer, but I truly think this is special and I
want it to come from me.”
My father’s friend
looked at your sister with a new appreciation.
“I thought she was so young,” he later recounted to me. “But she was very wise in her views. Very unlike the children here in Taiwan, who
seem to be only out for themselves!”
When your father’s
friend told me this story, I was so proud of your sister! But this reminds me of when you and I visited
China (in 2002). We were in that small
town outside of Suchow. We spotted a
rickshaw and you asked me whether I wanted to ride as we were tired and it was
unusually warm for September. I remember
that as we were riding we came to a small bridge with a steep incline. You got out of the rickshaw and helped the
driver pull it over the bridge. “Ah!”
the elderly driver exclaimed to me.
“Your son is so very considerate!
No other child here would even think to help! You must not be from here.” My mother admitted that I born and raised in America. “Ah, that explains it!”
These memories seemed to make my mother extremely happy and
proud. “Children here are different,
much more thoughtful and kind” she commented.
As for myself, I don’t believe this is due to geography, but due to
upbringing. After all, the apple really
doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
The Pig
The Pig
My mother’s overall cognition has declined over the past few
months. Repeats questions asked 2
minutes prior. Inability to make
decisions that were easy for her to make a year ago. But tonight at dinner she was especially
lucid in her past remembrances.
He was your father’s
younger brother’s nephew. He always had
an extremely bloated opinion of himself.
When your father was younger, he worked at the Neville Hotel in upstate
New York with Uncle Danny, to whom we had been close with for years. Also working there was George, the nephew with high esteem. Uncle Danny was considered
an outstanding chef and often times received compliments from the hotel
manager. These compliments seemed to
outrage George, who exclaimed, “What an idiot he (the manager) is! I could run this place ten times better than
he could.” Your father would
sarcastically respond, “Yes, you are a true genius!”
Which may have been
why George never liked your father. When
your father was dying of cancer, Uncle Danny and his wife would come and visit
often, but George would never do so.
“I’ll catch his sickness!” would be his excuse.
Six months after your
father passed, I was still grieving on a daily basis. Out of the blue, George called me. “You shouldn’t live by yourself. You should come live with me and we should
get married. I’ll take care of
you. After all, I have a lot of money.” I hung up on him and
burst into tears. The absolute gall of
that man!
Two days later, Uncle
Danny arrived for a visit, something he did regularly after your father’s
death. He confessed still being very sad
about our loss, but that I needed to begin to move on from my grief. I immediately burst into tears. “What’s wrong? What did I say?” I responded that it wasn’t about what he had
just said. “I’m just angry at
George.” I told Uncle Danny about our
previous conversation. “What a pig! Nothing but a pig!”
Uncle Danny later told
me that he had met up with George playing mahjong at the Benevolent Association
in Chinatown. He told George to stop
playing and come with him to discuss an issue.
He asked about the call and George confessed that he did make the offer
of living together and marriage. Danny
knocked him back with two swift backhands to the face. “What did you do that for?” George shrieked
fearfully. “It’s because you are such an
idiotic pig!” was Danny’s response. “How
can you do that to a grieving widow who only lost her husband 6 months
ago. And what is this with you having
all this money? You still owe me $200
from 2 weeks ago for your gambling debt.
I want that money right now!”
“But I don’t have
$200!” cried George. This resulted in 2
quick punches from Danny that knocked him to the floor. “I want that money now and for you to never approach her
again!”
I never did see George
again. I heard that he died on the
streets, homeless and penniless. I know
now that he was never rich and was just trying to swindle me. He apparently got caught stealing in Chinatown
and was beaten for his crime by the storeowner.
I know I should feel bad, but I really don’t.
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