My Father..How I remember him?

Thoughts, feelings and emotions that hopefully provoke the purest of minds...Capturing thoughts through written words is like capturing pictures on film or digital camera.

A tragic news broke this morning whilst I was at a breakfast table with a couple of friends. Tragic as it may sound; but our expectation has always been that our father's time was just around the corner. The magical thing about his passing was that he passed in peace.

My father was nothing more than a simple man. Born to a second generation Chinese merchants in Kandal province, Cambodia in the early 1920's. He was the oldest of the eight siblings.

My father was educated in the temple where he learned to read and write during his years as a buddhist monk at Wat Soravon, Phnom Penh City. Given that he was the eldest of the family; he was entrusted by his parents to help bring up all of his other siblings who indeed were all successfully educated and completed university education. Life was hard for my father at a young age because he was separated from his parents to be in the big city and had to work hard to support his own schoolings and to support those of his siblings.

My father grew up during a time when the world was at war and Cambodians were still wearing cloth made out of tree barks. It is hard to even imagine that it has only been close to 90 years ago that he was born...time has changed. One thing that has not changed is the road to his village. I remember when my father used to tell me that he had to take an oxcart to his village; until this day...we still have to take oxcart to get there.

My father was a generous man who wanted nothing more than enough for his children. He was well-like by his peers and those that come in contact with him. He can strike conversations with anybody and would be able to make them laugh. He was extremely cultured and had tremendous respect for the environment and the disadvantaged people. He had the respect of thousands because he was nothing more than a simple man that cared for others when they are in needs.

His compassionate ways won the hearts of his compatriots during a time when our country was at war...He was nothing more than a fighter who fought for his country and its rights to self determination.

He learned the fundamental values of respect for all living things which are fundamental to Buddhist philosophies, deeply rooted in our culture and when he was working as Forestry agent protecting the lands in Pailin and Kravanh mountains. He would be gone for weeks into the forests on different missions to protect animals from poachers, illegal logging and deforestation. He spoke seven different languages because of his exposure with different natives and his dealings with neighboring countries.

Life under the communists was extremely cruel. My father had to work in difficult environments with exposure to different chemicals, fertilizers and other life threatening elements. I was so young then, but I could still remember, my dad coming home with little frogs, crickets and other edible plants hidden under his shirt to keep all of us alive and well. I have never heard of a word from my father about how hard life was despite the fact that I could sense his tiredness and exhaustion. Maybe, this is one thing that I have learned from my father about life...to never yield....but to press on despite how hard it may be.

His years of depression set him back abit when we first got to the United States where he was not able to land a job. All of us were too young to help him. And he would never want any of us to work any way because he wanted all of us to focus on nothing else but schoolings. He fought on and found himself a job which kept all of us afloat for years before my mother was well enough to work. My father never dared to buy anything expensive for himself because he wanted to make sure that we had enough to eat and clothes clean enough for school.

I remember, the first time I started working and invited my father to Red Lobster restaurant. He exclaimed to me whether or not I have enough money in my pocket. Knowing him, he just wanted to make sure that I had enough because he has always struggled with finances raising 6 of us with minimum wage and living as a refugee in a new land called the United States of America.

The first car he bought was a Volwagon Rabbit; a small car which we had to squeeze all seven of us inside. The Americans would look at us strangely, and my father used to smile at them. He occasionally opened the windows and politely smiled and said his infamous greetings "how are you?". He was always very confident with himself and proud to be a man he was.

I have never heard my father yelled at my mother for the 30 odd years that I have been around them. It must have been the chemistry of respect and mutual understanding. Of course, he would occasionally yelled at us for our childish acts and things; but never ever laid a hand on us. He never believed in violent to discipline any of us. His words were so powerful that when he said something; I would sit and cried...because they were meant to remind me that words if used distastefully...more hurtful.

As I sit and contemplate about my father's life; I could only wish that I can have a life worth living as he did.

My father is now gone from all of us and what remains will be nothing but than ashes that will be kept as a reminder of his existence amongst us. I will always remember his smile, his laugh, his wisdom, and a dignified life.

May your soul rest in peace, daddy...I love you always...

Love,
Johnny