My first Polish student: 8-year-old Stasiu

Lucja, the CEO at Face2Face (my future employer) in Kety, Poland,  is working to get the White Monkey, Phuong and Joanna into the country. It looks like it's going to happen because of Lucja's hard work. How cool is that? Phuong will get an "invitation" to enter Poland for one year, then she can apply for a visa or residency.
I did a demonstration lesson on Skype with Lucja's 8-year-old son, Stasiu, and he's an awesome young man. For a Skype class, we had a good time and were laughing pretty good -- and his English is top-notch. The CEO's husband was very nice, and Stasiu's older brother -- I'm pretty sure that's who was also there -- was fun as well. They're a very nice family and I'm certain it will be a great experience working for them -- and with them.
I didn't realize it during the interview process, but I found out from an old newspaper buddy, Max,  that Kety is extremely close to Auschwitz, which is in Oswiecim, a town about 12 miles north of Kety.  So, in addition to the wonderful teaching opportunity, beautiful countryside and temperate climate, there's a somber and world-changing history lesson near Kety. I really want my daughter Joanna to eventually understand what took place at Auschwitz and why. It's an amazing and somewhat chilling (an apt word that Max used) opportunity for Joanna, Phuong and me.

* * *

I've been teaching English privately since I left the language center in Bien Hoa, and I've developed a couple of good friendships with two of my students. One student, My (pronounced Me), is going to attend a university in Toronto. She's a very smart girl and her English is very, very good. She's waiting for her visa  and will no doubt be leaving soon. I planned to visit her in Toronto when I returned to the U.S. for eye work, but it appears I'll be teaching in Poland and my U.S. time will be limited. My is as sweet as can be.
The other student, Sam, is one of the coolest girls I've met -- after my wife, three daughters and one granddaughter, of course. But Sam has a quick wit, a quick mind, and her English is improving rapidly -- and not because of her teacher. Sam learns fast and remembers, and has a great sense of humor. I came to class dressed in a blue shirt and blue pants one morning, and Sam says: "Oh, hi Blue Monkey." I'll really miss her when I leave. The great thing about teaching privately is that you can choose your students. I've had a few that didn't work out. Good people, but like I said, it didn't work out ... so I don't teach them.

* * *

Joanna does this weird Frankenstein walk around the house -- she locks her knees and swings each leg around.  I saw her and said "Stomp, stomp, stomp." I was incorrectly copying one of her books where the Llama character goes "thump, thump, thump." Big boo-boo. Joanna thought I was staying "stop, stop, stop." and burst into tears and cried for at least a couple of minutes. Phuong and Sam figured out the problem. I was too stupid to get it at first. Oops.
We have to park our motorbikes in the living room or they'll get stolen. Naturally, Joanna climbs to the seats and sits there like she's riding a bike. She's fallen a few times and cries, but is no worse for the wear other than scrapes and bruises. Lucky, I guess. She also climbs into her stroller constantly because she loves going out and going to the park. The motorbike riders and car drivers make walking to the park nerve-wracking.

* * *

I taught Phuong how to serve, and now she's real trouble. She beat me 3-6 on Saturday. I was winning the second set 4-1, and an angry Phuong smashed the ball in my direction on the changeover and the ball hit me in the man zone. I buckled over, for real, and the match ended. I claimed a 7-7 tie on aggregate points, and an 8-7 overall victory for the point I received due to Phuong's unsportsmanlike conduct. The WTA is reviewing.
An angry White Monkey dominated the rematch yesterday 6-0, 5-3 (retired due to Joanna). Tai is wonderful with Joanna, but the creep beat me 4-6 after taking care of our daughter for an hour.

* * *

It looks like I'll be going to the U.S. for a short visit starting Jan. 9, then heading to Poland on Jan. 16, and working my way back to Vietnam in the middle of February to bring Joanna and Phuong to Kety (I'll miss them super much). It should be cold and rainy or snowy in Kety, and I couldn't be happier.
HAPPY NEW  YEAR TO ALL ESPECIALLY TO MY CHILDREN IN THE U.S.!

Merry Christmas to my family in the United States; I've accepted a teaching job in Kety, Poland

Special Christmas edition blog.
I want to wish a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year (happy holidays!) to my children and granddaughter in the United States -- and everyone else I know, have known, and will know. I don't like being away from my family in the U.S., whether they want to see me or not. I hope to get back there to live with Phuong and Joanna in the future. Until then, I hope to be blogging and raising my family in Kety, Poland. Who knows, maybe we'll settle there.
Oh yes, that reminds me. It looks like our family will be on the move. I've accepted a job teaching English in Kety, Poland, with a company called Face2Face. Now, the hard part begins. The CEO is working on getting a visa for Phuong to live in Poland. I'm extremely motivated to work there because I believe the CEO is a bright and compassionate woman, the small town of Kety near the border with the Czech Republic looks lovely, and the weather is cloudy and temperate. I have no doubts the students will be great. They were great in Vietnam and mucho (mas?) great in Peru. Face2Face uses the direct method, which may be challenging at first, but a motivated White Monkey has the ability to produce quality. Like I said, I'm motivated. The direct method uses only English, a question and answer format much of the time with lots of conversation, and no real grammar instruction ...  to speak of (ha ha). Even though I've been referred to as Grammar John, I'm sure I'll adapt and deliver the best lessons I can.
If things don't work out with Phuong and the visa, I can't take the job because I can't separate the family.  I've been down that road before and it doesn't work. And Joanna really needs her dad -- who else will stop her from walking on the kitchen table during meals and watching cartoons? I'll be extremely upset and disappointed if we can't move, but my wife and daughter and I will be together, and that's how it should be and will be. But I have the utmost confidence in the woman I'll be working for in Poland; I believe she can move mountains for Phuong.

* * *

My lovely wife Phuong really enjoyed making kimchi in Seoul, and now she's making it for us at home in Vietnam. Phuong knows I like hot stuff, and she laid it on thick in the first batch. The White Monkey was swinging from the chandeliers. Well, we don't have chandeliers, but we have four bathrooms. Anyway, Phuong is a perfectionist -- worse than me -- and she's been tinkering with her recipe. Fantastic stuff and a fantastic wife.

* * *

Our daughter Joanna has an amazing skill like every child. In a pile of 50 toys, she can find the one item she shouldn't have -- a pair of scissors, or nail clippers, or lotion. Why is that stuff with her toys? Because she puts it there, of course. She grabs the air conditioner remote and cranks up the fan. She still turns off the fan downstairs, where we need it. She still shakes her head no when we pray before meals, and I laugh because it's funny. In my pre-meal prayer, I sometimes thank God we don't go to church anymore because noisy, energetic, and full of life babies aren't welcome. Joanna still shakes her head no.
Joanna has taken a shine to coffee. She loves the foam when I get cappuccinos and she'll sip regular coffee out of the mug and go "MMMMMM" like it's the best stuff she's ever had.  Funny kid.
I mistakenly gave Joanna seaweed with wasabi. She loves the green seaweed that looks like a sheet of paper, and I thought that's what I was feeding her. Well, I was giving her the normal looking seaweed, but there was wasabi in it. I usually taste everything I give her, but I let this one pass because I thought it was regular seaweed. Anyway, Joanna ate it, and started crying. Not crazy crying, but crying. I gave her orange juice and water and she cooled off. Then, she sneakily reached for the wasabi-infused seaweed again, snagged a piece, cried again, drank again, and reached again. Kids are the greatest. No exciting Joanna news otherwise. She got Bluetooth headphones, a Mr. Microphone, and a clock for Christmas. She's still big and growing, smiles, fusses and talks more, and is communicating at a higher level every day. She's such a source of joy. She'll do well in Poland, no doubt, although she'll be dealing with yet another language. But so will Phuong and I.
I think we'll all enjoy Poland, if we can get there.

* * *

If a handful of people read this blog, I should reach 30,000 hits all-time. Reader No. 30,000 gets a special prize: A collection of all my blogs I'm putting together (with photos). But since I'll have no idea who reader No. 30,000 is, never mind.

A trip to South Korea: We got Seoul but we're not soldiers

We just got back from a four-day trip to modern, clean and expensive Seoul, and we loved the city even though it was freezing cold. Joanna and Phuong had a tough time adjusting to the cold weather and our cramped traveling and living conditions, but they persevered. I loved all of it, even the high prices, since high prices minimize riff-raff.
The only way Joanna would fall asleep on the bus and in the plane was if I sang to her. Thank God I remembered most of the words. If I tried to improvise lyrics, Joanna would know and start to cry. I estimate that I sang for at least five hours to Joanna -- If You're Happy; Wheels on the Bus; ABC (the long version I use for class); One Little Finger; Itsy Bitsy Spider; Hickory Dickory Dock; Patty-cake; and on and on and over and over. It worked every time.

• • •

Highlights and lowlights of the trip:
• First, I don't recommend traveling with a 17-month-old who's a bit on the "active" side, especially with a bush league airline like Vietjet Air. Our plane was cramped and the flight attendants were dismissive and surly. No food, no drinks, nothing for a 51/2-hour flight. Unless you paid.
• It was a typical tour -- go go go. But our travel-mates were fantastic. They pampered and put up with a whining, crying Joanna. They chatted with me in their best English. All of them were very good people.
• It was cold the entire time in Seoul -- 10 to 32 degrees fahrenheit (-12 to 0 C). A highlight for me and Joanna, but a lowlight for airsick and bus-sick Phuong. However, Phuong took dramamine and bundled up. She adapted and liked Korea.
• We flew a red-eye to Seoul, then ate kimchi, and cabbage and pork soup, saw snow at a ski resort and froze our butts off at Nami Island, a nice but touristy place with sculptures and carvings and lots of ice. 
• We forgot the stroller, so we carried Joanna a lot. I did much of the bull work. You should check out my "guns" now. We were exhausted and never really recovered. But Phuong made kimchi one day, we went to a ginseng lab, seaweed lab, pine extract lab, ate more kimchi and pork soup, went shopping, ate more kimchi, did some more shopping, ate some udon noodles with a side of kimchi, and had a mediocre dinner at a Korean country restaurant -- chicken, potatoes, carrots, onions, rice noodles.
• Grilled fish was the best meal we had. Salty, spicy, and plentiful.
• The highlight of the trip for me was reconnecting with an old friend, Jon Knibloe (Phuong calls him Jon K), who taught with me in Peru. Jon has been teaching in Korea for the past six years and really enjoys it. He came to our hotel, met Phuong, and watched Joanna sleep for a little bit. Then we went out and drank beer and solved most of the world's problems as we reminisced about Peru and shared observations about teaching in Asia. A wonderful time.
• The last night, Phuong and I chose not to go to a show we already saw in Thailand. We took a taxi, but the driver had no idea how to get to our hotel -- and he had GPS. Must be an Asian thing because we have the same trouble sometimes in Vietnam. Anyway, we were dropped off God-knows-where, but a fantastic Korean policeman got out of his car and walked us to our hotel.
• In addition to kimchi, there are coffee shops everywhere. I did see a couple of massage parlors but only one motorbike because it's too cold.
• Nobody talked about the North or the Great Leader. Even with new threats, it's old news in Seoul.
• Milk is very difficult to get. They have soy milk, but I wanted the cow variety for Joanna. After walking forever and not finding milk, I bought soy milk and jokingly asked a young Korean girl behind the counter: "Do so many people kill themselves here because they can't get cow milk?" I know, my mouth works before my brain. But the girl laughed her head off. I told you I liked Korea and Koreans.
• Since Joanna didn't super enjoy the traveling parts of the trip, it was difficult for us to enjoy it completely. But our fellow travelers were so understanding. Me? I'm a happy traveler and I was thrilled to get out of Bien Hoa. I loved Seoul and the cold. Even Phuong noticed that I wasn't negative about anything -- probably a first in the White Monkey's existence.

• • •

Seoul is pretty hip and very modern, the scenery is wonderful, the weather can be cold, but it has a temperate climate, which I like, and the people seem to love their rules and regulations. The locals are nice enough, though, and there was no staring. Seoul is an international city with big city prices. But we enjoyed it. Phuong, Joanna and I give it three thumbs up.

• • •

My former employer VMG played a crucial role in my daughter Joanna getting her resident's card in Vietnam. Without this card, Joanna could not leave the country. God bless Phuong for her hard work arranging everything, God bless VMG for their help, and, as always, God bless the United States of America.

Joanna and the life of a 'retired' White Monkey in Vietnam

Our 17-month-old daughter Joanna is 84 centimeters tall and weighs 12 kilograms. She's in the 98th to 100th percentile for both height and weight. I was a little concerned about her size until I saw she wasn't off the charts. She's a very big girl in a country where people still tend to be smaller. And her mom is Vietnamese, but Phuong is 5-foot-3-1/2 inches tall, which is tall for a woman here. When other parents find out Joanna's age, they're quite shocked at her size. They still ask if she has a special diet. Of course, she doesn't. But like any good girl, she loves her chocolate. They're also shocked she's half-Vietnamese. Some ask Phuong if she's babysitting for foreigners. Race is very important here, like anywhere else, I guess.
Joanna likes kicking a soccer ball in the park, loves doing somersaults -- front and backwards --  and enjoys throwing a tennis ball and dragging my tennis racket around the court and the house. If we're forced to move to South America, we'll get Juan Martin del Potro to be her coach. Joanna is getting handy with a fork, tries but struggles with chopsticks, and enjoys orange juice and water. She'll dance whenever she hears music, even funeral music or the music that precedes the government propaganda blared over loudspeakers all over the city each day at 5 p.m. She'll even dance when I sing, so Phuong and I suspect she's tone deaf. She'll repeat some of the ABC's when I say them, but sometimes she'll say "C" wrong on purpose and smirk at me. She can reach up and open the door to her room and escape. She can handle a remote, especially off and on, but I still don't let her watch videos and TV.  I'm not so sure that's the case when Joanna goes to her grandmom's family store. Like her dad, Joanna seems to dislike the heat. She sweats a lot and gets really cranky and thirsty. In other words, she acts -- and looks -- a lot more American than Vietnamese.
We've settled into a very nice routine here since I quit my job. I help some of Phuong's friends with their English in the morning and afterward I take care of some chores around the house. (I mistook bleach for liquid detergent and altered the color of many of our T-shirts and shorts.) While I slave for the betterment of the family and our household, Phuong and Joanna go to the park for a while, then hang out in the store that Phuong's family has in their house. I'll poke around on the internet and read about Donald Trump and North Korea and any other news of note, then hang with Joanna until I make lunch and milkshakes around 11:30. We get up early (6 a.m.) so we eat early.  After lunch, Joanna may or may not take a nap. I'll read her a bunch of books in the afternoon. Sometimes she's interested. Other times, not so much. I'll make my way to a coffee shop and then to the park for tai chi. I haven't seen the kid who yelled f$#k you! at me in the park  ... since he yelled f$#k you! at me in the park. I'm pretty sure Phuong scared the s&#t out of him when she pointed at him, and then walked toward the little weenie with a menacing look on her face. God, I love my wife. After chi, Phuong and Joanna will join me in the park for a walk and some soccer. Phuong usually cooks dinner but I'll chip in with spaghetti and hamburgers a couple of nights. At night, I read to and play with Joanna, do tai chi again, and share a beer with Phuong. Ah, the life of the 'retired' White Monkey.
In tennis, I lost to Tai 4-6 on Sunday and beat Phuong 6-1, but Joanna was a factor in both of the matches, so those scores come with an asterisk. If my net game improves, and Phuong's serve improves, we'll ... have a better net game and serve.
If we get the required paperwork for Joanna in time, we'll travel to Seoul, South Korea, for five days and four nights. We're looking forward to the cold weather and big, modern city. Hopefully, I'll meet an old buddy from Peru, Jon, and we'll share dinner, drinks, and war stories about Arequipa. Jon works in Seoul and was one of the truly wonderful people I met in Peru. Hope to see you soon, Jon.

The price of capitalism; epic tennis; prayers and laughter

Capitalism is still a work in progress in Vietnam, or at least in Bien Hoa City. The economy is clearly on the rise here, and this is evident in the increasing number of cars on the road. The infrastructure isn't the greatest, but it's improving and there's tons of roadwork and construction everywhere. The country is clearly developing. However, simple concepts such as customer service remain elusive to the locals. Just like in Peru, businesses close anywhere from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. daily, and this includes pharmacies. Some people require more sleep than others require medicine, I guess. And I've been denied purchases of items on the shelves because there were no price tags on them. Twice in the past week this happened -- at a bookstore where I wanted to buy puzzles for Joanna and at a specialty food store where I tried to buy chocolate for Phuong. In both cases, the cashiers shouted at me in Vietnamese, as if raising their voices would make their language easier to understand for the White Monkey. Trust me, it doesn't do anything other than ratchet up the tension. And the cashiers grabbed the items out of my hands and returned them to the shelves, where they could confuse future customers. Both planned purchases involved quite a bit of money, but since I wasn't dealing with the owners or people with any tact or social graces, my dong stayed in my pants, so to speak. Sorry, Phuong and Joanna. I tried to get you guys something special. Maybe next time. This has happened about a dozen times since I've lived here, but there's no point in getting angry. They wouldn't understand and they really don't care since it isn't their business anyway.
Last Sunday, Phuong and I had our first tennis match since Joanna was born. And it was the struggle I expected. At 3-3, the never-ending monsoon rains came and delayed the match for 45 minutes. The wait messed up Phuong's game and I won 6-3, but I see trouble ahead. Phuong's serve and ground-strokes are much improved because of her work with Tai, and she still runs like a gazelle.  My game is also improved, but I run like a 62-year-old fish. And my right ankle has never really recovered from one of my motorbike wrecks, so I have my excuse ready and waiting when Phuong starts dominating, which I suspect will be real soon. Tai and I had two tough matches over the weekend -- I beat him 6-3 and lost 4-6. I told him I was the overall champion and better human being based on the 10-9 aggregate score in my favor from the two matches. Tai's a good sport ... he smiled.
Joanna actually lets Phuong and I play and she isn't too disruptive. She'll wander onto the court once in a while, but she scoots off when we plead with her. Joanna's cousin Hai tags along and plays with her. Joanna loves Hai, and starts laughing as soon as she sees him. She had a blast playing in the rain while wearing only her diaper during our rain delay.
Phuong and I are looking into traveling, possibly to South Korea. I need to get out of town and so does Phuong. The little peanut Joanna gets bored easily (like her dad) and loves new adventures, so we believe she should do OK on a trip. But with Phuong, there's always the challenge of getting a visa. Canada nixed her and the U.S., well, you know that story. We really do plan to return to Vietnam -- I can't go anywhere until social security kicks in when I'm 66. That's still more than three years away, but time flies when you're getting old.
I'm in the process of putting together all of my blogs and travel photos to make a book about teaching in the TEFL world. It gives me something to do when Joanna takes a nap.
When I say grace before meals and add a little prayer asking for God to bless Phuong, Joanna and Daddy, Joanna vehemently shakes her head "no" and laughs ... every time. It cracks Phuong and I up, and we can't help but join Joanna in laughter.  Amen to that.

A lottery winner again; drugs do their job; kid curses at the White Monkey; scanning the globe

Even though my life is ... uh ... challenging here, I seem to have a knack for hitting the lottery.  I nailed the numbers again this week. Small stuff, really, but to repeat a quote from my beautiful wife Phuong: "A win is a win."  I won 100,000 dong, about the fifth or sixth time I've done so. Not horrible for a 10,000 dong ticket.  So that's very roughly $5 U.S. for a 50-cent investment. Like I said, it's small stuff  but it beats losing. Plus, I hit for $150 on a 50-cent investment once, so I'm certainly not complaining. And I've been playing the lottery for only a couple of years, not for the nearly five years I've lived here. Getting your winnings, like everything else here for me, can be difficult. The sellers are supposed to pay, but some won't pay for whatever reason. A seller refused to pay me for the winning ticket. One of the hu tieu girls told me I have to buy -- or must buy -- more tickets in order to get paid. This pissed me off, of course, and I told her Americans don't "have to" or "must" do anything. I still don't have my temper (reactions) under control yet. I saw a guy I used to always buy tickets from, and he paid me the 100,000 no questions asked. I gave him a 50,000 tip.
The powerful drugs my wife and father-in-law purchased for me from the pharmacy knocked out whatever invaded my body. I'm well again after being in a drug-induced stupor for three days. Same with Phuong. In addition, Phuong has a complete set of teeth for the first time since she was 13 years old. A beautiful woman has become even more beautiful. But ironically, she's the second-best-looking female in our house. Joanna is No. 1, which is what one of our truly friendly neighbors calls her. Phuong accepts her runner-up status because Joanna's smile lights up a room.
Speaking of my temper,  I was doing tai chi in the park on Thanksgiving Day when two kids on bikes came a little too close to watch. One of the kids kept staring and smiling at me, trying his best to distract me.  I said nothing, threw my hands in the air and gave up on the tai chi. I walked over to Phuong and Joanna, and said I'll do my exercise at home. The kids on the bikes rode about 50 yards away, and one of them yelled F@%K YOU! in Vietnamese at me loud enough for a group of teens taking selfies, two middle-aged couples and my wife and daughter to clearly hear. My friend in the U.S. said I should have offered to teach the kids, who were about 12 or 13 years old, how to say F@%K YOU! in English for a small fee of, say, 100,000 dong. Phuong and I were both miffed, but those bold boys took off on their bikes as soon as they swore at the White Monkey, my Vietnamese wife, and my 16-month-old daughter Joanna. Some people don't like the moniker White Monkey, but that's what I am to so many people here. The White Monkey: No other name is more apropos.
Young people shouting F@%K is one of the reasons I don't work for language centers here anymore. When I complained about this behavior in the classroom, staffers always made excuses and defended the foul-mouthed young folk. Well, I say folk that.
Joanna continues to speak a little English and very little Vietnamese. According to internet research, you can't teach a baby two languages in a two-language household any more than you can teach them how to smile, or how to walk. It happens naturally, and Joanna (and all babies, for that matter) know when people are speaking one language or another. "Experts" say to just let the speaking and language thing happen naturally. Joanna seems well-adapted and we're happy with how she's doing. However, two neighborhood kids, a 28-month-old boy and 30-month-old girl, are a little too aggressive with Joanna. Two days ago, the boy shoved Joanna pretty good when she touched a toy elephant on the boy's tricycle (the boy wasn't on his trike at the time) and the girl refused to share any of her toys with Joanna, but she was more than willing to take toys away from Joanna. Kids will do that kind of stuff, so I'm not real concerned. Joanna is a big girl and she'll be able to handle herself  in a very short time.
We're researching countries with favorable immigration policies in case the U.S. ultimately rejects our pleas to let Phuong in the United States. Can't imagine that would happen, but you never know. Uruguay and Ecuador are the leading contenders at the moment. We have a few years to worry about this, but we'd like to know something by the time Joanna is 5 years old.

Losing my temper (again), loving my supportive family and believing in my country and drugs

I lost my temper with Joanna last week, and yelled at her pretty good. She cried a little and avoided me like the plague, which has made a comeback in Madagascar, by the way. Joanna was tearing the pages out of the books I got her in the U.S., and I nicely asked her to stop. She repeated the offense, but I stayed calm (like Phuong) and again asked her to stop rather nicely. The third time she did it, I lost my temper (unlike Phuong) and yelled at her, which is unforgivable with a 16-month-old girl. Phuong looked at me in horror.  Joanna froze for a second, looked at me in horror, and ran to  mommy's arms. Joanna didn't stop crying until I left the room. So I left the room, taking all the torn books with me to another room. I taped them back together and returned to Joanna. She was intrepid and smiled when I began reading the torn  -- and subsequently repaired -- books to her, especially "My Dad is Beautiful." So, our spat lasted seven minutes, and everything is wonderful again. I wanted to kill myself after I raised my voice, but Phuong said that Joanna needs a dad for a few more years and suggested I wait until she's a teenager. Will do. I realize how unsavory my temper can be -- and I'm sure my first four children will attest to this unpleasant fact. Apologies now mean nothing to my kids, even though I am sorry, but I'm trying to control my temper. For me, temper is  not a choice but a reaction. So, I'll accurately say that I am trying hard to control my reactions.
The credit goes to Phuong and all of her family, including Joanna, who seem to have a real understanding of me. They're sympathetic, but not judgmental, of my situation here (yes, here come the excuses). They know it's 94 degrees with miserable weather every day. They know I can't go anywhere here without difficulty of some sort: people waving their hands in my face; waitresses refusing to wait on me while being unwilling to try to understand my Vietnamese, and then staring, laughing and pointing at me with their co-workers; people riding their motorbikes at stupid speeds way too close to me; and kids and adults refusing to wait on me in bookstores and any other business catering to locals only. Sounds like I'm miserable, but honest to God I'm not. Phuong and Joanna keep me smiling. I've developed a small circle of businesses I can go to without inconveniences. I can walk at certain times of the day when people don't see, interact with, or hassle me.  The food is awesome (thank you, Phuong). The fruit stand ladies look after me and some of the coffee shops actually understand me when I say "coffee milk hot" / cafe sua nong.  Our trips to the park each day are wonderful -- the security guards there smile and chat with us, and the other parents always engage us in a pleasant way.  Our Sunday tennis with Tai is a source of joy -- Phuong and I are starting to talk smack with each other again, Phuong's ground strokes are tough, and my game has improved to the point where I can give Tai a tussle and, once in a while, win a match.
None of these good times here would be possible without Phuong and Joanna. I'd be somewhere else, otherwise, probably teaching in Peru, Poland, or Ecuador.  My family could end up in one of these places anyway if my country (the United States) doesn't wise up and let me move back home WITH my wife and daughter. Phuong and Joanna have so much to offer that any country unwilling to accept them would be making a big mistake. Right is might, and I'm sure my country will eventually do the right thing.
I'm still battling my sinus and lung infections, taking stronger drugs every day that make me extremely dopey and happy and depressed all at once.  Still beats the world of employment, where authority means you're always right and never have to say you're sorry.

A former co-worker and true friend dies; my wife is getting new teeth; Joanna is spitting image of my mom

Gail Latham, a true friend not only to me but to everyone who knew her or worked with her, died yesterday from the effects of cancer. I worked alongside Gail for seven years at the Dayton Daily News, and for seven years she was fun, cheerful, diligent and the best co-worker you could ever ask for. Gail covered my butt on so many occasions, catching countless -- and I mean countless -- mistakes that I would miss as a copy editor and proof reader.  I used to jokingly say to Gail: "You're keeping this rag afloat with all the mistakes you catch." But work was no joking matter to Gail. She was fun, but she never made light of the job she had to do. That's why she was so damn good at her profession, and why I had to eventually find another job. People like Gail come along once in a lifetime, and I'm so glad she came into my life, even if it was for only those seven short years. Gail would call me on this cliche, but she would also understand: Gail Latham, you will be truly missed by me and everyone who was lucky enough to know you. God bless.
My great friend John recently lost his sister to a rare disease. I didn't really know John's sister, but I knew she was tough, good-looking, a fighter, and very intelligent. It runs in their family. My condolences to John and his family for their loss, and to Gail's family and many friends.
It's difficult to write about anything else after Gail's death, but I know she would say: C'mon Millman, man up.
So let's focus on family.
First, Phuong is in the process of getting all of her teeth fixed. We took care of her two front teeth a couple of years ago -- she can eat corn on the cob like the rest of us hominids with front teeth. Now we're fixing two molars. It's a little painful for Queen Phuong, but she's so tough that you wouldn't know she's in pain. Phuong had four  permanent teeth pulled out because of cavities when she was a teenager. She was a victim of chocolate, childhood poverty and draconian dental care. Those days are gone for my wife and she'll have a complete set of chompers, caps and all, by next Wednesday. My wife already had one of the most beautiful smiles in the world. Now she'll have the best smile in the world ... after our daughter Joanna, of course.
And speaking of the peanut, Joanna reminds me so much of my mom it's almost scary ... if it wasn't so wonderful. Of course I see lots of family in Joanna's characteristics, but when she concentrates on something, or laughs, or smiles, she looks just like my mom. I think these handed-down traits give many of us solace and comfort as we grow older and approach the big sleep.  I know life is about choices, but those choices are so often made with the cards we are dealt. Sometimes we get dealt a bum hand, but I hope that's not the case with my children. I believe my kids' moms are such quality people that I'm confident my children will make the right choices regardless of the circumstances. Knowledge really is power.
Since I'm no longer employed, I'm helping some friends of Phuong with their English.  I was showing two kids, ages 10 and 13,  how to peel a navel orange. They were dumbfounded and asked why I didn't own a knife. I finished the process, showed them there's no waste at all, and that it's cleaner in the end to eat the little pieces. They agreed and learned something. I will not ridicule these kids because I had no idea how to eat durian, chom chom, bon bon, and dau rong or a bunch of other Vietnamese fruits and vegetables. Now I know thanks to the patience of local Vietnamese people, who love teaching a white monkey a thing or two. So knowledge really is power.

"Stink bug" rash; public peeing; the world's best little girl

The relentless rain has increased the insect population in Bien Hoa, most notably the number of "stink bugs" in the park.  I know these bugs have a wretched odor, but I didn't realize I was allergic to their spray. A big version of a stink bug, about the size of a Susan B. Anthony dollar, landed on my shoulder and let off its stink. A week later and I still have a sizeable red welt on my shoulder. I could show you a photo, but that means I'd have to take off my shirt for a photo. That won't happen. The big red welt is a little itchy, but otherwise no problem. Well, my shoulder had a funny smell for a while, but that dissipated.
While Phuong and I took Joanna to the park in a stroller this week at 4 in the afternoon, a punk on a motorbike with a rough-looking girl on the back came around the corner way too fast and cut us off. I joked to Phuong that the guy was a doctor who was rushing to the hospital to save lives. Actually, this shipdit pulled his bike over about 10 feet from us, took out his minuscule manhood and stood on the sidewalk pissing on the bushes in front of a Karaoke joint. Phuong, Joanna and I were privileged to have front row seats at no cost. There's an outhouse in the park, about 50 feet away. So I told him, "Hey, Hickdead, there's an outhouse over there." Phuong and Joanna pointed and laughed at him. He mumbled his backtalk, but anybody could see he didn't have the balls to actually confront us. People routinely piss in public here in the daytime, but it's usually only the lowlife. Unfortunately, I'm learning Bien Hoa is a mecca for lowlife. Some clown who just got out of prison after serving five years for assault moved back to our street (he used to live here five years ago). He got his hands on a junk car that he uses to "deliver beer," and races up and down our street. It's obvious that it won't be long before this butt bunny will be making his deliveries back in prison. I've suggested to Phuong that we move somewhere safer -- maybe Syria, Uzbekistan or Iraq -- but she wants to wait until the U.S. State Department responds to our lawyer's formal request for an explanation as to why Phuong received a lifetime ban from entering the United States after she has seemingly done nothing whatsoever wrong. We made our request in March and continue to wait for a response. I could almost handle living here, but as I've said before, I really, really, really don't want Joanna growing up here and going to school here.
Speaking of Joanna, she's speaking much more -- in English and Vietnamese! Her entire demeanor has changed lately -- I think it's because I banned her from watching TV and videos. She tries to talk constantly, interacts much more with family and nice people (and really, there are so many here), and she seems to have a sixth sense to avoid morons. She'll engage other children, but will back off and leave when they're too aggressive. She loves kicking a soccer ball, picking up sticks, and splashing puddles with her feet in the park. At home, she plays more with puzzles and such. I realize much of this behavior is due to her age -- she's 16 ... months -- but it's such a pleasant change from the fussy and demanding baby she was becoming a few weeks ago. The beautiful and lovely Phuong, and cute and clever Joanna keep me sane here.
Phuong and I are now playing ping-pong with the flu and sinus infections. We're both quite sick every other week. It's Phuong's turn this week. Joanna started this mess, but she's been fine. Phuong and I will happily stay sick if it means Joanna stays healthy. As a parent, I worry that Joanna might be too tall. I know people are small here, but she's average for a 2-year-old. But I was huge in eighth grade and sort of stopped growing taller at that point. I've been getting fatter ever since, but that's another issue. The people here can worry about that.
Joanna had another immunization shot -- a big, honkin' needle -- but she cried for only 3 seconds (I counted). Both nurses were shocked at how quickly she stopped crying. But, of course, every parent thinks their child is the best. The difference for us is ... our child really is the best.
Vietnam motorbike diaries: I came to a small T-intersection in the Mega Market parking lot preparing to turn right and park my bike. A  gentleman on his bike came down the T on my left and we reached the intersection at the same time. I politely (and correctly) yielded the right of way and the man smiled and gave me a thumbs-up. There was a fat girl on a bike behind me and she was pissed I was polite and raced around me as I turned right. It was a dangerous, stupid and unnecessary maneuver on her part in the small, crowded parking lot, but she got to her parking space two seconds faster than I got to mine, so the fat girl is the winner.
 

Fight on the street near our house includes knife; no rats are injured; Joanna eats like a queen before she turns 16

There was a raucous fight on our street about 75 yards away from our house. Any kind of accurate account is impossible to get here for a number of reasons, but primarily for me it's because of the language. What I do know is that one of the combatants went inside his house and got a big knife that's used to cut open coconuts. I guess he wanted to cut open his opponent's coconuts. No one called the police, of course, and after jawing, punching, and threatening with a knife, things settled down. Thank God none of the rats living under my neighbor's pile of rotting wood were injured.
I think I mentioned this in a previous blog: There was a dispute between a teacher, who's an Englishman, and a Vietnamese local, over the local parking his motorbike in front of the Englishman's front door. At least that's what I think the dispute was about. The Englishman complained, and the local went home and came back to the Englishman's house with a big knife, probably one used to cut open coconuts. He was ready to kill the Englishman over where he could park his motorbike. I think the Englishman wisely closed his door and eventually left Bien Hoa. Smart man. This country needs some serious knife control laws, or coconuts that are easier to open.
My non-video-and-TV-watching daughter Joanna turns 16 (months old) soon, and she's already learned to butter up her dad. Every morning she goes to a table near our bed and brings me my eyeglasses. Maybe she wants me to see that her diaper really needs to be changed, so of course I oblige and tell Phuong to change our daughter's diaper. Ha ha. I believe my wife will verify that I do my share of housework, and that includes cooking, cleaning, laundry, dishes, and Joanna care. But caring for Joanna isn't work. It's a joy because of the love and interactions we have. Actually, the only real disagreements Phuong and I have are about who gets to spend more time with Joanna. I'm lonely because my kids in the U.S. don't really contact me and many of the westerners I've met in Vietnam are creepy (except Joy). Fortunately for me, Joanna is starting to speak better English ... certainly better than many of the folk I've had to deal with here.
I really enjoy cooking these days because I really enjoy eating. I'll show Phuong some American dishes and she'll show me some Vietnamese cuisine. The only problem with cooking is that the downstairs of our house doesn't have air conditioning, so the kitchen gets to 30 degrees celcius or higher with all the burners on. There are no ovens in houses here -- at least I've never seen one -- or else the kitchens would get as hot as the teacher room and some of the classrooms at my former school. "I'm cold, teacher."  Phuong appreciates my culinary skills, limited as they are, and sometimes she'll secretly copy my style, making scrambled egg or sunny side up egg sandwiches with cheese and chunks of ham or bacon. I've been buying green and spicy curry soup lately and adding zucchini (a Pham-Millman family favorite) and chicken. I always have dessert, and share with Joanna. We'll enjoy khoai mon cakes or nut and seed cookies with sugar-free yogurt from Da Lat. Breakfast always consists of naval oranges and apples from the U.S. or New Zealand, which cost a small fortune, and peanut butter from Golden Farms, one of my favorite local companies. And there's always lots of milk. I like chocolate milk, which I freeze into choc-cicles and share with Joanna. We eat well, and go about 50-50 between "western" and Vietnamese food.  Joanna weighs 12 kilos and is 84 centimeters tall. That's 26 pounds and 33 inches -- about the "average" height and weight for a 24-month-old girl. There's nothing "average" about Joanna, and locals are stunned when we tell them she's only 16 months old. We're always asked what we feed her and why she's so big. I tell people to read my blog and Phuong always mentions milk. Joanna is obsessed with cheese, and we have to limit her intake or she struggles to poop.
A situation with my eyes will bring me back to the U.S. sooner than expected, and I am planning to go to Prince Edward Island alone for a couple of weeks in either July or August. The staff at Dalvay by the Sea has been gracious and accommodating, so I'll honeymoon alone by the sea, which is as creepy as the westerners in Vietnam.

Neighbor's rat repository; Joanna's last name not accepted

I call the family across the street the Rat Pack, among other things. A husband, wife, two kids, and at least two dozen rats live there. The husband runs some kind of produce delivery business, and he has a huge pile of pallets in front of his house and the vacant lot next door, which he doesn't own. (You can see the pile in the lead picture for this blog. It's under a beautiful blue, black and white tarp. It's higher now.) The pallets serve as a rat repository and recreation area. Old women, who I assume are in his family -- everybody is related here -- sit in chairs in front of the house as rats scurry about, coming within inches of their legs. The women think it's funny and laugh. It almost makes me laugh when the old women meticulously sweep around the pile of pallets. I'll complain in English about the pile of rotting wood and rampant rats, which does zero good. The husband doesn't speak, but he stares and glares. He hasn't said one word to me -- not even a grunt -- in the four years I've lived here. The neighbors don't say anything about the rat ranch to the schmucked-up dad. If they won't confront kids and adult losers racing their motorbikes and cars up and down our little street at 100KMH, why would they be concerned about an idiot who's created a breeding ground for rats and disease? As always, I'm told there's nothing that can be done to clean up the mess. Removing the wood would reduce the rat population by 90 percent on our street, but as I've been told here for nearly five years: You don't understand! And I've had people here and in the United States laugh at me or say I'm negative, or a complainer, or just a plain old a---hole for whining so much. OK, guilty as charged, but in my opinion the people who let others do crap like this are the real losers. We've complained to the family, who gave us an incredibly twisted. stupid and nonsensical answer about the vacant lot next to them and rats living underground. We'll keep complaining and riling up the neighbors. I tell my students that you can lead or follow and that both are fine, but lead firmly and judiciously, and follow wisely. By the way, almost all of the motorbike riders go past our house slowly since I began my rants at them. Some even smile when they see me. I'll get off my soapbox now ... the rats underneath want to go out and find some food.
The never-ending monsoon season is never ending this year, or so it seems. We're still getting rain almost daily, although I do detect smaller amounts of rain and a little shorter duration for the storms.
When it rains, the temperature comes down ever so slightly. This makes the locals "cold" and the air conditioner for my very last class at the language center I no longer work at was set at 28 celcius on Wednesday. That's a chilly 82.4 fahrenheit and doesn't include the 11 kids running around the room, making it a degree or two warmer. The AC was often set on 29 in the teachers' room, which is a crisp 84.2. "I'm cold, teacher." Shockingly, I'm sick again. but thankfully, Joanna and Phuong are doing well. Joanna doesn't like the heat super much, and she'll sweat pretty good for a little girl. But kids don't care too much as long as they can climb on chairs and tables, and stick metal forks into the electrical sockets. Joanna is mischievous as hell, turning off the fan while we're eating in the kitchen. She turns it off, laughs, and runs away. She's bright as hell, also. Or at least I like to think so. When I read to her, she'll recognize a flower or animal in the book and point to the animals and flowers in the posters on her bedroom wall. She knows what a rainbow is and she can explain the principles of the Pythagorean theorem. Well, she knows what a rainbow is.
We were told by a court bureaucrat here that Joanna cannot have dual citizenship (Vietnamese and U.S.) because her last name is Millman. We were told we would have to change her name to Pham (Phuong's last name) in order to begin the process for her to also get Vietnamese citizenship. Ain't gonna happen. She's an American citizen now, and she even has a U.S. social security card . That works for me, especially if I can take my wife and daughter to the U.S. with me.
I'm having some issues with my eyes and dizziness, but that's none of your damn business, so butt out.
My eyes and dizziness have not affected my tennis, however. I discarded the bulky glove I was wearing to prevent blisters, and the result is a deft touch at the net and more powerful and controlled ground strokes. Really, the result is I can place my shots a little better. I beat Tai 6-0 two weeks ago, but that was after he played for five hours in a tournament. As Phuong always says to me: A win is a win.
Tai really wanted to kick my ass the next time we played, but I battled and lost 4-6. Yes, Tai, a win is a win, but I'm clearly getting better -- finally.

Rain, sickness won't relent; clever Joanna doesn't hit back

The monsoon season continues to hang around, dumping quite a bit of rain on Bien Hoa, usually in the late afternoon. The rain can last anywhere from an hour to three or four hours, but we usually get the shorter version, which resembles something of a cloud burst. Maybe it's the wet, muggy weather that's gotten our family into a cycle of sickness. It's like a relay race ... Joanna passed her snot-nosed illness to me, and I've handed it off to Phuong, and the cycle has made its way back to me again. Since I'm the old fart of the bunch, I tend to get the sickest in our family. I'm really sick at the moment and can't really talk. A lot of people think that's a good thing. The young farts Phuong and Joanna shake this stuff off quicker than the old NWM. The latest virus started in my nose -- I couldn't breathe or sleep. It's now in my throat and lungs -- I can't breathe or sleep. Next stop ... ?
I'm so happy to report that Joanna is really thriving without TV and videos. Her whining has stopped. Period. Her interactions are more intelligent and decisive with almost no confrontation. The children in our neighborhood are quick to hit or push Joanna if she so much as walks toward them or puts one finger on them, or their toys. In fact, kids do quite a bit of hitting here, which doesn't shock me since I see parents whacking their kids quite a bit -- even in church. It's a very unsavory cycle, even worse than our sinus infections. But instead of crying or hitting back, Joanna pretty much ignores the aggressive kids, turning her back on them and amusing herself with another toy or a ball or whatever. The pushy kids are anywhere from 10 to 18 months older than Joanna. Some are 4, 5, or 6 years old, but Joanna certainly acts older than they do. I'm so damn proud of my daughter -- and my wife, too, for that matter, because that's who Joanna emulates. And Joanna is a really tall and sturdy girl, so those older whack-heads better be careful. What goes around ...
I figured out why Joanna always walks on her tiptoes -- it decreases the chances she'll step on a lego or wooden block or some other toy on the ground. She avoids causing great pain to her feet with her nimble walking, so Phuong and I have been practicing our tiptoe walking because I nearly ruined my right arch stepping on a rattle. I'm the NWM (New White Monkey), not the Young White Monkey I used to be.
Phuong and I are back on the tennis court, but we don't play against each other. Someone has to watch Joanna. So Phuong works on her game with Tai (my old partner), and I play a set or two against him. Our neighbor showed up with his two young sons last Sunday, and wanted to play me. I had already played a set with Tai, but agreed. My neighbor's kids yelled "Dragon ball" and other junk while I served and attempted to return serve. Needless to say, I was a little distracted and fell behind 0-3. I regrouped and trailed 4-5, but it was my serve so I was kind of excited. In other words, I battled to get "back on serve." At that moment, my opponent quit, saying he was too tired to finish the match. Whatever. Fifteen minutes later, he was back on the court with Tai hitting forehands. This same guy quit on me before under similar circumstances. At the old court where clowns walked across the court during my matches, some other guy quit as I rallied from a 2-5 deficit to tie our match 5-5. He was tired, too. Draw your own conclusions. "Dragon ball!"
Phuong and I walk to the park nightly since I'm almost finished with the language center -- I have about 3 classes remaining over the next three weeks. We enjoy the walks, but the litter everywhere is so disheartening. The park gets super trashy sometimes. The streets leading to the park are horrible, and the smelly canal (open sewer) that runs along the park is filled with garbage. And guys fish there. Catch of the day? This town has some potential, but trash, pollution and aggressive motorbike riders make it less than pleasant. I've gotten used to the staring and glaring, but I'll never accept the filthy environment and littering.
 Joanna loves kicking a soccer ball and avoiding punches from neighborhood kids at the park. Other than the smell, trash and violence, it's a wonderful experience for all of us. Really. The other moms are sweet as pie and the other dads smile and give me a thumbs-up. I've said it before. There are some incredibly nice people here along with the ... other folk.
Phuong was rejected on her Canadian tourist visa, so I'm considering travel options with Joanna. We're super close and buddy-buddy these days, but I'm not sure Joanna could handle a trip across the really big pond without her mom. As always, we'll see how things shake out, since I'm not optimistic Phuong will ever be able to leave Vietnam.

Nobody likes a quitter except my family

Being at home and not having to go to work is awesome. I could do this for a living. The pay isn't great but time is money, and I've got loads of time. I see my wife and daughter all day, every day. I read to Joanna constantly. I exercise, help with the laundry and cooking, do dishes, and generally get in my wife's and daughter's way all the time. By the way, this is the same stuff I did before I quit my job at a language center, but one difference is that I'm much happier now.
I've noticed that when she isn't running full speed into furniture and walls, Joanna walks on her tiptoes. I'm not sure what that's about, but it's so cute. In fact, everything Joanna does is cute and it's so great to be home to see it. I know my other children were remarkable as well, but I had a damn job and other issues involving alcohol at the time. I missed so much.
I won a crucial and important battle with my wife Phuong involving Joanna. Our little sweetheart was becoming whiny and demanding. So the NWM (that's me) issued an edict: No more videos or television for Joanna. That meant no more Itsy Bitsy Spider or If You're Happy or Goodnight Moon videos before bedtime. The first two nights (and days) were a little difficult, but then our brilliant daughter brilliantly adapted by bringing more books to her dad to read, and playing more with her toys. We bought some blue-colored play sand and assorted digging toys, and she has dug right in, so to speak. The whining has stopped and so has her demanding behavior. She's now trying to speak more, saying "fish, mommy, daddy, kitty, cheese," and other words -- in English, of course. The pronunciation isn't flawless, but I understand, and more importantly, she's trying to speak and play instead of sucking her finger and staring at a screen. The NWM (New White Monkey) is proud of this edict and even more proud of Phuong for eventually seeing things my way on this issue. Now if I can just convince her that cigarettes and lots of beer aren't that bad ... just kidding. I've gone 19 months without a cigarette and share a beer every other night or so with Phuong. The supermarket at Vincom carries La Trappe Trappist Quadruple, a very good and strong (Alc.10% volume) beer made in The Netherlands.
I have two classes over two weeks at my soon to be former language center. That's good, but I'm scheduled to teach a group of 7-, 8- and 9-year-olds both times. I've taught them twice before. The kids and I are starting to hit it off, but I don't think that matters much now. A class I've worked with quite a bit that was beginning to turn into a special group was taken off my schedule, so now I can say farewell to my farewell tour. Whatever. I told my boss that I thought I was making good progress with the class I no longer teach now, and she "joked": "I guess you did one good thing while you were here." Maybe that creepy teacher was right when he "joked" that the staff and other teachers were celebrating my resignation.
Regardless, I'll remain forever grateful that VMG took me back as a teacher after my multiple motorbike accidents, especially the first one four years ago that put me in a Thailand hospital for a week and continues to give me periodic dizzy spells and headaches. (My son Jack may have saved my life by getting me out of a Ho Chi Minh City hospital and sending me to the Thailand hospital, and my son Alec and my ex-wife Lynda flew to Bangkok from the U.S. to visit. At least I can remember these things now.)
I want to say a special thanks to a woman staffer named Nguyen (a very unusual Vietnamese name -- ha ha), who would help me get pizzas for my students and headphones for my head. And there's Joy, but I thanked her in my last blog, so I'm done with her  :).
The students here are incredible. They work hard, they learn fast and they practically never hold a grudge. They're awesome and are always smiling. Hats off to all of them. I'll miss them for sure.
Finally, there's one woman who's so cool, so hot, so wow, and so nice that I quit my job so I could spend every minute with her (and our daughter). Phuong, my incredible wife, got me computers, a printer, found my keys and wallet every day, and somehow always knew where my books were. And there's a wild little girl who's part of this package. Quitting was the right thing to do for many reasons, but No. 1 is Phuong and Joanna. Really, they made my decision a no-brainer.

I quit my job at language center in Bien Hoa

I quit my job at VMG this week. I gave 31 days notice since I'm the consummate professional (hold your laughter, please) and I truly respect my employer. My last day will be Nov. 10, 2017, which means I will have worked (rare use of the future perfect tense) at VMG language center for 4 years, 8 months and 1 week as an English teacher. But who's counting besides VMG and the NWM (New White Monkey)?  I was told by another teacher that the staff and teachers at VMG were celebrating my resignation. Fake news? Could be. I'm sure a few students are happy to see me leave. But I never, ever cheated any students on preparation for class. I had a thorough plan for EVERY class and I respected the students. The only time I lost my cool was when it was clear to me that students were being intentionally disrespectful. That rarely happened -- I can remember maybe three times in almost five years. Not bad, really. I want to thank fellow teacher Joy Cao Bogart for supporting me, providing advice and worksheets, and being a great friend. There are many people to thank, but Joy has stood by the NWM through the good and bad times. That's what friendship is about, because I've had my share of difficulties here. Sadly, I didn't make any friends among Vietnamese teachers in nearly five years at VMG. A few were nice and some were cordial, but that's the extent of it. However, I did meet the most wonderful woman in the world in Bien Hoa City -- Pham Thi Ngoc Phuong -- who became my wife and the greatest mom in the world to the best little girl in the world, Joanna Pham Millman. I now know I'm the luckiest man in the world because of Phuong, Joanna, and my children in the United States, who probably don't want their names mentioned here. My wife and children are intelligent, caring and genuine people. My children in the U.S. have grown into successful adults, thanks primarily to my first wife Lynda, another quality human. I told you I was a lucky man. I never said smart, but I'll stand by lucky.
I'm actually getting through to a couple of the Speed Racers on our street. Twice, I saw a couple of guys approaching our house close to the 100KMH mark, so I stood in the street with my long staff held out in front of me. But I've softened my approach, smiling and gently using the staff to urge the riders to slow down. The younger guys get it, but the older losers and young girls couldn't care less. One young, helmet-less girl, no more than 17, sped up and raced right past me as I urged her to slow down a bit. She's not a quality human. The neighbors continue to stare in disgust at the vigilante NWM (credit to Ron for this expression) as I beg speeders to ease up.
A woman who lives in a giant house across the street from the park we take Joanna to won't put her trash out in front of her house for pickup. Instead, she carries it across the street and leaves it under a tree in the park, where roaming dogs and assorted chuckleheads rip it to shreds, spreading her waste everywhere. Classy, huh? One day, after she "dropped off" her trash, she gave me the NWM stare, and continued to stare as she crossed the street. Two clowns on a bike didn't slow down, of course, and had to swerve wildly at the last second to avoid hitting her. She laughed. Too bad they didn't hit her -- it would have served all three losers right.
Joanna chewed up my favorite headphones, making them useless. So I did what any responsible adult would do. I took them down to the park and threw them under a tree for pickup. Not really, but it's fair to say that I wasn't pleased.  

Great gifts, wild child, two more accidents

My sister-in-law, who has said about six words to me in three years, gave Phuong and I some kimchi that she made. Kimchi is a popular Korean dish made from salted and fermented vegetables, such as cabbage, ginger, onions, radishes, and hot red peppers. Or something like that. It's very popular in Korea, but has been catching on in Vietnam as well in the past year or so. Like red lipstick.. Anyway, the first batch she gave us was heavy on ginger and light on red pepper. "Real" kimchi is usually very spicy. I mentioned to Phuong that additional red peppers would make the kimchi more authentic and it would probably taste better. My silent sister-in-law came back with the second batch and it's amazingly good. Actually, it's better than any kimchi I've had at the Korean restaurants here or have purchased in the markets. It's hot as hell but it also has a wonderful flavor. I can't stop eating it, even though it can be a little rough on the system. Let's just say it has remarkable cleansing powers. I went over to my in-laws' house, where my sister-in-law lives with her husband (Phuong's brother), their two children, and Phuong's mom and dad, and thanked her and told her the kimchi was excellent. She stared at me and didn't say anything. That's fine as long as she keeps making the kimchi. And she's very good with our daughter, Joanna.
A couple of neighbors on our street have been very kind to Joanna and our family. The family next door with the rowdy son brought two toys for Joanna and the boy made sure he was the one who gave Joanna the presents. A family across the street brought us a Chinese lantern sort of thing, which lights up and "sings" a song when you push the "on" switch. Moon festival stuff. Very kind. And the lantern family gave us a chunk of cake, which was loaded with whipped cream and chocolate. I liked it.
Our nearly 15-month-old daughter is learning to play mom and dad against each other, crying and gaining sympathy when one or the other parent disciplines her for doing something dangerous and life-threatening. And man, is she stubborn. Reminds me of my children in the U.S. And me, as well. When she digs in, she won't budge. I admire her moxie, but it makes parenting tough, especially when you're my age. But not smoking or drinking has certainly helped my patience and fitness, and Joanna seems appreciative. She wants me to hold her and cuddle quite a bit. She's challenging, sometimes moody, often stubborn, but she's always a source of joy and love in our family and house.
    I saw two motorbike accidents last week. The first one I saw involved an older lady and a couple of guys who looked like construction workers -- no shirts or helmets, and wearing only flip-flops and grungy shorts. They took a left turn too wide in front of Thuy Nha coffee shop and knocked the woman off her bike. They stopped, helped her up, and in the end she was smiling. The other accident involved yours truly, the NWM (New White Monkey). I was stopped in front of Lido waiting for the traffic to clear out so I could cross the street. Two girls -- about 12 and 8 years old -- were on a bicycle waiting to cross as well. A woman riding past gave me the awkward eye and when she didn't stop staring at me, she ran into the two girls on the bike. The lady gave a startled "Oh Oh" and took off. The girls were shook up, so I escorted them across the busy intersection, daring the yahoos coming toward us to hit me. Everyone was cool, so the girls and I crossed safely together.
 Two days earlier, two women on a bike dropped a heavy box they were carrying in the middle of a  busy street. I didn't see the drop, but I saw the box and glanced and saw the women on the side of the road up ahead. I stopped in the middle of the road in front of the box, got off my bike, picked up the box and carried it to the women. They didn't really thank me, but kind of nodded, and riders on bikes that had to swerve around my bike honked their horns at me and gave me the NWM stare, not understanding what was taking place. All three incidents had relatively happy endings, which I hope results in good motorbike karma for me. God knows I  need it, and I want the same for Phuong and Joanna, who face injury or worse everyday because some clowns go 80 to 100 kilometers an hour up and down our tiny street. Our neighbors don't say anything.  They're scared because they "don't want trouble" with the crazy, wild motorbike drivers. And people who live here think I'm the clown so they laugh at me for yelling at these folk to slow down. I don't get it.
I'm not going to Lido for a while since two teens working there had no idea what I was trying to tell them when I wanted to pay my bill. I held up my money, and the kid kept pointing at my coffee. I said no, tried to say the money was for the coffee, but the kid still didn't get it. He grabbed the money and tried to put it in his pocket.  I grabbed the money back and he walked away from me and said "I don't understand" in a snarky tone. I got up and went to the counter, paid my bill, then left and watched two girls on a bicycle get hit by some genius who couldn't take her eyes off of me. Some days are better than others for the NWM.

I totally support NFL players not standing for the anthem

Sitting here in Bien Hoa, Vietnam, what do I think when I see NFL football players in the United States refusing to stand for the national anthem? Well, when I see this I think that my country is the greatest in the world.
I love my country for many reasons, but the most important one for me is that I can express my opinion, and say that my country is foolish, pigheaded, authoritarian, or just plain wrong about something and not get sentenced to 20 years in prison. Back in the day -- in the early 1970s -- I went to a movie with two friends from high school. None of us agreed with or supported the war in Vietnam, so when the national anthem was played before the movie, we chose not to stand. We may have been being smart-asses as well, but nonetheless, we didn't support Americans dying because our government wanted to intervene in a civil war  "to stop the spread of communism." (And we really didn't want to go to Vietnam to fight in a war we didn't believe in.) So while everyone in the theater stood for the anthem, we sat. The guy behind us kept calling us punks, and I thought about standing, but one of my friends said something back to the guy, and didn't budge. Neither did I nor my other friend.
I still feel proud of that moment. And I still feel proud of my country, even though the Vietnam War was one of the biggest blunders in American history. One of. Of course, I support our military and our police. My dad was in the U.S. Army and fought in World War II. Two of my uncles were in the U.S. Air Force and one of my uncles was a policeman in Philadelphia. My brother is a graduate of the Naval Academy and served 20 years in the U.S. Navy. My son is in the Army National Guard and served nine months in Afghanistan. I support, respect and admire those who serve or have served my country. Some have paid the ultimate price. They've lost their lives or been severely injured defending my right to sit in a movie theater during the national anthem. Sounds a little trite, but there's nothing trite about freedom of speech and expression. My country has a president who's somewhere to the right of John Birch, but I'll bet Donald Trump is happy he grew up in the United States instead of North Korea. Our president uses his freedom of speech on Twitter. NFL players use it on the field by refusing to stand. I use it on blogspot. So you can kiss my ass everyone.
I consider my country a family. I can talk crap about my country or family, but I don't like to hear some Canadian or Englishman or Frenchman or anyone else insulting my country or family. I don't like it, I'll let them know I don't like it, but I'll respect their views or at least give them their say, no matter how stupid and uninformed their opinions are. That's what makes Americans different. That's what makes the United States of America great.
Since I'm not working very much, I'm spending a ton of time with 14-month-old Joanna and my beautiful wife Phuong. God knows I wasn't the perfect father or husband the first time around, but I've tried to learn from my mistakes. And now I have the right amount of time -- for me -- to be a better dad and husband. Anyway, Joanna is hilarious, in a good way. She doesn't talk much, but I attribute that to her desire to do everything perfectly. So yesterday, when I offered her a cookie (all natural, by the way), she responded: "Ga ba ya yea do di .... cookie." I don't know what the other stuff meant, but she said cookie as clear as an azure sky and better than my students -- anywhere in the world. I clapped and cheered. Joanna absolutely loves it when I praise her.  The only time I sort of raise my voice with her is when she starts playing and doing foolish stunts on our very steep and dangerous faux marble stairs. But life is wonderful as I live under "house arrest" here. We're not comfortable going out because people point at Joanna and say "Mỹ Mỹ Mỹ" (American, American, American), and they stare and laugh at me, the handsome NWM (New White Monkey). Most of the folks here are very, very nice, but a few turds can make life stink a little. Just ask Joanna.

Monsoon season; hoping for a Canadian visa; Phuong's tennis is looking real good

We're having a real monsoon season this year. Long periods of daily rain. Sometimes we'll get thunder and lightning as well. The rain keeps Joanna indoors, but the only place she can really go is the little park near our house. And the grass is wet from the rain, so it's not a lot of fun for her or Phuong. I like the rain because it's a respite from the heat. This is the most and steadiest monsoon rain I've seen in my nearly five years here. Global warming? Donald says no way. It matters little to me at the moment. I'm teaching only three classes a week, so the rain hasn't been a problem. In fact, I like traveling by bike in the rain because the traffic, which seems to be getting worse every day, is much lighter when there's a downpour.
However, cars have started racing up and down our little street now, blaring their horns as they go. They never slow down for children. Hit and run can be a problem here and I've been a victim three times from other motorbike riders. So even when we use a stroller to transport Joanna, we're a little nervous because, like I said, cars don't slow down and neither do bikes. Two teens were showing up and showing off at the park near our house on a little motorbike, and they started riding near us, swerving as they approached. Phuong shooed them away, and later they crashed doing the same nonsense. The bike was broken and one of the kids got scraped up, but none of the eight people in the park helped them. Just desserts.
Phuong is trying to get a Canadian tourist visa  so we can take a vacation to Prince Edward Island for a month. It's no issue for me and Joanna -- we can pretty much go wherever and whenever we please. We're Americans. But everything involving travel seems problematic for my wonderful wife Phuong. Our lawyer filed a freedom of information act with the U.S. State Department to obtain all of Phuong's records so we can find out what the heck happened the last time she applied for a U.S. Spousal Visa with her first husband. We applied for the FOI in March and haven't heard back yet. I've been told that anything involving the U.S. State Department can take at least a year before there's a response. Wake up, Donald! I really, really, really don't want Joanna going to school here. And it's not because of the schools or teachers. I'm not informed enough to have an opinion. The traffic and the way people ride and drive are what worry me. Crazy, huh?
We took Joanna to a "play area" at Vincom, the local mall. I hated it -- noise, lights, gimmicks, games. There's a $4 entrance fee -- give or take a dong or two -- and you have to take off your shoes and wear a wristband. The staff of young people couldn't have been more sour. All the games -- which cost extra -- had bright, flashing, colorful lights that Joanna seemed interested in. Otherwise, she didn't really care for any of the crap there. Smart kid. They have more places like this in the U.S. and I hope Joanna doesn't like them there, either.
Phuong has returned to the tennis court and it's looking like I won't be much competition for her. Like most folks here, she relentlessly follows the directions of her tennis teacher, practicing over and over until she executes flawlessly. Her forehands have a natural topspin and she continually hits the corners and paints the baseline with her ground strokes now. She always ran well, so that's not an issue. Her backhand is solid and improving. Her serve needs work, but if she improves that aspect of her game, things could get real ugly for me. My serve is the only thing that keeps things interesting.
And I have always refused coaching of any sort in any sports -- or anything else for that matter. It hasn't hurt my golf game, for example. I consistently shoot in the 70s -- on the front nine. But at 62 years old, the mind still remembers the glory days. I used to run OK for a fat man and was able to chase down shots that would surprise even quality tennis players. But those days are gone. Forget the glory days. Now, I live in the gory haze. No worries. I'm fat anyway, according to people who learn English from me. And old.

Returning to love, heat, traffic, idiots and kindness

There was a period of adjustment when I returned to Bien Hoa, Vietnam, after being gone for six weeks in the United States. I'm happy to report that my daughter Joanna remembered me. In fact, she's so pleased I'm back that she cries when I leave the room. She cries when I go to work. She cries when I go to the bathroom. The adjustment? I can't do anything now without Joanna being with me. This, folks, is a wonderful adjustment. Of course, being with my wife is a tiny adjustment since  we're adults in love. But I suspect Phuong may be just a little jealous of Joanna's obsession with her 62-year-old dad. But just like before I left, Joanna seems happiest when mom and dad are together.
Joanna was walking before I left, but now she's 14 months old and running, climbing, drinking without a "sippy" cup, using a straw and chewing her food with 14 teeth. She has a sense of humor as well, kissing her mom when I ask for a kiss, then looking at me and laughing when I act mad and jealous. Phuong is also happy I'm back, because she has a little more help now taking care of Joanna. Her family was eager to chip in when I left, but Joanna apparently really missed her dad and could only handle the relatives in small doses. Joanna seems a little behind in her speaking, in her pushy dad's opinion, but I attribute this to the fact she's dealing with two languages. However, when I called myself "Dada," Joanna corrected me and said "Daddy."
Meanwhile, I was so happy to see three of my four children and my one beautiful granddaughter in the U.S. during my visit. My kids are all doing so well; that was clearly the highlight of the trip. Also, thanks to John, Richard, Lynda and the folks in SLO for their wonderful hospitality as I dealt with my brother's death.
Another adjustment upon my return to Vietnam -- somewhat unpleasant I might add -- is the weather. You guys know this routine. It's hot as hell, I sweat like a pig, and people ask me why I'm sweating when it's 96 F with 91 percent humidity. On the bright side, I'm quickly losing the weight I picked up in the U.S. where I ate quality food (especially Gus's Sandwiches in San Luis Obispo, and cheesecake and ice cream at Lotus Vietnamese restaurant in San Luis Obispo, owned by Ngoc Thuy, who also goes by Alex. A lovely Vietnamese woman.)
I've had a handful of classes since I've returned, all kids or teenagers. They've been a little wild, but for some reason I'm more patient now than I was before. I still don't tolerate bad words and over the top behavior from the kids, but I give them a longer leash when it comes to misbehavior and speaking in Vietnamese. I went though a difficult time in the U.S., and maybe the kids can sense this. I've always liked the students here.
My blog wouldn't be complete (or be my blog, for that matter) if I didn't bitch and moan about a couple of things. But there's good and bad to report. Traffic, specifically automobile traffic, seems to have doubled since I left. And the idiots behind the wheel do the same nonsense motorbike drivers do -- never yield; turn onto busy roads without stopping, yielding, or looking; and constantly lay on their horns. Last week, a drunk on a motorbike roared past me by crossing the yellow line, then cut me off and slammed on the breaks in front of me. I yelled at him and he screamed back at me, got off his bike, and was ready to fight. I stopped and approached, then saw that he was wobbly and drunk. If I had pounded his stupid ass, I would have been wrong in the eyes of the locals. If he had pounded my stupid ass, I would have been wrong in the eyes of the locals. I gritted my teeth and went home.
The next day, on my walk, two morons on a bike ran into me AFTER I had crossed the street. They cut the corner so sharply that their bike turned into the oncoming traffic lane and banged into my leg. They took off, of course, but an older gentleman chased them down on his bike, made them stop, and gave them a lecture. I cheered from the sidelines. On the same walk, a woman at a little candy stand gave me one big bag to consolidate all the little bags I had accumulated by shopping. I was struggling with all the little bags and the cane I use when I walk, and the lady saw this and gave me the bag. A lovely lady, indeed. And on the same walk, my cane accidentally got tangled up in some clown's motorbike, and he started screaming at me. I was in no mood at this point, so I threw 100,000 dong at him, got on my knees and "begged" his forgiveness. He looked and felt stupid, I'm proud to say. He was the aggressor and the one screaming, but people ran out from nearby Thuy Nga coffee shop to "restrain" me. I got off my knees, picked up my money and went home. I no longer walk, and don't go anywhere in town unless Phuong and Joanna are with me. As a man of chi, it's all yin and yang to me. The bottom line: I love my family here and in the U.S.

Tattoos, endless travel, going home at last

Tattoos seem to have really taken off in the United States. The thing that unsettles me is that many women have arm "sleeves" or tattoos that cover most of their legs -- thigh and calf.  Personally, tattoos don't do much for me. I've always liked looking at an attractive lady's legs, but I don't look at legs to read scripture, see cute animals or admire incomprehensible Chinese or Japanese writing. Nothing ruins a great pair of lady's legs like tattoos, in my uninformed opinion. But as the Vietnamese have always told me: You don't understand. Well, I'm sure that most tattoos have some sort of personal significance or meaning, but again, I don't understand.

I was busy in Ohio the past week: I saw my house in Yellow Springs, Ohio, inside and out; met with the property manager of my house, a lovely lady named Teresa; got my glasses fixed, got my driver's license; got told by my eye doctor's secretary that there is no way my eye doctor would see me now; saw most of my wonderful children and saw my wonderful granddaughter; and ate great food and drank quality beer.
I'm writing this in the clean Columbus airport waiting for a flight to Chicago and Los Angeles. I plan to bother my friend Richard in Bakersfield when I get to California for a couple of days and then I'll head to San Luis Obispo to finish all the paperwork regarding my brother's death. That should take a couple of days. I fly out of Los Angeles next Friday (Sept. 1) to finally, finally go home to Vietnam and see my amazing wife and amazing daughter Joanna. Phuong and I have been chatting on Skype daily, and it's obvious Joanna is much more vocal. Also, she's walking like a pro. Joanna has been quite sick the past week or so -- a respiratory infection of some sort -- and is just getting back into form. Being away from my wife and daughter has been one of the most difficult things I've ever experienced.
I've done some serious shoe shopping in the U.S., buying six pairs -- from boots to slippers to sneakers for tennis. I've also bought a boatload of books for Joanna, so I'm paying luggage fines at the airports when I check in my bags. Worth every penny because Joanna has taken a real liking to the books I purchased before and I have no doubts she'll love the newest additions to her library.
Sadly, I didn't get to Glen Helen -or the beach in California. I went to Morro Bay, but was too tired to go in the cold Pacific Ocean, and I went to Glen Helen, but didn't have $5 for parking. Next time.
They're calling my flight number for seating now, so I'll take off with home and family on my mind.

My brother walked to a different beat

(Tuesday, August 15, 2017)
My brother Charles walked to his own beat in life and he refused to walk on the beaten path. He took the road less traveled, clearly with some sad results. A balky back and significant pain led to some dubious health and personal decisions. As my wife says, people are people. On Saturday, August 12 at 6:04 p.m. the world lost a kind and gentle soul, a keen and quirky intellect, and regardless of what anyone else saw or says, the world lost a man with a heart of gold. My brother died peacefully in his sleep.
Charles cared more for the well-being of others than his own well-being. This was evident in his appearance, his behavior, and his outlook.

When Charles was a teenager and my dad would go out to drink or whatever  – I was 9 or so at the time – Charles would sacrifice his free time as a teenager to keep me occupied with sports or whatever games we could improvise. We would play basketball with rolled-up socks and empty trash cans, or nickel basketball and matchbox football on the kitchen table. He wouldn’t leave me by myself with a little baby in the house (younger brother Tom).  Thanks, Charles.

 My brother Charles introduced me to tai chi chuan, which has become my passion and a lifelong pursuit. He paid for the first year of my tai chi classes – $20 a month for a one-hour class on Sunday mornings at 9 a.m. I was 18 years old and struggled to wake up 8 a.m. every Sunday morning. But I rarely missed class because Charles paid. And I didn’t want to disappoint him.

Charles quit tai chi after a year or so – an ill-fated decision -- but I never left and still practice nearly an hour a day. I’m not particularly good at chi, but I like to think it keeps me moderately healthy.  It seems to help me relax a little and most important, I really enjoy it. Thanks, Charles.

At Brandywine high school, I was on the wrestling team. Charles played the key role in the most meaningful victory in my mediocre athletic career. I was engaged in a real battle with a kid named McLaughlin (or something Irish-Catholic like that). I used to attend McLaughlin’s all-boys, Catholic high school, Salesianum. I left because I didn’t “fit in.” Anyway, I was losing to McLaughlin 12-11, with seven seconds left in the match. Exhausted and already accepting defeat, I looked up and saw Charles, who gave me a fist-pump and mouthed the words “still time.” And honest to God, I turned my opponent on his back, got 2 points, and won a bitter, controversial and emotional 13-12 victory. My win enabled Brandywine to tie Salesianum in the overall match. In other words, I denied the Catholics victory. Thanks, Charles.

Charles was much more loved than he knows. Yes, there were the health fads, the moods, the anorexia, the smoking and all the other flaws that every one of us have. But Charles also had a heart of gold, and that’s what I’ll remember most about my brother. People who knew Charles in San Luis Obispo have nothing but kind and gracious things to say about him. People have been calling my phone to give condolences. Charles cared more about my health, life, and happiness than his own, and that was true right up until the end.

Love you, Charles.

Difficult business in a beautiful setting

San Luis Obispo is reputed to be how California used to be. Why is this sentence in the passive voice? Because I have no idea who said or reputed this. Whoever said or reputed this is probably right, though, because SLO is clean, progressive, not overly crowded, and pretty cool.  Even the homeless folks are low-keyed with colorful, stylish tattoos. Everyone has tattoos, including the women. The air is clean, the views are California-rrific with mountains and hills all around, and SLO has more “blondes” than Sweden. SLO has countless quality restaurants catering to the tourists and “sophisticated” locals. It boasts a wonderful college radio station – how college radio stations used to be with lots of genres, especially women’s folk and rock, a personal favorite. Wonderful beaches, including Morro Bay and its iconic rock, are very close by. And the weather. My goodness, the weather is perfect. This is especially true coming to Cali from Vietnam. Of course, there’s a catch. The house prices are how they’ve always been in California as long as I can remember – ridiculously high.  I saw a two-bedroom, one-bath house in a pretty good neighborhood listed for $440,000.  A nice starter home, I guess. Beauty has its price, and it’s quite steep here.

Sadly, my brother is not doing well and has been moved to a facility similar to Friends Care in Yellow Springs. His pain is difficult. I feel stupid whining about bruised ribs when I see and hear my brother. I’m scheduled to leave for Vietnam on Friday, but my lawyers have suggested I stay to clean up his paperwork and get him Medical coverage, which will provide long-term care if needed. I’ll find out more on Wednesday what could happen. I really miss my wife and daughter and, at the suggestion of my son, have asked my immigration lawyer and Sen. Sherrod Brown if there’s any way Phuong can get a temporary visa to join me in the U.S. with Joanna. I’m missing crucial time with Joanna, and Phuong says Joanna misses me terribly. Of course she does. (The lawyer said no-go on Phuong getting a visa. No word from Brown, but very unlikely Phuong can leave Vietnam.)

I want to return to Vietnam. I miss the brutal heat and dirty air. Actually, I miss my family, naturally, and I miss teaching and my students. I found a Vietnamese restaurant in SLO, and had a wonderful seared chicken and pretty good Pho. The owner, Thuy, left Vietnam on a fishing boat with her family in 1975 and has never been back. She’s very nice and a wonderful cook.

I left a bag full of money on a table in Starbucks and drove home. Realizing my mistake, I raced back in a panic and the bag was still sitting on the table where I was eating a bagel. Man, oh man. I also turned in my brother's pistol to the police after a neighbor took it out of the house after my brother fell and went into assisted living. I hate vultures.

Not sure where I’ll be in a week or so. I hope Vietnam, but I’ll wait for instructions from the lawyers. God, I’m all lawyered up. I already miss my brother. He’s a shell of his former self and it’s difficult to see. I hope he dies quickly and painlessly. That’s what he wants and that’s what I want for him.
** Updated with lawyer's bad news and cleaned up some of the typos.

Mom & more noise; tough trip to U.S.; nutty nets

My mom had some classic expressions when she was angry. One of my favorites was "You're making enough noise to wake up the dead." Gertrude Millman had to deal with three boys at home, a job well below her considerable abilities and a husband who didn't always pull his weight around the house. Mom would have had a field day with the funerals in Vietnam and the kids in our neighborhood, who are real screamers.
Another person on our street died, a nice old lady who had a store that I would sometimes visit to buy tea or chocolate. She succumbed rather quickly to cancer, and her death set off three days of music, song, karaoke-like tributes and so on. I respect the woman, her family and their faith, but the funeral proceedings were so loud that even though everything was happening more than 100 yards away, it sounded like it was in our living room downstairs. I thought of my mom, who died very quietly a little more than 11 years ago. I miss my mom.
Mom wasn't really named Gertrude at birth. It was Joanna, according to my dad, but since she was Ukrainian, folks at the hospital somehow screwed it up and turned Joanna into Gertrude. I think I'm reminiscing about this because my daughter Joanna turned one (1), and when she smiles or focuses on something, she looks very, very much like my mom. If she has my mom's determination and generous nature, she'll be well-served in life. Joanna shows signs of these traits already when she relentlessly climbs couches, chairs, tables, counters and motorbikes, and when she always offers Phuong and I some of her breakfast, lunch and dinner. Adorable kid.
Another reason I'm writing about this stuff is that I've returned to San Luis Obispo, Calif., to try to assist my older brother, who's in very poor health physically and mentally. He fell and fractured his arm and isn't doing well at all. The situation is upsetting, but is making me reflect on family and my uncomfortable childhood. I'd rather not think back, but it's the nature of what's happening now. When I say "family", I'm not referring to my first wife and children -- all wonderful people. The only uncomfortable memories of those times were when I behaved something like my dad. Funny thing about the past ... you can't change it. Perhaps you can learn from it, but that's so much easier said than done. Dad wasn't evil and had a good heart, but in my view now he needed a stronger commitment to family. Enough of this.
My tennis shenanigans continue. I was having a pedestrian match with a nice neighbor when the lady who manages the court decided to burn some trash, including ubiquitous Vietnamese plastic and rubber bands. My opponent initially took the brunt of the smoke, coughing and tearing up. I brilliantly rallied and won  a couple of games. Then we switched sides and my fortunes changed. I choked, literally and symbolically, eventually losing the set 6-4. The woman apologized, but had no intention of offering a discount or reimbursing us. Typical. I played another neighbor a week later and for the first time in my stellar tennis career, I lost a game during the changeover. Somehow 2-3 became 2-4.  I ended up losing the set, 3-6, after 11 hard-fought games. This guy also used the innovative and controversial Bulgarian-Vietnamese scoring system where the score could begin 30-15 on the deuce court or 40-all in the ad court.
Speaking of burning plastic, our neighbors burned their paper and plastic trash to honor the deceased lady down the street.  And while I did tai chi in the park near our house, some guys who live on the street in hammocks near the park burned their trash. My chi went up in smoke.
My trip to San Luis Obispo included a stopover in Shanghai, China. Not a pleasant experience. I waited in a long, slow-moving line at immigration and when I got to the uniformed official, she said I needed to fill out an arrival form. First I heard of it. I got back in line after filling out the form. Back to the official, who asks for my visa. I say it's a five-hour layover, not a visit. Oh no, she says. I'm surrounded by three officials. Finally, one says I can go and get my luggage -- China doesn't transfer luggage on connecting flights to other countries. I get the luggage, and while I'm getting an e-ticket at a kiosk the uniformed girl at the computer says I can't have the transfer ticket/sticker to LAX on my bag when I re-check it in. She rips it off. I finally get to the counter, and the uniformed official asks me where my transfer sticker/ticket is. He says this is a big problem. I point to the little Ripper who took my transfer sticker/ticket off the bag. More officials, more discussions, and I can finally go. But as I go through security, I'm told I need a departure form. Over to the counter and back in line I go. I got to the departure gate after 3 hours, 42 minutes. Oddly, the folks were all nice when I made second pass though the gates. Our departure gate changed three times and I barely made the flight. But everyone has horrid travel stories. Just sharing mine.
Miss my wife Phuong and baby Joanna. Love ya' both and see ya' soon enough. Can't wait. Joanna kisses my image on Skype. Love my kids in the U.S. Love ya' mom.

The most important date in Vietnam and the U.S.

Today, July 9, is now one of the most important dates in American and Vietnamese history. It's Joanna's birthday. This is our daughter's first birthday, and mommy Phuong and Daddy John celebrated in style. We had Vietnamese food in the morning, which Joanna rejected in favor of Daddy's smoked pork, mashed potatoes and cheese. That's my girl!  Phuong's aunt made an amazing cake with whipped cream icing. Joanna loved the cake and the ice cream, which I insisted she have with the cake. I don't think that's a real tradition here, but I'm not sure. I made spaghetti, another Joanna favorite, for dinner.
Like my first four talented and intelligent children, I truly believe Joanna will be someone who makes a difference in life. She was walking before she was 11 months old. She has a wonderful smile like her mom. It's obvious she's smart like her mom -- she's already learned to fiddle trial-and-error style with our TV remote and my computer keyboard. Unfortunately, I see signs of her dad's temper, which we're working on getting under control. Not her temper, mine. Really, she already hands us stuff she shouldn't have, like cell phones and the aforementioned remote. A truly wonderful baby.
We took Joanna to the zoo last week and had a nice time. The zoo in Ho Chi Minh City is pretty nice. It's small with a decent variety of animals -- a white tiger, elephants, snakes and all the usual suspects. Joanna loved it  because she loves animals -- she'll make a squealing noise of recognition when she sees a dog, cat, gecko, bird or spider around our house. The only problem we had was the weather ... again. It was so hot Joanna and I got cranky, but we persevered like always. Even Phuong and her two nephews, who joined us on the trip, got worn down by the heat. I bought Joanna a stuffed giraffe -- her new favorite animal -- and a bubble-making gun designed like a tiger. Joanna is fascinated when we make or blow the soapy bubbles, and sometimes she'll burst out laughing.
Joanna has settled into our nightly reading routine and loves Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, My Dad is Beautiful, Chameleon Colors, and Goodnight Moon. Goodnight Moon is also one of her favorite videos, and we play it every night before she goes to sleep.
I quit tennis with Tai because he either didn't show up or he showed up late. Remember, I was paying him to play because finding a singles partner is almost impossible here. Everyone plays doubles. I guess Tai didn't need the money. Besides, the tennis scene at Dong Nai Square sucked because the chuckle heads walked across my court while I was playing. I've moved to yet another court with yet another partner. Both seem more acceptable, but my game still stinks. No matter.  I need the exercise because all my students constantly tell me, I'm "OLD" and "FAT". You gotta love education.
My blog gets more hits from Russia these days than any other country in the world. By far. No wonder Trump seems fixated on Putin and his countrymen and women. The Russians pay more attention to what we do than we do. I guess we're always looking into our cell phones, so there's no time for any real reading.