When you're an old White Monkey, what do you do for fun? These days, I sit with my wife Phuong on our bed and we watch our daughter Joanna sleep. And we talk about how wonderful she is. Now that's entertainment. Joanna sleeps with her arms raised like she just won the Wimbledon final. She smiles a lot in her sleep, no doubt dreaming about her dad's funny face. Sometimes she sleeps with her eyes open, just like her mom. Creepy. Joanna is six weeks old and she seems to be doing just fine. Her baby acne is gone thanks to my suggested treatment of putting her in a cold room and taking off the hat, gloves and towels that she was wrapped in by her mom and grandmom, Joanna doesn't seem to enjoy the heat here -- just like her dad. After all, she's got half of my genes. Her skin is white at this point, and her hair is brown with a little red and a little blonde. It's pretty thin for now. Her eyes are green, according to Phuong, but I think they're brown. She's pretty big, like her dad, but fortunately, her eyes and face resemble Phuong's, in my opinion. That's great news because my wife is beautiful. Phuong is an incredibly doting mom and she is absolutely devoted to making sure everything is wonderful with Joanna. I love 'em both, of course. However, I almost choked on my chocolate milk the other day when Phuong mentioned that Joanna really needs a little brother or sister.
I'm becoming friends with the Hu tieu girls and their mom. They give me free Vietnamese desserts when I buy Hu tieu (about twice a week) and I give them cookies and little cakes in return. Phuong says their Hu tieu has too much sugar in the soup, but I like it. They give me a good-sized portion and I leave a little tip and we're all happy. As it should be.
I bought a backpack today at a little store on Vo Thi Sau, where I walk every day. When you walk into a store here, the clerks come rushing at you and won't give you a moment's peace. When I was looking at the backpack I wanted, I asked the girl "how much" in Vietnamese. Granted, my Vietnamese sucks and doesn't meet the ridiculously stringent standard of the locals, but I said "bao nhieu?" as well as I needed to -- I suspect most people here would get it. But this girl didn't understand. I think she was trying to sell me a more expensive backpack. Ah, but the store owner, who knows me from my walks and previous purchases there, screamed BAO NHIEU at the girl and smiled at me. I'll have to get that guy a Christmas card this year.
The store also sells baseball-type caps with Hollister, Vans, Nike and such embroidered on them. I guess they're knock-offs, but some of them seem legit. Who knows and who cares? They're 30,000 Dong each (about $1.50), so I've bought about 25. They're always on a table outside the store so I don't have to deal with the clerks. I tried to give a couple to my son Alec when he visited, but he said he's not a cap guy. I'm not either, but I don't want my face fried by the sun here, so I cap out.
My right shoulder was bothering me a little this week, and I mentioned it to my massage girl Chi. Man, did she go to work on me, twisting my right arm, punching my shoulder, squeezing the hell out of my shoulder and arm, and cracking my elbow, wrist and fingers. Son of a gun, the shoulder is fine now. Chi can't be taller than 4-foot-eight, and she has the tiniest hands I've ever seen. But she's strong, gritty, and gives a great massage. No nonsense. She takes her job seriously and I really like her.
Classes are going well, but I do teach lots of little kids. In addition to English, I feel compelled to teach them not to curse, not to throw trash on the floor, how to say please, thank you, no thank you, sorry and excuse me, not to screw up their faces and say WHAT? when they don't understand something, not to wave their hand in a White Monkey's face to say no, not to cut in line, and to always allow ladies to go first. All that additional stuff is so much more challenging than the English because it goes against what these kids have seen and experienced most of their lives. We're making progress, although I admit that sometimes I get frustrated. But these are good kids and they want to do the right thing. They're learning. I'm not trying to change anyone's culture, but I want them to understand how successful they can be when they treat others with kindness and respect. These are lessons I wish I had more of -- or paid more attention to -- when I was a kid.
Sunday, August 21, 2016
Friday, August 12, 2016
Eyes closed; bureaucrats; The Beatles
We took Joanna to a local photo shop to get her passport picture taken. But Joanna refused to wake up and open her eyes. No open eyes, no passport photo. We put ice on her feet and face to get her to wake up. She whined a little, but didn't open her eyes. I held her upside down, and she opened her eyes. But she closed them and went back to sleep the moment I held her right-side up. Amazing. Joanna slept through everything we tried, so we returned home. As soon as we got home, Joanna opened her eyes and stayed awake. Phuong snapped a quality photo with her phone and Phuong's mom took the phone to the photo shop. And got the wrong-sized pictures printed. They printed 1x2 for a Vietnamese passport. The U.S. passport size is 2x2. We paid extra for the correct size. That's typical. Everything related to documents, records and bureaucrats here has been, well, difficult and challenging.
We almost had Joanna's birth certificate last Tuesday, but there were a few problems. My name became Michael John Millman and Joanna became a boy and my U.S. zip code was close but not quite. And my street name was wrong. These were "copied" from a document we gave them. But the bureaucrat argued that my name was Millman John Michael on my passport so it should be blah blah blah. I won't even dignify that argument with an insult or explanation. The birth certificate was to be retyped Wednesday. When you haves tons of bureaucracy, you're going to have tons of mistakes. Guaranteed.
For example, we went back to the house of b-crats Wednesday to get the new birth certificate, but Phuong and her dad were told the person who fixes mistakes and retypes documents had to leave town. This same crap happened with our marriage license. So just like our marriage license, we have to wait another week to get a document that was promised to us but not delivered on the day it was promised. What did I say about bureaucracy?
I've lived here a little more than 3-and-a-half years, and I had my first street vendor donut last week. It was loaded with caramelized sugar and it was flat out good. There's a catch: This is the first time I've ever seen street donuts like these and odds are I won't see them again. I'll remain optimistic, try not to be Mr. Complain, and look for the donut lady from now on. But four other trips on the same street at the same time this week produced no donut lady ... or donuts. I did buy a sweet, greasy bread that wasn't bad, but it wasn't a donut, either.
Phuong's family had a wonderful get-together to celebrate Joanna's one-month birthday. We had a huge lunch of Vietnamese food, including lots of great chicken. A very nice gathering. Joanna slept through much of the lunch. She's relaxed ... what can I say?
There has been a reincarnation of The Beatles in our house, especially late at night. After my last class of the evening followed by dinner, Joanna will eat and get ready for bed. That's where The Beatles come in. I'll hold my daughter and dance to songs from Abbey Road, and after three or four songs, Golden Slumbers usually fill her eyes. I know she's too young to distinguish different groups and types and music, but she honest-to-god seems to relax to The Beatles. If Abbey Road doesn't do the trick, we'll keep on dancing through The White Album and finish with the song Good Night, which has become a household favorite. Phuong is even mildly impressed with how dancing to The Beatles seems to relax Joanna.
By the way, I'm one of those guys who still likes both The Beatles and The Rolling Stones. I don't have a favorite, although I'm a little partial to the Stones these days because they're still having children. I can relate
The folks on my walk are nicer and nicer to me. I buy a 6,000 dong raincoat each day from a shop owner who always points to the sky -- and laughs -- when she sees me. I get my 20,000 dong coffee that's awesome. I smile and chat with the Hu tieu girls. Some days I'll get duck, a real treat here. I shake hands with the car wash guys, who used to shout at me through my headphones. In a few months, Joanna will join me on the walk, making it even better.
I only taught one class a day this week, so life is pretty relaxed. My school has hired a bunch of younger types -- in their mid-20s, I would guess. An old White/Gray Monkey isn't a hot commodity here -- where the emphasis is on youth and good-looks -- but I still really enjoy the students, and I hope they tolerate me. I love teaching and I want to continue doing it indefinitely. We'll see what the future brings.
We almost had Joanna's birth certificate last Tuesday, but there were a few problems. My name became Michael John Millman and Joanna became a boy and my U.S. zip code was close but not quite. And my street name was wrong. These were "copied" from a document we gave them. But the bureaucrat argued that my name was Millman John Michael on my passport so it should be blah blah blah. I won't even dignify that argument with an insult or explanation. The birth certificate was to be retyped Wednesday. When you haves tons of bureaucracy, you're going to have tons of mistakes. Guaranteed.
For example, we went back to the house of b-crats Wednesday to get the new birth certificate, but Phuong and her dad were told the person who fixes mistakes and retypes documents had to leave town. This same crap happened with our marriage license. So just like our marriage license, we have to wait another week to get a document that was promised to us but not delivered on the day it was promised. What did I say about bureaucracy?
I've lived here a little more than 3-and-a-half years, and I had my first street vendor donut last week. It was loaded with caramelized sugar and it was flat out good. There's a catch: This is the first time I've ever seen street donuts like these and odds are I won't see them again. I'll remain optimistic, try not to be Mr. Complain, and look for the donut lady from now on. But four other trips on the same street at the same time this week produced no donut lady ... or donuts. I did buy a sweet, greasy bread that wasn't bad, but it wasn't a donut, either.
Phuong's family had a wonderful get-together to celebrate Joanna's one-month birthday. We had a huge lunch of Vietnamese food, including lots of great chicken. A very nice gathering. Joanna slept through much of the lunch. She's relaxed ... what can I say?
There has been a reincarnation of The Beatles in our house, especially late at night. After my last class of the evening followed by dinner, Joanna will eat and get ready for bed. That's where The Beatles come in. I'll hold my daughter and dance to songs from Abbey Road, and after three or four songs, Golden Slumbers usually fill her eyes. I know she's too young to distinguish different groups and types and music, but she honest-to-god seems to relax to The Beatles. If Abbey Road doesn't do the trick, we'll keep on dancing through The White Album and finish with the song Good Night, which has become a household favorite. Phuong is even mildly impressed with how dancing to The Beatles seems to relax Joanna.
By the way, I'm one of those guys who still likes both The Beatles and The Rolling Stones. I don't have a favorite, although I'm a little partial to the Stones these days because they're still having children. I can relate
The folks on my walk are nicer and nicer to me. I buy a 6,000 dong raincoat each day from a shop owner who always points to the sky -- and laughs -- when she sees me. I get my 20,000 dong coffee that's awesome. I smile and chat with the Hu tieu girls. Some days I'll get duck, a real treat here. I shake hands with the car wash guys, who used to shout at me through my headphones. In a few months, Joanna will join me on the walk, making it even better.
I only taught one class a day this week, so life is pretty relaxed. My school has hired a bunch of younger types -- in their mid-20s, I would guess. An old White/Gray Monkey isn't a hot commodity here -- where the emphasis is on youth and good-looks -- but I still really enjoy the students, and I hope they tolerate me. I love teaching and I want to continue doing it indefinitely. We'll see what the future brings.
Saturday, August 6, 2016
A walk on the not so wild side.
My daily walk through Bien Hoa, in addition to being good for my health, has become a great social outlet for me. My wife encourages the walk and my tai chi, which is just another reason I love her so much. I've met some nice coffee shop owners, waiters and waitresses on the walk. I've discovered a family restaurant near my coffee shop where the family grills chicken and pork in honey sauce. They're quite nice and their chicken and pork are delicious. I've met a family of five ladies -- mom and her daughters -- who make Hu Tui (or Tieu in the north), a noodles, pork, sprouts, onions and broth concoction that comes with really hot peppers. One of the girls speaks OK English and was showing me pictures of her American "friend", who's a doctor. I show them pictures of my wife and daughter and we try to chat in a combination of Vietnamese and English. Two of the daughters are twins and lament their freckles, telling me local men don't find them attractive. They're just fine, believe me. I bought a cool spatula in this little shop where they also train chefs in Korean cooking. I've gone to a couple of businesses where the prices seem to rise for the White Monkey. Instead of a discount, I qualify for the White Monkey miscount. Whatever. Vietnam calls itself a Capitalist Communist country, or something like that, so I sample the burgeoning free enterprise and shop where I want.
We made another trip to Ho Chi Minh City last week to complete paperwork to obtain our daughter Joanna's birth certificate, which we need with a bunch of other documents -- like our passports, marriage license, divorce decrees, social security card, driver's license, and my social security benefits statement from the U.S. government -- to apply for her U.S. citizenship. All the documents must be double-secret certified. Should be a snap, right? I have to prove I lived five consecutive years in the U.S. to get her application process going. That's why the social security document is so crucial. It proves I worked a lot of consecutive years in the U.S. Amazingly, the U.S. tracked me down in Bien Hoa at our house and gave me the exact document I needed when we apply for our daughter's citizenship. If only the folks here would get their act together and stop trying to frustrate the White Monkey, and allow me to do the best for my daughter.
Joanna will need a passport because I hope to take her and Phuong to the U.S. in November for Thanksgiving and Dec. 12, the world holiday and celebration that is my birthday. I joke, of course, because once you get passed a certain age -- for me it was 21 -- birthdays don't mean too much. But now that I'm in my 60s, birthdays are a little weird. They remind me of my mortality. No matter because paperwork, embassies and government officials will be the death of me anyway, since I apparently have nine lives on the motorbike. Phoung and I are hoping and praying we can come to the U.S. together for a month.
On a sad note, my big, black, mean, ornery cat named Kitty (like all my cats), that my friend Ron took care of for me, apparently died. Ron is one of the great people on planet Earth. He's smart, kind, generous to a fault, funny as hell, and great company. The exact opposite of my cat. Maybe that's why they hit it off.
My daughter Jessica, who is one of the brightest and most genuine women in the world, turns 33 on Aug. 8. And no matter how old she is, Jessica will always be my little girl. I know she might not want to read this sort of stuff, but I have so many wonderful memories of her growing up (the Bee Hive trail in Maine) and becoming an adult (a hard-fought college degree). I know I'm preoccupied these days with my newborn Joanna in Vietnam, as I should be, but Jessica was my first child and she's No. 1 for a reason. Sounds corny, but I love all my kids the same, regardless of past history, dramas, disappointments and triumphs. Jessica, Caroline, Jack, Alec and Joanna all bring something special to my life. I'm a natural cynic, and my sincere and always cheerful wife Phuong has nicknamed me "Mr. Complain," but I've been really fortunate and blessed to have such wonderful children. And I continue to be blessed.
We made another trip to Ho Chi Minh City last week to complete paperwork to obtain our daughter Joanna's birth certificate, which we need with a bunch of other documents -- like our passports, marriage license, divorce decrees, social security card, driver's license, and my social security benefits statement from the U.S. government -- to apply for her U.S. citizenship. All the documents must be double-secret certified. Should be a snap, right? I have to prove I lived five consecutive years in the U.S. to get her application process going. That's why the social security document is so crucial. It proves I worked a lot of consecutive years in the U.S. Amazingly, the U.S. tracked me down in Bien Hoa at our house and gave me the exact document I needed when we apply for our daughter's citizenship. If only the folks here would get their act together and stop trying to frustrate the White Monkey, and allow me to do the best for my daughter.
Joanna will need a passport because I hope to take her and Phuong to the U.S. in November for Thanksgiving and Dec. 12, the world holiday and celebration that is my birthday. I joke, of course, because once you get passed a certain age -- for me it was 21 -- birthdays don't mean too much. But now that I'm in my 60s, birthdays are a little weird. They remind me of my mortality. No matter because paperwork, embassies and government officials will be the death of me anyway, since I apparently have nine lives on the motorbike. Phoung and I are hoping and praying we can come to the U.S. together for a month.
On a sad note, my big, black, mean, ornery cat named Kitty (like all my cats), that my friend Ron took care of for me, apparently died. Ron is one of the great people on planet Earth. He's smart, kind, generous to a fault, funny as hell, and great company. The exact opposite of my cat. Maybe that's why they hit it off.
My daughter Jessica, who is one of the brightest and most genuine women in the world, turns 33 on Aug. 8. And no matter how old she is, Jessica will always be my little girl. I know she might not want to read this sort of stuff, but I have so many wonderful memories of her growing up (the Bee Hive trail in Maine) and becoming an adult (a hard-fought college degree). I know I'm preoccupied these days with my newborn Joanna in Vietnam, as I should be, but Jessica was my first child and she's No. 1 for a reason. Sounds corny, but I love all my kids the same, regardless of past history, dramas, disappointments and triumphs. Jessica, Caroline, Jack, Alec and Joanna all bring something special to my life. I'm a natural cynic, and my sincere and always cheerful wife Phuong has nicknamed me "Mr. Complain," but I've been really fortunate and blessed to have such wonderful children. And I continue to be blessed.
Saturday, July 30, 2016
New friends, Russian readers, Joanna turns 21
We celebrated our daughter's 21st birthday -- that's 21 days -- with several breastfeedings, intermittent sleep and a short trip outside. Joanna seemed to enjoy all of the festivities, especially the breastfeedings. But I'll say this about my daughter: She's very social. When we put her down to sleep in her crib and we leave the room, she'll start crying almost immediately. I'll return, pick her up, and put her down on the couch with mom and dad, and she'll go to sleep right away while Phuong and I watch CNN. It seems she wants to know people are nearby so she can relax and sleep. Maybe she'll be a people person. I'm the opposite. I scream when people are nearby. For the most part, I like being alone (except when I can be with Phuong and Joanna).
I may be less social than everyone else, but I've got lots of new friends in Bien Hoa these days, thanks to my daily walks through the city. All of the coffee shop waitresses, scrap collectors, lottery ticket sellers, security guards and street vendors have become the White Monkey's best buddies. Everybody needs friends, right?
The guy who sleeps in the park now wakes up and says hi to me, with a big smile, when I pass by. Welcome to my world. You're all invited, if you can get away.
Phuong, Joanna and I got away this past Thursday for a trip to Ho Chi Minh City. We had to go to the U.S. Embassy and get papers stamped -- and then go to a worthless agency about a mile away to get verification that those same papers were stamped at the U.S. Embassy -- so we can apply for Joanna's birth certificate in Bien Hoa. When we eventually get our daughter's birth certificate, then we can return to the U.S. Embassy in HCMC to apply for Joanna's U.S. citizenship. Other trips for her passport and social security card come later. I don't care. I'll get her U.S. citizenship no matter what -- regardless of the hassle, bureaucracy, inconvenience, money and bull$%&! Phuong supports me on this and has been an invaluable help. And Joanna charmed the bureaucrats so we had our initial document mailed to us. I think Joanna is great-luck charm.
Phuong is getting stronger every day, and she's started walking up and down the stairs a little. She did the wash and cooked dinner yesterday, and I couldn't be happier. No, I'm not happy because I can become lazy again. I'm happy because my incredible wife is getting her life back little by little. Phuong is so happy and so proud of Joanna. And now she's feeling good physically. It's wonderful to see and be a part of.
Joanna scored a trifecta Thursday and Friday: She pooped all over my legs, all over Phuong's arm, and all over Phuong's mom's dress. In every instance, she had a little poop first to lull all of us into a false sense of security, then came back with a big blast a couple of minutes later to catch us off-guard. Hilarious.
On my daily walk I wear headphones and blast my music. I've mentioned this before. This week as I walked past a car wash (I know. A car wash of all things... in Vietnam), one of the washers started repeatedly shouting "HELLO!" next to my head. He was being a smart-ass for his car wash buddies. I ignored him, waited, turned around, tip toed behind him and screamed HELLO in his ear as he walked away. The startled car washer jumped three feet in the air. He turned around and laughed and I laughed. I have another new buddy.
I have a deal at my massage parlor. Only this little girl named Chi gets to rub the White Monkey's head and shoulders. There's nothing sensual about this massage. Chi grinds on my shoulders and, as a result, a persistent pain in my right shoulder has gone away. I sleep on my right side, so I think that's the culprit. That, and the fact I'm an old White Monkey. Chi has fixed the shoulder, but she hasn't made me any younger. Actually, that's Phuong's job.
I exceeded 20,000 hits on my blog and I'm close to 21,000 already thanks to a surge in Russian readers. By the way, I don't agree with banning Russian athletes from the Olympics (because a lot of Russians read my blog). I also think that Barrack Obama is a great president, Hillary Clinton will be fine as president, and that Donald Trump is a conceited and scary guy. I saw him speak in person in Bakersfield and his favorite word was "I". Sorry, not sure how I got on these topics.
Finally, again and again I thank everyone for their "likes" and kind comments on Facebook and in emails directed toward my beautiful daughter. She would thank you herself, but she's breastfeeding at the moment.
I may be less social than everyone else, but I've got lots of new friends in Bien Hoa these days, thanks to my daily walks through the city. All of the coffee shop waitresses, scrap collectors, lottery ticket sellers, security guards and street vendors have become the White Monkey's best buddies. Everybody needs friends, right?
The guy who sleeps in the park now wakes up and says hi to me, with a big smile, when I pass by. Welcome to my world. You're all invited, if you can get away.
Phuong, Joanna and I got away this past Thursday for a trip to Ho Chi Minh City. We had to go to the U.S. Embassy and get papers stamped -- and then go to a worthless agency about a mile away to get verification that those same papers were stamped at the U.S. Embassy -- so we can apply for Joanna's birth certificate in Bien Hoa. When we eventually get our daughter's birth certificate, then we can return to the U.S. Embassy in HCMC to apply for Joanna's U.S. citizenship. Other trips for her passport and social security card come later. I don't care. I'll get her U.S. citizenship no matter what -- regardless of the hassle, bureaucracy, inconvenience, money and bull$%&! Phuong supports me on this and has been an invaluable help. And Joanna charmed the bureaucrats so we had our initial document mailed to us. I think Joanna is great-luck charm.
Phuong is getting stronger every day, and she's started walking up and down the stairs a little. She did the wash and cooked dinner yesterday, and I couldn't be happier. No, I'm not happy because I can become lazy again. I'm happy because my incredible wife is getting her life back little by little. Phuong is so happy and so proud of Joanna. And now she's feeling good physically. It's wonderful to see and be a part of.
Joanna scored a trifecta Thursday and Friday: She pooped all over my legs, all over Phuong's arm, and all over Phuong's mom's dress. In every instance, she had a little poop first to lull all of us into a false sense of security, then came back with a big blast a couple of minutes later to catch us off-guard. Hilarious.
On my daily walk I wear headphones and blast my music. I've mentioned this before. This week as I walked past a car wash (I know. A car wash of all things... in Vietnam), one of the washers started repeatedly shouting "HELLO!" next to my head. He was being a smart-ass for his car wash buddies. I ignored him, waited, turned around, tip toed behind him and screamed HELLO in his ear as he walked away. The startled car washer jumped three feet in the air. He turned around and laughed and I laughed. I have another new buddy.
I have a deal at my massage parlor. Only this little girl named Chi gets to rub the White Monkey's head and shoulders. There's nothing sensual about this massage. Chi grinds on my shoulders and, as a result, a persistent pain in my right shoulder has gone away. I sleep on my right side, so I think that's the culprit. That, and the fact I'm an old White Monkey. Chi has fixed the shoulder, but she hasn't made me any younger. Actually, that's Phuong's job.
I exceeded 20,000 hits on my blog and I'm close to 21,000 already thanks to a surge in Russian readers. By the way, I don't agree with banning Russian athletes from the Olympics (because a lot of Russians read my blog). I also think that Barrack Obama is a great president, Hillary Clinton will be fine as president, and that Donald Trump is a conceited and scary guy. I saw him speak in person in Bakersfield and his favorite word was "I". Sorry, not sure how I got on these topics.
Finally, again and again I thank everyone for their "likes" and kind comments on Facebook and in emails directed toward my beautiful daughter. She would thank you herself, but she's breastfeeding at the moment.
Sunday, July 24, 2016
The joys of fatherhood at 61
Being the 61-year-old father of a half American, half Vietnamese, beautiful newborn girl is both exhilarating and exhausting.
The exhilaration comes from seeing Joanna pucker her lips and stick out her tongue to breastfeed. Or it comes from watching her sleep and kick off every blanket and towel she's wrapped in. Yesterday, she grabbed her own hair so hard she started crying, and she wouldn't let go. I had to literally pry her fingers open to make her let go of her hair. Phuong was concerned and wanted to put gloves on Joanna , but I laughed and kept watching my daughter. I say no gloves or hat at this stage -- two weeks old -- because she spends almost all of her time in our second-floor bedroom with her mom. Joanna loves her daily bath, and she has already kicked off her little belly button cord somehow. She loves to kick and stretch, and thankfully all signs point to a normal and very healthy baby girl. I think back to my first two daughters and remember how fantastic it was seeing them grow, learn, and develop into wonderful women.
Now for the slightly exhausting parts of my new life. First of all, I'm 61. Just the thought makes me tired. And there's the lack of sleep caused by Joanna's demand for mom's milk. But this is to be expected. As for me not getting enough sleep, so what. I'll sleep when I die. I've returned to work, which is a little tiring, but almost all of the students have been extremely cool about the new addition to our family. Because Phuong had a C-section, her mobility is quite limited. This means I do all the cooking, laundry and cleaning. I'm in a good rhythm with all the chores, and I really enjoy cooking, although I sweat a lot in Vietnam's god-awful heat. But I've gotten creative with fish and pork and cooking with beer, as well as making different smoothies and ice drinks. The part that's most difficult about the cooking and chores is the stairs. The Vietnamese may be the stare masters, but I'm the real stair master. I estimate I go up and down our three flights of stairs about 12 to 15 times a day. Our washing machine is on the third floor. So is the printer for my school work. When I carry food to Phuong on the second floor, I inevitably forget something crucial, like chopsticks or a fork ... or the main course. But I'm excited to go up the stairs because I know I'll see Phuong and my daughter. I hate going down the stairs because it hurts my ankles and usually means I have to do the dishes. But maybe my fitness will improve a little.
Speaking of fitness, I still do my daily walk, and I've expanded it a little so I can buy milk from a store near my coffee shop. The park I often write about has gotten a little seedy -- no shock there. A guy was in the park training his chicken for chicken fighting; another guy sleeps there every day; and a group of guys play cards there daily. Now, I do my chi at home when there's time.
The great news, after Joanna, is that I'm still not smoking. I haven't had a cigarette in more than four months and I have no desire to start smoking again. Well, maybe when I'm 70.
The exhilaration comes from seeing Joanna pucker her lips and stick out her tongue to breastfeed. Or it comes from watching her sleep and kick off every blanket and towel she's wrapped in. Yesterday, she grabbed her own hair so hard she started crying, and she wouldn't let go. I had to literally pry her fingers open to make her let go of her hair. Phuong was concerned and wanted to put gloves on Joanna , but I laughed and kept watching my daughter. I say no gloves or hat at this stage -- two weeks old -- because she spends almost all of her time in our second-floor bedroom with her mom. Joanna loves her daily bath, and she has already kicked off her little belly button cord somehow. She loves to kick and stretch, and thankfully all signs point to a normal and very healthy baby girl. I think back to my first two daughters and remember how fantastic it was seeing them grow, learn, and develop into wonderful women.
Now for the slightly exhausting parts of my new life. First of all, I'm 61. Just the thought makes me tired. And there's the lack of sleep caused by Joanna's demand for mom's milk. But this is to be expected. As for me not getting enough sleep, so what. I'll sleep when I die. I've returned to work, which is a little tiring, but almost all of the students have been extremely cool about the new addition to our family. Because Phuong had a C-section, her mobility is quite limited. This means I do all the cooking, laundry and cleaning. I'm in a good rhythm with all the chores, and I really enjoy cooking, although I sweat a lot in Vietnam's god-awful heat. But I've gotten creative with fish and pork and cooking with beer, as well as making different smoothies and ice drinks. The part that's most difficult about the cooking and chores is the stairs. The Vietnamese may be the stare masters, but I'm the real stair master. I estimate I go up and down our three flights of stairs about 12 to 15 times a day. Our washing machine is on the third floor. So is the printer for my school work. When I carry food to Phuong on the second floor, I inevitably forget something crucial, like chopsticks or a fork ... or the main course. But I'm excited to go up the stairs because I know I'll see Phuong and my daughter. I hate going down the stairs because it hurts my ankles and usually means I have to do the dishes. But maybe my fitness will improve a little.
Speaking of fitness, I still do my daily walk, and I've expanded it a little so I can buy milk from a store near my coffee shop. The park I often write about has gotten a little seedy -- no shock there. A guy was in the park training his chicken for chicken fighting; another guy sleeps there every day; and a group of guys play cards there daily. Now, I do my chi at home when there's time.
The great news, after Joanna, is that I'm still not smoking. I haven't had a cigarette in more than four months and I have no desire to start smoking again. Well, maybe when I'm 70.
Tuesday, July 12, 2016
We have a baby girl: Joanna Pham Millman
The process was difficult. Phuong shared a bed with another pregnant woman. They were in a room with 38 other pregnant women and their families. Phuong's cervix didn't dilate in time despite a painful process to prepare her for a natural delivery. When doctors couldn't force the cervix open after her water broke, a caesarean section was performed.
Despite the difficulties and challenges, the end result was perfect. Phuong is OK and we have a healthy baby girl. Joanna Pham Millman was delivered at 6:20 p.m. on July 9. I found out by watching a TV screen, where new births would pop up and list mom, mom's age, baby's weight, time of birth, and baby's sex.
I wanted a girl and I got my wish. I have two daughters in the United States -- Jessica and Caroline -- and they're both talented, successful, kind and caring young women. I know Joanna will be the same.
Fathers aren't a big part of the birthing process in Vietnam. Phuong's mother was the primary caretaker, and I was asked -- make that told -- to leave the room when Phuong was being examined or cleaned. Nobody I had contact with could speak any significant English, including Phuong's mom. We checked in Thursday and the baby was delivered on Saturday evening. I never spoke or had any meaningful exchanges with a doctor or nurse the entire time. I saw Phuong for about 20 minutes Saturday morning before she was carted away. I never spoke with her or saw her through the decision-making (on the c-section) or birthing process. I got to see the baby for five minutes about two hours after she was delivered, and then I was told to sign a paper and come back later. I got to bond with Joanna and see my wife the next day. The hospital wasn't overly friendly, but it's crazy busy because of its reputation for prenatal care. For me, Joanna and Phuong are beautiful and special, so I couldn't be happier.
Phuong is doing quite well, considering she had a major surgery (36 percent of births in Vietnam are by c-section, according to NBCNews.com). Phuong and Joanna have begun breastfeeding, and that provides its own challenges and frustrations. But I know Phuong and Joanna will persevere.
Nurses, family and friends say Joanna looks like me. Well, she can have some of my features, but I sure hope she doesn't LOOK LIKE ME. Babies change so much that it's hard for me to tell who they resemble. Health and happiness will mean a hell of a lot more than looks as Joanna gets older. I would prefer that she looks more like Phuong than the White Monkey, but again, as long as she's happy and healthy, life is wonderful.
Phuong says we now have a little diamond in our life. I already had a big diamond in my life with Phuong. I feel like a very rich man these days, and it has nothing to do with money.
I got to spend a little time in Ho Chi Minh City, and I didn't like it. There are way too many motorbikes, way too many food stands on the sidewalks that force you to walk in the street and almost get hit by the way too many motorbikes, and way too many shady characters everywhere. I walked up to a coffee shop in the morning and before I could get inside a girl came striding toward me saying "No, no, no!" and giving me that god-forsaken hand wave in the face. As I walked away I saw that the coffee shop also had a "massage" parlor in the back and was packed with men, who I'm guessing were johns waiting for their tricks. One of the "johns" stared at me like he wanted to kill me. I don't think he's a real coffee lover.
One place I loved in HCMC was a French bakery next to our hospital. Tous les Jours had tremendous fresh baked pastries and a pretty good cappuccino. I went there two or three times a day. Their smoothie machine was broken, but I haven't found a working smoothie machine in Vietnam yet. The staff at Tous les Jours did speak a little English, and were very friendly. I highly recommend it.
Finally, I want to thank everyone who congratulated Phuong, Joanna and I on Facebook or by email. I'm happy to bring Joanna into a world that has so many kind and thoughtful people. Thanks again, everyone.
Despite the difficulties and challenges, the end result was perfect. Phuong is OK and we have a healthy baby girl. Joanna Pham Millman was delivered at 6:20 p.m. on July 9. I found out by watching a TV screen, where new births would pop up and list mom, mom's age, baby's weight, time of birth, and baby's sex.
I wanted a girl and I got my wish. I have two daughters in the United States -- Jessica and Caroline -- and they're both talented, successful, kind and caring young women. I know Joanna will be the same.
Fathers aren't a big part of the birthing process in Vietnam. Phuong's mother was the primary caretaker, and I was asked -- make that told -- to leave the room when Phuong was being examined or cleaned. Nobody I had contact with could speak any significant English, including Phuong's mom. We checked in Thursday and the baby was delivered on Saturday evening. I never spoke or had any meaningful exchanges with a doctor or nurse the entire time. I saw Phuong for about 20 minutes Saturday morning before she was carted away. I never spoke with her or saw her through the decision-making (on the c-section) or birthing process. I got to see the baby for five minutes about two hours after she was delivered, and then I was told to sign a paper and come back later. I got to bond with Joanna and see my wife the next day. The hospital wasn't overly friendly, but it's crazy busy because of its reputation for prenatal care. For me, Joanna and Phuong are beautiful and special, so I couldn't be happier.
Phuong is doing quite well, considering she had a major surgery (36 percent of births in Vietnam are by c-section, according to NBCNews.com). Phuong and Joanna have begun breastfeeding, and that provides its own challenges and frustrations. But I know Phuong and Joanna will persevere.
Nurses, family and friends say Joanna looks like me. Well, she can have some of my features, but I sure hope she doesn't LOOK LIKE ME. Babies change so much that it's hard for me to tell who they resemble. Health and happiness will mean a hell of a lot more than looks as Joanna gets older. I would prefer that she looks more like Phuong than the White Monkey, but again, as long as she's happy and healthy, life is wonderful.
Phuong says we now have a little diamond in our life. I already had a big diamond in my life with Phuong. I feel like a very rich man these days, and it has nothing to do with money.
I got to spend a little time in Ho Chi Minh City, and I didn't like it. There are way too many motorbikes, way too many food stands on the sidewalks that force you to walk in the street and almost get hit by the way too many motorbikes, and way too many shady characters everywhere. I walked up to a coffee shop in the morning and before I could get inside a girl came striding toward me saying "No, no, no!" and giving me that god-forsaken hand wave in the face. As I walked away I saw that the coffee shop also had a "massage" parlor in the back and was packed with men, who I'm guessing were johns waiting for their tricks. One of the "johns" stared at me like he wanted to kill me. I don't think he's a real coffee lover.
One place I loved in HCMC was a French bakery next to our hospital. Tous les Jours had tremendous fresh baked pastries and a pretty good cappuccino. I went there two or three times a day. Their smoothie machine was broken, but I haven't found a working smoothie machine in Vietnam yet. The staff at Tous les Jours did speak a little English, and were very friendly. I highly recommend it.
Finally, I want to thank everyone who congratulated Phuong, Joanna and I on Facebook or by email. I'm happy to bring Joanna into a world that has so many kind and thoughtful people. Thanks again, everyone.
Sunday, July 3, 2016
Baby deadline; tardy students; lotto ripoff
The doctor in Ho Chi Minh City gave Phuong a July 7 deadline for our baby. In other words, if Phuong doesn't go into labor before then, doctors will take steps on July 7 to induce labor and deliver our baby. The baby weighs close to 8 pounds so the doctor doesn't think waiting much longer is a good idea. Phuong is calm and practical about everything. I'm a mess. I'm tense when I teach (sorry, kids), and wherever I go I wait for a phone call from Phuong. Of course, she doesn't call, so I'm even more tense and more of a mess.
Let's talk about something else ...
My students, who I really respect and enjoy, have taken tardiness to a whole new level, and it's not cool. I have anywhere from 10 to 16 students per class, and lately no more than two students show up on time for any of my classes. I wouldn't care so much -- they're wasting their time and money, not mine -- but the students stroll or strut or scurry into the room 5 to 10 to 15 to 20 minutes late, make a big deal of apologizing to me and interrupting my lesson, and finally sit down to talk with friends at an unacceptable volume level. Sometimes, I stop teaching and tell the late chatterboxes that it's rude to talk when someone else is talking. So I suggest they share whatever they were blabbing with the class and I'll shut my pie hole to show respect to them. I even offer to go home and let them teach the class since they love talking in front of the group. You see, the thing that really upsets me is that the late catwalk, followed by disrespectful chatting, happens around four times per class. So if I teach 10 classes a week, I have to put up with 40 catwalks/chatwalks a week. Not cool. I had to deal with the same thing in Peru. But Peruvian students have been exposed to more English and American culture than students here so they knew to enter the room quietly when they were late. But Vietnamese students are very bright and willing to learn, so I'm sure they'll eventually learn to either show up on time for my classes or shut their pie holes when they enter my classroom late. After all, the two or sometimes three students who show up on time deserve to get a full 90-minute lesson from the White Monkey. I may not be the greatest teacher, but I prepare (my wife will vouch for this) and try to do my best for the students.
Word on the street travels quickly in Bien Hoa, and that's not great news for me. I have been buying lotto tickets lately for Phuong, and the sellers must have spread the word because when I get coffee at my favorite cafe on a busy street corner, I deal with a parade of ticket sellers every day. I relented one day, and a woman stole 10,000 dong from me. How? Well, tickets are 10,000 dong each (about 50 cents) and I gave her 20,000. She basically refused to give me change after I took one ticket, so I told her to go home and keep the money to avoid a big scene. I'm sure she would have started arguing and I've learned after three motorbike accidents that I'm always wrong in Vietnam, even when I'm right. The lotto woman doesn't speak English, of course, but she understands theft in any language. My fault for engaging her in the first place. But many business people here don't think long-term. They would rather steal 50 cents from you today than keep you as steady customer for years to come. Maybe it's a "now culture" thing and I just don't understand. Even some Vietnamese agree with me on this point, but they're more willing to accept this philosophy than I am. I really shouldn't care. I can just take my business to the folks who treat the White Monkey with respect.
Let's talk about something else ...
My students, who I really respect and enjoy, have taken tardiness to a whole new level, and it's not cool. I have anywhere from 10 to 16 students per class, and lately no more than two students show up on time for any of my classes. I wouldn't care so much -- they're wasting their time and money, not mine -- but the students stroll or strut or scurry into the room 5 to 10 to 15 to 20 minutes late, make a big deal of apologizing to me and interrupting my lesson, and finally sit down to talk with friends at an unacceptable volume level. Sometimes, I stop teaching and tell the late chatterboxes that it's rude to talk when someone else is talking. So I suggest they share whatever they were blabbing with the class and I'll shut my pie hole to show respect to them. I even offer to go home and let them teach the class since they love talking in front of the group. You see, the thing that really upsets me is that the late catwalk, followed by disrespectful chatting, happens around four times per class. So if I teach 10 classes a week, I have to put up with 40 catwalks/chatwalks a week. Not cool. I had to deal with the same thing in Peru. But Peruvian students have been exposed to more English and American culture than students here so they knew to enter the room quietly when they were late. But Vietnamese students are very bright and willing to learn, so I'm sure they'll eventually learn to either show up on time for my classes or shut their pie holes when they enter my classroom late. After all, the two or sometimes three students who show up on time deserve to get a full 90-minute lesson from the White Monkey. I may not be the greatest teacher, but I prepare (my wife will vouch for this) and try to do my best for the students.
Word on the street travels quickly in Bien Hoa, and that's not great news for me. I have been buying lotto tickets lately for Phuong, and the sellers must have spread the word because when I get coffee at my favorite cafe on a busy street corner, I deal with a parade of ticket sellers every day. I relented one day, and a woman stole 10,000 dong from me. How? Well, tickets are 10,000 dong each (about 50 cents) and I gave her 20,000. She basically refused to give me change after I took one ticket, so I told her to go home and keep the money to avoid a big scene. I'm sure she would have started arguing and I've learned after three motorbike accidents that I'm always wrong in Vietnam, even when I'm right. The lotto woman doesn't speak English, of course, but she understands theft in any language. My fault for engaging her in the first place. But many business people here don't think long-term. They would rather steal 50 cents from you today than keep you as steady customer for years to come. Maybe it's a "now culture" thing and I just don't understand. Even some Vietnamese agree with me on this point, but they're more willing to accept this philosophy than I am. I really shouldn't care. I can just take my business to the folks who treat the White Monkey with respect.
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