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.

Death, dancing, tennis, french fries

One of our neighbors -- a 39-year-old man -- died this past week. He had a real problem with alcohol and would scream and shout at his mother.  When he was sober, which was seldom, he was an OK guy. Not cool, but OK. He died of lung failure, or so we were told. His death set off three days of singing, chanting, karaoke-like tributes, and music. A typical funeral here. All of this was very loud, of course, and disrupted our sleep, especially Joanna's. Some of the music was awesome, a melancholy type of jazz that was very listenable. I want the album. But most of the music sucked, a twangy, whiny, cacophony of throaty drivel. The issue for me was the lateness. There were tables set up in the street pretty much in front of our house and, of course, people got drunk. Consequently, there were fights. Now that's how you pay tribute to a man who spent much of his life drunk.
My tennis saga continued a couple of weeks ago when two more guys walked slowly across my court while Tai was kicking my ass in a match. I got so angry I cursed out the a-holes and walked off. They responded like the real men they were and mimicked me. I told them "your mother sucks socks that smell."  Tai and I have moved to another tennis complex where he has resumed kicking my ass (2-6 on Friday). At the new court, a young Vietnamese guy playing on the court next to us saw me and said: "Hey, OLD man." I responded: "Hey, LITTLE man." We've been fine ever since.
I gave up on the walk now that I am back on the court. The heat and Bien Hoa's dirty air would not let the skin rash on my face heal. Too bad, because I really enjoy walking. I look forward to getting back to Yellow Springs to resume my walks in Glen Helen -- with Joanna and Phuong.
Joanna is a walking machine these days -- she started walking for real at 11 months, 1 week old. Now, she balks at the stroller and is more than happy to hold your hand as long as she's walking. She reminds me so much of my daughter Jessica, who was one of the all-time great young walkers of her generation. Joanna also likes dancing, which I think is cool for an 11-month old. She'll stand and shake it to the Beatles and Elvis and If You're Happy And You Know It. This reminds me of my youngest son Alec, who was one of the all-time great young dancers of his generation.
I found a place that makes great sweet potato french fries with cheese. Not great for my gall bladderless body, but too tasty to ignore. The fry place is next to Banh Mi Kebab, which makes excellent pork sandwiches on a triangular, toasted, pita-type bread. Awesome.
Our family has the flu. Phuong can't breathe, Joanna has a runny nose and sneezes, and I've got all of the above and then some. Old Man.

Joanna walks, uses the remote, sneaks up stairs

Fitness, rest and proper diet are crucial for Phuong and I as we try to keep up with our 11-month-old whirlwind Joanna. We have to be sharp because Joanna has an incredible knack for finding danger anywhere and everywhere. Five new toys don't interest her, but power outlets, electrical cords and plumbing are a source of fascination. Joanna has almost mastered the TV remote, switching channels and finding maximum volume with ease. She loves our fans and she tries to put her fingers through the grill so she can grab the whirling blades (Phuong bought a protective cover which prevents Joanna from mangling her fingers). I left the door to Joanna's bedroom unlatched while she napped and I foolishly went to another room for a minute. Ninja Joanna left the room without a sound and Phuong somehow "sensed" trouble and tracked down Joanna as she crawled up the stairs toward the third floor and balcony. Oh God! She hasn't mastered going down stairs, but she has no trouble going up.
The latest challenge is that our daughter is now WALKING. She had been taking a few steps here and there the past few weeks, but she gained confidence and began really WALKING the day she turned 11 months old (Friday, June 9, 2017). She also got a vaccination that day for encephalitis, which didn't seem to affect her at all. She didn't cry, of course, but she made a noise like she was really irritated when the nurse stuck the needle in her thigh. The other parents in the room gave us a thumbs-up to acknowledge Joanna's toughness. For the record, Joanna weighs almost 11 KG (about 24 pounds) and is 75 CM tall (about 30 inches).
We took Joanna to Lido for ice cream after her vaccination on Friday, and she loved it. She seems to love animals, and she couldn't take her eyes off the fish and turtles they have there. A trip to the zoo is planned for her first birthday.
On my way home from tennis Friday to pick up Phuong and Joanna to go to Lido, some ass clown hit the back of my motorbike when I stopped because another guy pulled out on me. I say ass clown because the guy started screaming at me after he hit me and began a showy display of checking his bike for damage. Remember, he rear-ended me when I stopped to avoid smashing into the guy who came off a side street and pulled out in front of me.  So it's obvious I'm the douchebag that caused all the problems for both riders. Anyway, I just left the scene. I almost got hit that night when a family of four on a bike crossed a busy intersection diagonally as I tried to make a proper left turn with my signal on. Again, I appeared to be the culprit because the woman yelled at me. Have I mentioned that I hate riding a motorbike here.
Otherwise, all is well enough. My tennis is improving (it couldn't have gotten worse), most of my students are very cool, and it's hot as blazes.

My baby rides on the motorbike; lotto ripoff; black eye

I won't mince words. Joanna has been a passenger on our motorbike, standing between me and Phuong when I ride the bike. Phuong holds Joanna, and Joanna holds the back of my shirt or my hair popping out from under my helmet. I know it's dangerous and stupid, but the rides with Joanna aboard are limited to our neighborhood and the shops and stores that are very close by. It's convenient, and I'm not comfortable always asking Phuong's mom or sister-in-law to watch Joanna if Phuong and I need to go somewhere. Taxis are not reliable -- they can never find our house and the drivers act like they're the stars in Death Race 2000, a quality 1975 satirical film starring  David Carradine, Simone Griffeth and Sylvester Stallone. I don't feel safe in the taxis. I don't feel safe on the bike, either, but Joanna loves riding and actually cries when the ride is finished. And not because of the way I ride. Of course, I'm ultra careful, but I realize there are no guarantees when you ride -- people are stupid on the bikes here and many are more than willing to kill or injure a baby so they can get to the coffee shop faster. We only ride in the middle of the day when traffic is lighter. And I ride very, very slowly.
I've been buying lottery tickets from an older gentleman for the past year or so, and I thought he was OK and that we had a good relationship. I thought wrong. Monday, the guy tried to rip me off for 40,000 dong, which isn't much, but it's still money. I bought one ticket for 10,000 dong and gave the old guy 50,000 dong to pay for it. He strolled off. I chased him down and demanded my 40,000, and he pretended he didn't understand and tried to sell me four more lottery tickets. This guy speaks a little English, and knew what he was doing. Some guy who saw the entire incident unfold intervened and I eventually got my 40,000 dong change.  I was disappointed because I thought I knew the guy and I sort of trusted him. The same type of thing happened with a neighbor girl. She would come to my house to watch cartoons and I would give her candy or buy her some chips. That girl stole 500,000 dong out of my wallet when I went outside to buy her and her sister ice cream cones. I hate when people choose a few bucks over friendship. Hell, if they'd just ask nicely, I'd give 'em a few bucks.
Another day of tennis, another ass-clown walking across my court during my match. This was the second time this turd face has done this, so I told him in Vietnamese that I would walk across his court during his match since he was wasting my money. All his friends made fun of me, going "oooooohhhh" when I talked. The guy laughed and pretended not to understand, so I did the most feminine, wimpiest walk I could across the court and pointed at him, trying to "imitate" him so I could show him and his buddies what he looked like to me. All his friends laughed AT HIM this time, and he apologized. We'll see what happens the next time. I notice that the Vietnamese never walk across a court where Vietnamese are playing. My wife insists race is not a factor in their disrespect for me, but I'm not so sure.
My employer took me off the class that refused to speak to me, and all my classes have been wonderful ever since. The two replacement classes bonded instantly with me and one of them insisted I keep teaching them. I invited them to take a walk across my tennis court on Friday.
I smashed my left eye on the corner of a glass shelf while cleaning, and I've got a pretty good shiner developing. The shelf is Phuong's, so maybe this is payback for the time I gave her a black eye when I "playfully" tossed a puzzle to her in a toy store.
Easy rider Joanna is very close to walking -- eight days before she turns 11 months old. She currently takes baby steps, so to speak, and it won't be long before she really gets rolling. She's having a rough time with her new teeth and it's tough to see her in pain.