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.