Trump goes wild; life is backward; smoked out of tennis

Is Trump for real?  We get U.S. news in Vietnam by watching CNN, BBC, and France 24, and all three networks carried these stories this week: Trump disputes climate change report; Trump blames forest mismanagement for the California wildfires; Trump stands by Saudis regarding the murder of Jamal Khashoggi; Trump wants to restrict military service by transgender people; Trump threatens to close southern border with Mexico. Fake news? I don't think so. Fake president? Sadly, no. I'm not a political person even though I have a house in Yellow Springs. I don't usually get too riled up about politics unless something egregious takes place. Trump is egregious ... in his behavior, comments and policies. It's difficult to watch from afar, knowing the respect and reputation of the United States has diminished around the world.

* * *

I think our lives are backward. We should have children when we're old so we can use the maturity, experience and wisdom we've gained through the years to become more effective and understanding parents. I realize there are some practical issues with this philosophy. I was young and full of energy when I had children. I needed that youth and energy to keep up with my kids. But I didn't have the wisdom and maturity to raise them as well as they should have been raised. Some folks are ready to raise children when they're young. I wasn't one of them. and most of us aren't.  My ex-wife is an exception and was wise and committed beyond her years; she did so much more than her share. Hence, ex-wife. Also, I enjoyed a drink or six when I was younger. And the night was always young although the next morning was extremely old. I mention all this because I had a child with my second wife at age 61.  (No, I was 61 and my wife was 38.) My energy level is nothing like it was at age 29, but my wisdom and maturity have grown to the point where my patience and parenting skills have clearly improved. My daughter Joanna seems to appreciate her focused dad. We finish every day with a dance to "Green Rocky Road" by an obscure band called Creation (with Felix Pappalardi), and then Joanna is off to bed repeating "daddy do tai chi, daddy do tai chi." I've encouraged reading and it has paid off. Joanna is 28 months old and can say the alphabet with ease, count to 30 with ease, recognize countless animals, and identify her shapes and colors. And the first thing she does when she wakes up in the morning or from her nap is open her books and pretend to read, using the pictures as cues. I'm not trying to brag on her because that's boring and self-serving, but I want to stress that an older dad can teach his child to learn more (and often better) than a younger dad because old farts like me have been through so much. I know grandparents can provide these lessons, but a dad's influence on his child is unparalleled because he should be there most of the time, and after all, he's dad. Many circumstances are different for me now than 30 years ago. My job isn't the center of my universe like it was in my 20s, 30s and 40s. These days, I try to be an excellent teacher, but clearly there's a more sensible balance between work and family. I'll also say that having a baby in my 60's has forced me to focus on fitness and clean living. I used to smoke cigarettes but I wouldn't touch one now. I was a heavy drinker, but now I'm Mr. Moderation. My diet is also slightly more conservative. I still love spicy food, but I take it relatively easy on the grease and fats. My wife has been a blessing through this entire process, and she's also been a catalyst. Phuong encourages my tai chi practice, and my nightly ritual of tai chi lasts well over an hour.
Unlike self-actualized people, I have regrets and wish I had done things differently in the past, mainly because my actions affected others. But I plod along these days and do the best that I can. There's no Benjamin Button in real life (The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is a movie starring Brad Pitt in which the main character ages in reverse). We don't start old and wise, and get younger. We're more like Benjamin Buttheads, starting out young and stupid but thinking we know it all, and then getting old, decrepit and regretful.

* * *

Daily trash burning at Dong Nai Square has curtailed my tennis schedule. Like Roger Federer, I'm cutting back. Phuong and I only play twice a week now at the police court after we had to put up with trash fires on three consecutive trips to Dong Nai Square. Locals don't care, but I won't exercise where there's burning plastic, paper, leaves and Styrofoam. No doubt this will affect my ranking, but I felt compelled to take a stand somewhere.

Park gets cleaned up; more tennis disruptions; adapting

I have good news to report about the park where I take Joanna five times a week. The litter has almost disappeared after police posted a sign threatening to fine people who throw their trash in the park. A rancid smell still emanates from the open sewer and river overflow canal that runs along the park, but there is very little litter in the park itself. It looks good. The White Monkey has always tried to do his part, picking up and discarding litter in the one and only trash can that's located near the security hut. If I'm too far away from the trash can, I'll put the litter I collect in trash piles near the street. Hopefully, these piles are picked up by the sanitation crews, which come by frequently. The streets near the park are still trashy as hell, and I've got the pictures to prove it. In fact, I've posted some here and on Facebook. But the park's condition has dramatically improved. A clean park is crucial because Joanna takes off her shoes the moment I look away. It's a struggle to keep shoes on Joanna, who's very determined and has a strong personality. On some issues she'll acquiesce, but when Joanna makes up her mind, she'll go to war with you. Some adults point in horror at her bare feet, and then try to tweak her cheek with their filthy hands. I don't let strangers get too close to Joanna here, especially after some creepy creep tried to kiss her and pick her up. Joanna doesn't like to be handled by strangers anyway. Who does? She'll let my friend/student Sam pick her up, but other than Sam it's pretty much family only.

* * *

Tennis remains a challenging activity here. We play at two different locations -- the courts next to Dong Nai Square and a court at the police station. At Dong Nai Square, trash is regularly burned next to where we play. At the police station,  high-powered saws are occasionally used next to our court to cut sheets of metal. We switched to another court at Dong Nai so the smoke is somewhat less intrusive. At the police station, we play later in the day and under the lights after the chain gang has gone home. That means we eat dinner late and extend Joanna's bed time. It's a little bit of a hassle, but life goes on. Phuong, having lived her entire life in Bien Hoa, rolls with the disruptions, danger and dirtiness. The crazy driving (she's had three accidents since I've knowm her), the line cutting, and the littering are no big deal to my wife. It's what she's used to. The White Monkey admittedly still can't accept this stuff. I've adapted to some degree but I make too big of a display in public about how my daughter throws her trash in a trash can -- and she's only 28 months old. I have no solution to line cutting yet. Going everywhere with my wife and Joanna seems to slow down the line-cutters, but some people just don't care. Ultimately, I try to minimize my shopping.

* * *

My life and mood have improved significantly here since I put myself under limited house arrest. No more motorbike riding is wonderful. Sometimes, student/friend Sam will give me a ride to a coffee shop near our house, but otherwise I travel by taxi and walking.  I enjoy riding a motorbike, but not where people ignore all rules of the road (and sidewalk) and think nothing of hitting and running. The coffee shops I go to for sweets and reading are very close to the house. I've read 10 Jack Vance books since August, and I'm in the process of reading the last three I have in Vietnam. I ordered three more online and I'll pick those up and buy a few more when I return to the U.S. next year for eye care.

* * *

I cracked the screen cover on my cell phone three times in the past three weeks, one time ruining the screen and disabling my cell phone. Phuong, who's the most patient person I know -- and not just because she's married to me -- got the phone fixed three times, buying a thick, protective case the third time. When I'm not with my wife and daughter, I have to have music in my ear and a book in my hand.

Sweet treats; more signs of aging; we're losing good folk

A local shop that specializes in imported fruits and sweets has been especially sweet to our daughter Joanna. The owner of the shop, which is named Cat Tuong -- the name of the owner's daughter -- provides some kind of treat for Joanna nearly every time we visit. I go there primarily to buy oatmeal, oranges and raisins. Joanna enjoys the fruit. In fact, she enjoys anything that has sugar in it, and she can say candy in several languages. The folks at Cat Tuong might slip her some raisins, or a cookie, or a tangerine. The store is pricey, but most stores here that provide fruits like navel oranges, blueberries and strawberries are all pricey. Cat Tuong sells Russian chocolates with liquor inside, but they're mediocre and stupid expensive. The airport sells quality chocolate with decent liquor inside, but you need an airline ticket to buy the chocolates. I'll buy some once or twice a year. Anyway, Joanna and I visit Cat Tuong once a week on our walk. The store is close to a coffee shop we also visit. Here, Joanna eats a packet of sugar and a piece of coffee cheesecake, which is awesome. Maybe it's the heat, but Phuong, Joanna and I love our sugar. I never used to have a sweet tooth, but now Phuong and I have chocolate and half a beer every night. I crave chocolate more than ever.

* * * 

Sometimes, I actually forget how old I'm getting. Thank God I have encroaching baldness to remind me I'm heading toward the final frontier. I was looking at some recent family photos and saw that my hairline is no longer receding; it's in full retreat and preparing to surrender. I guess there's technology that combats baldness, but I'm a natural guy. Maybe I'll do an ear hair comb-over. Or let my eyebrows grow out. Don't mind me; I'm just brainstorming in print. Not acting my age almost cost me twice in tennis on Saturday. I was unable to apply the brakes in time and ran into a wall while chasing a ball that I couldn't catch up to. Another time, Phuong hit behind me and I "tweaked" my ankle while trying to stop on a dime, provide nine cents change, and make the return. I completely missed the ball on my return attempt and my ankle buckled, but I kept playing. I compete like I'm young but perform like I'm old. 

* * *

I don't understand the teenagers here who yell "f@ck you!" at me and Joanna when we take a walk. They'll ride by on bicycles or motorbikes, and scream profanities at a balding, soon-to-be 64-year-old man pushing a stroller carrying a 28-month-old toddler -- that would be me and Joanna. If I'm walking alone, I don't care so much. Besides, I always have headphones on so I don't really have to hear people sarcastically scream "what's your name, where you from?" when I walk anywhere. Some people get agitated when I don't answer and they'll scream the questions over and over, occasionally  getting in my face. I've been semi-threatened on several occasions here and had stuff thrown at me, but no one has ever laid a hand on me. Well, people have rubbed my stomach and silly stuff like that, but they've never aggressively pawed me; and I've lived here nearly six years. I guess the "f@ck you!" and "what's your name?" goofballs are just showing off. But showing off for whom? Me? Joanna? What a bunch of chuckleheads.

***

Another disarming aspect of aging is that I see Facebook posts about people I know -- and like -- passing away. A woman I worked with in Bakersfield, Mimi McAndrew, recently passed away. She was one of the nicest people I had the pleasure to work with in my 30 years in journalism. She was kind, caring, and one hell of a journalist. We recently reconnected on Facebook and she always commented on my family and how we look so happy.  I'll miss you, Mimi.  My high school wrestling practice partner and semi-assistant coach, Rick Widdoes, also passed away recently. Widdoes was a college wrestler and he would come to my high school wrestling practice to give me a workout and beat the hell out of me. I was our team's heavyweight and there was no one even close to my size on the squad. Widdoes was a good-sized guy with incredibly strong hands. He toyed with me ... BUT ... one time he was showing off and did a lazy sit out, and I seized the opportunity and trapped Widdoes in a killer cradle, and put him on his back. My coach, Earl Helmbreck, who was also Widdoes' coach in high school, started taunting Widdoes. "Johnny Millman's got Ricky on his back. Come on, Ricky, break that cradle." Widdoes -- who was clearly pissed I put him on his back and was even more pissed Helmbreck pointed it out to everyone -- couldn't break that cradle. When the whistle blew, Widdoes complimented my cradle, and then nearly broke my neck when we resumed wrestling, putting me on my back and pinning me. Widdoes was actually more known for his baseball prowess, but I knew him best as an ornery wrestler.

Illness, mountains of laundry and lots of reading

Phuong and I are great believers in recycling, so we have passed the same illnesses around in our household for the last month. We've run the gamut from head to toe -- headaches, sinus infections, runny noses, sore throats, chest congestion, stomach pain, bowel issues, as well as sore knees, ankles and arches. Phuong even had some sort of eye infection. I'm not entirely shocked at our health issues since it's 94 degrees and horribly humid every day, with monsoon rain most afternoons. Also, people dispose of trash here by burning it, so there's the lovely scent of melting plastic and burning tires wafting through the city air about three times a week. And don't forget cigarette smoke. People -- almost exclusively men -- light up everywhere here, including hospital waiting rooms. Somehow, Joanna has avoided almost all of the health issues under these daunting circumstances. She had a runny nose for a couple of days, but that's pretty much it. She reminds me of one of my other daughters, who at age 5 shook off the mumps in an afternoon, and gets sick about once every three years. Despite our persistent health issues, Phuong and I continue to play tennis, hoping to sweat out the viruses and infections that have set up camp in our bodies. We sweat like crazy, but remain a little sick. It'll take time.
I don't go out much or ride the bike anymore so I'm under a self-imposed house arrest in a manner of speaking. I've read eight Jack Vance books since I came back from the U.S. in late August, and I'm already fretting about what I'm going to do when I finish the remaining five Vance books I have. Reading has become a passion for me lately. So has laundry. I do more than an hour of laundry and tai chi every night. The laundry is a little overwhelming because Joanna is struggling with potty training, I take a minimum of three showers daily, and Phuong contributes her fair share to our bulging laundry basket. There are no dryers here, and it takes clothes a long time to dry when they're hung up outside because of the humidity. Laundry is actually more than a passion; it's a lifestyle.
Joanna is approaching 28 months old and she is such a joy for Phuong and I. Joanna speaks both English and Vietnamese, but she clearly prefers English and her vocabulary is remarkably extensive, in my opinion. She knows all the letters, numbers, and she displays a mischievous sense of humor. She loves the books I've gotten her, and one of her favorites is "I Am Bunny." In the book, the bunny says "my name is Nicholas and I live in a hollow tree." When we ask Joanna her name, she gives us  an elfish grin and says "My name is Nicholas." I pretend to be frustrated, pound the table or bed and say "You're not Nicholas, you're Joanna." Of course she repeats "My name is Nicholas" over and over to get me riled.
Phuong's mother got word that I liked bun bo Hue, and now we're getting shipments every other day. Phuong's mom did the same thing with spring rolls. Love Phuong's mom, but she doesn't understand the concept of 'too much of a good thing.'
Our interview at the U.S. embassy to move our family to the U.S. likely won't happen until March or April. If we get one. If Phuong is denied an interview, which I guess is possible, then we'll apply for a waiver. If that fails, then it's off to Uruguay or Ecuador or someplace I'd be more comfortable having my daughter go to school. We're waiting before we get serious about relocating.
Illness and rain haven't helped our tennis, but I did manage to come from ahead 5-2 on two occasions to lose to Phuong 5-7, 6-7 (5). In the second set, in addition to letting a 5-2 lead get away, I was winning 5-1 in the tiebreaker and fell apart to lose 5-7. Phuong courageously called my last shot "out!" when I was sure it painted the line. But I'm a notorious complainer, and it hasn't served me well yet.

From Kavanaugh to death music to my girl cursing

Even my wife's family followed the train wreck that was Donald Trump's nomination of Brett Kavanaugh to the U.S. Supreme Court. Phuong and her family didn't understand all the finer points of the situation, but they got the gist.  They relied on me to fill in the blanks. I tried to be unbiased, but really ... First, I'm a registered Democrat. Second, I can't get my Vietnamese wife a visa to enter the U.S. Finally, we're talking about Kavanaugh, a man who was accused of sexual assault and had the support of a Republican Senate and president who has discussed "grabbing (women) by the p*****",  adding that "when you're a star, they let you do it." The Vietnamese I've spoken to say they liked President Barack Obama. They don't really give me an opinion on Trump. You can guess my opinion. I saw Trump speak at the Bakersfield Business Conference in the 1990s, and I was more impressed with Phyllis Diller's speech. Really. I want to return to the U.S. with my wife and little girl, but I don't want to come back to a divided country that rejects foreigners. Unbelievable, isn't it, that a country made great by its immigrants is now trying to close the door? Hypocrites.

* * *

Everyone in our neighborhood is sick, which would normally make me smile, except I'm also one of the people who's sick. Here's what happened. Two neighbors on our street died last week. No, we didn't catch what they had. But all of us had to endure six days of loud, fingernail-on-chalkboard singing and music starting at 6:30 a.m. and finishing at 3 a.m. Death seems to be a more significant event than life is here, hence the massive death ceremonies. People "celebrate" the anniversaries of death with similar singing and music ... and gusto. The problem last week was that the music and singing really kicked into high gear around midnight and continued easily until 3 a.m. Professional mourners were hired to keep the music and wailing going until the wee-wee hours. Phuong and I went to Joanna's room, where it was only slightly quieter. Joanna tossed and turned, and Phuong and I didn't sleep well and got pissy with each other every day during the death concerts. Even with sickness, life improved the day the music died. I live with headphones on here so I can sleep and not hear death music and people asking me what my name is and where I'm from.

* * *

Joanna has become a talking machine, which makes me so happy since she's only 27 months old. One of my sons was a very late talker, not saying much until he was close to 3 and a half. "Everything was fine until then," he says now. Anyway, I have to be especially careful around Joanna, who listens when you don't think she's listening, and repeats what you have once said when you least expect it. She dropped a "What the f@#k?" on me when one of her toys fell apart while she was playing. And she copied my "bulls#&t" to describe a fish tank with live, exposed wires next to our tennis court. I didn't react either time and there hasn't been a repeat performance, thank God. Joanna copies some of the noises I make during tai chi five animals play exercises -- she does the "hi, hi, hi-yaa" sound of the "bear" very, very well. Love that little girl.

* * *

The tennis workouts and matches with Phuong are fantastic. Every match is close and the rallies are long and hotly contested. The heat is rough, but we persevere and enjoy ourselves. Joanna plays with Lego's or her cousin on the sidelines and is very well-behaved. The No. 1 ranking is up in the air because we've split the last six matches. Also, I want to publicly thank my ex-wife Lynda for getting my new glasses to Phuong's aunt in Chicago, who brought them to Bien Hoa this week. My life is finally coming into focus.

Where's my baby? trashy women; illness diet; be nice

Joanna and the stroller are a safety net for me in Bien Hoa. Don't get me wrong; cars and motorbikes don't slow down for us when we cross a street, and we were nearly hit the other day by a girl ripping around a corner on her bike, motocross style. But people are clearly more receptive and friendly when they see me pushing a stroller that actually has a child inside. A group of men always sit in the park and drink coffee, and the other day they smiled and said hello as I walked by on my way to the market with Joanna. Joanna and I bumped into Phuong at the market, so Phuong took Joanna home on the motorbike -- yes, Phuong still rides sometimes. I pushed the stroller back home with no baby, and walked past the group of men. They looked for Joanna in the stroller. I pretended like I was shocked and asked: baby o dau? -- where's the baby? Just then, Phuong rode by with Joanna, and I pointed and said me (sounds like may-uh), which means mom. We all laughed. I guess you had to be there.

• • •

On two separate occasions while walking with Joanna, I saw two women approaching SUVs after spending quality time in a coffee shop or karaoke club. On both occasions, the women who were driving dropped a bunch of trash in the street -- surreptitiously -- just before getting into the car. You can't make this stuff up. Living here, I don't have to. I've said it before, and I'll say it again and again and again. Littering is a lifestyle here, and it's obnoxious. The Vietnamese I've talked to who are also offended by littering say it's going to take a few generations and more education to halt this practice. When I see a woman who's holding a small child give that child trash to throw in the street, then I think that a "few generations" may be optimistic.

• • •

I was quite ill for about 10 days with some sort of stomach virus.  The great thing about being sick with the stomach virus I had was that the pounds just melted off me. People who haven't seen me in a while tell me how good I look. I may feel like hell, but I sure look good. And really, that's what it's all about, isn't it? My private student Sam asked me if I gave birth to a boy or girl. Being thinner hasn't helped my tennis or tai chi, but I didn't get sick to improve either. In fact, my tennis got worse, if that's possible. I'm all better now and I'm sure as I put my weight back on my tennis will return to its marvelous mediocrity.

 • • •

I admire bold, frank assessments, except when they involve children. I do my best to avoid making comments about a child's weight or personal appearance. Twice in the past week, I've heard adults criticize children for being fat. And folks, these kids aren't fat, at least by the White Monkey's standards. Anyway, in one instance, a dad told me his year-old 11-daughter was too heavy while his daughter stood next to me. This dad is actually a good guy, and he didn't dwell on the subject, but his daughter was obviously upset by the comment. In the other instance, a woman who lives across the street from us told a neighbor's 12-year-old daughter that she needed to change her posture when she walked so she wouldn't look so fat. The woman who made this suggestion has an ass the size of a freight train, so I'd suggest she looks in the mirror before making any more suggestions related to weight.

• • •

Joanna continues to be an incredible source of joy in my rather mundane life. She's 26 months old now and her English vocabulary is really quite extensive. I guess it's her ability to recall things -- she can recite the alphabet, count higher than she'll let us know, and surprise us by pointing out "ROOSTER" and "BUTTERFLY'' on the walk. She says "BACK HOME" when we return home in a taxi from tennis. It goes on and on ... and I don't want to go on and on about her. But .... she speaks more Vietnamese these days as well, but never to her dad. I've read where toddlers and young children in families that speak two languages know who speaks what language and they respond accordingly. Amazing and truly wonderful. Enough said by me ... I'll let Joanna do the talking.

Sorry, folks; I ain't THAT John Millman; just ask Roger

Let's set the record straight. My name is John Millman and I play tennis, but I'm not THAT John Millman. I'm 63 years old and he's 29. I couldn't beat Roger Rabbit in tennis, let alone Roger Federer. Hell, I can't even beat my diminutive and beautiful wife, Phuong. I love tennis and I'm a fan of the 29-year-old John Millman of Australia because he's gritty, persistent, focused and incredibly devoted to his profession and conditioning. I'm sadly lacking those qualities -- personally and professionally -- and the results have been borne out in a mediocre life without any notable accomplishments, other than my five fantastic children. John Millman of Australia deserves the spotlight because he has persevered though serious injuries and countless Challenger Tour and less-prestigious tournaments in remote locations -- such as Ho Chi Minh City -- to reach the bright lights of the U.S. Open in New York. He seems like a real gentleman to me and I couldn't be happier for him. Actually, I shouldn't have the exact name as this other Millman. My last name should be spelled Milman -- with one l -- but the hospital misspelled my grandfather's name on his birth certificate, and it stuck. My great-grandfather Elijah Milman (note the one l) was something of a legend in Georgetown, Del., according to my dad, who was something of an exaggerator when it came to family. Anyway, Elijah supposedly could open a clam with his bare hands, and he had 11 children. He was a farmer, and didn't play tennis.
Me? I'm an English teacher and former journalist.  I can open a beer with one hand if I have a good opener and I have five children. I can only imagine the reaction of people around the world when they opened my blog looking for information on the Australian who defeated Federer and tested Novak Djokovic at the U.S. Open. Instead, they saw my puffy, wrinkled face, which is a far cry from the chiseled, good-looking Australian tennis professional they were expecting to see. Well, there's good news for me. My blog got more hits in one day -- from all over the world -- than it usually gets in a couple of weeks. Sorry, folks; the Internet can be a funny place -- not funny ha-ha, but funny as in peculiar.

* * *

I've been taking Joanna for long morning walks three to four times a week.  We have a structure to our walks more than a fixed route. We'll cruise around the park a couple of times as Joanna sits in her stroller. Then, I'll pick Trứng cá for Joanna, who leaves her stroller to join me and enjoy this delicious little berry, also known as a Jamaican cherry.  Joanna will eat as many as I pick. The fruit has countless health benefits, and we're the only ones eating them, so it's a good father-daughter activity. But, the Jamaican cherry tree grows next to an open sewer/canal at the park, so I don't stay as long as I would like. The tree is also next to a fairly busy street that has lots of fast-moving traffic, which results in lots of staring and a great deal of danger for my daughter. Cars, trucks and motorbikes in Bien Hoa don't slow down for little children any more than they slow down for the White Monkey, so I have to be constantly vigilant while I try to pick the Trứng cá. I don't take my eyes off Joanna for a second when we go out here, of course, and it makes what should be a relaxing experience a little tense. I think Joanna understands the perils of life on the outside here, but after all, she's only 26 months old. After Joanna gets her fill of berries, she stays out of the stroller and walks the length of the park with me.  We used to look at the fish in aquariums at a restaurant, but one of the managers yelled at Joanna for touching the outside of a tank. I gave him a death stare and now we very rarely go there. The Mickey Mouse mural nearby is covered in red ants, so it's an occasional, careful visit. Sometimes, we'll go along Vo Thi Sau street to shop at a local market.  Having Joanna with me seems to lighten the mood with most strangers, who smile and try to talk with her. She's wisely wary of strangers and hates being touched by them. I intervene before they can pinch her  cheeks, a local favorite. Other than the vehicles that don't care about a baby in a stroller, it's a very pleasant morning with my daughter.

* * *

 I'll circle back to tennis for a moment. Phuong was playing the match of her life against me on Thursday, taking a 3-1 lead with solid serving and incredible shot-making. I was playing well, but she was on fire. Then, Joanna came out on the court and we stopped play. Joanna refused to leave, and ran away from us when we tried to pick her up. Phuong finally corralled her, but when we returned to playing, Phuong had lost her mojo. We stopped with the score tied 4-4 and Joanna still running wild everywhere. I owe her. Joanna clearly saved me from a thumping at the hands of Phuong, and the No. 1 ranking in our family remains up in the air.