Cam On, Baa: Thank You, Grandma
Greg Stonewall
ENGL 1100.46

I think it was a sunny Sunday or Monday afternoon when the plane touched down. Various people got off of the plane, but out of all of them, a little old lady stood out the most. She was about five feet tall and she had white hair that was covered by a Vietnamese hat called a "Non Bai Tho," or a "Poetic Leaf" hat. Wrinkled skin and a cane made her appear older, but the way she carried herself would make one believe that she was much younger than what she appeared. My family also noticed this woman, and we soon made our way towards her. Warm smiles and hugs were exchanged between this woman and my family. She started to greet me, but like most four-year olds, I was afraid of strangers. I quickly hid behind my mother. My mother said to her, "No mac co," which means, "He is shy." I was surprised. I never heard my mother say anything like that before. She and the woman spoke like that the entire way home. I was greatly amazed. Before this, I never knew about any language other than English. All I knew was "cowabunga," "pizza," and whatever other English that I heard on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and in my home. Hearing this strange language was my introduction to the world outside of cartoons and my home. I had questions and I knew this stranger would, in some way, have the answers.

I soon found out that the woman was my grandmother, and that she was moving in with us. Her name was Catherine Nguyen. She had lived in Vietnam her entire life and this was her first time living outside of her homeland. The language that she and my mother spoke was Vietnamese. My grandmother and I had several differences. She was extremely old, while I was extremely young. She spoke Vietnamese, and I spoke only English. However, the facts that we spoke different languages and were from different parts of the world gave us our biggest similarity. We were both "new to the world." She was new to the American way of life and I was new to the idea of diversity in humans and cultures. "Opposites attract" is the perfect phrase to describe the relationship that we would share over the next few years.

In the beginning, our relationship was not a pretty one. At the age of four, I was simply a "spoiled brat." At that time, I was the youngest of four children. I had an older brother and two older sisters. Since I was the youngest, I always got what I wanted. I would throw tantrums whenever I was denied something. That changed once my grandmother moved in. I had never been whooped by chopsticks until I crossed paths with her. I could not jump on furniture anymore, and I always had to finish my meals. She cooked the strangest Vietnamese dishes. I could not get away with anything because she was always around and she was always watching. She even made life at school difficult for me. The first day of kindergarten was a rainy one. I did not have a raincoat, so she made me wear her "Poetic Leaf" hat to school. Picture this: an all black school in Montgomery, Alabama, and a kid walks in wearing a "Poetic Leaf" hat. Everyone else had on their cool Power Rangers raincoats and I was looking like the guy from Mortal Kombat. My reputation still has not been able to recover from that experience. I could not stand the woman.

That was in the beginning, though, and things began to change as the months went by. I think I had just turned five. One day at the grocery store, my grandmother and I were waiting outside for my mother in front of the store. Some drunk, homeless man approached my grandmother and began to beg her for some money. She was confused, and I think he was too, once she began to speak. I am not really sure what she was saying, but her facial expression showed that she was embarrassed and intimidated. It was obvious that she did not understand what he was saying, but he just kept pestering and insulting her. He questioned her ethnicity. He said something like, "What idiot doesn't speak English?" The drunken fool just kept going and going. Finally fed up, I suddenly yelled out as loud as I could for help. He ran off, and my grandmother was amazed by my actions. I was even more amazed. My realization of how stupid people can be towards those who are different made me angry. From this moment on, I wanted to be able to protect my grandmother. I wanted to be able to communicate with her. I made up my mind that I was going to learn Vietnamese.

By several months later, my grandmother and I were almost inseparable. My mother worked a lot while I was young, so I was often at home being watched by my grandmother. We spent most of our days learning each others’ language. We also watched movies and listened to music in both English and Vietnamese. I actually began to like her food. My favorite dish was Bonsail, which is similar to an omelet, except that it contains shrimp, beef, and various vegetables. She even saved me from getting whooped by my mother a few times. I translated for her when we would go places. I would help her read the signs in public places like grocery stores and parks. She told me about the Vietnam and its people. She loved music and art that depicted nature and harmony, regardless of what country it came from or represented. Although the war ravaged her homeland, she had no resentment towards America. She was probably one out of millions of people from Vietnam who felt this way. She was a "one-of-a-kind" individual that was just naturally peaceful and caring.

I learned so much about my heritage from her through the various things she would tell me about Vietnam. She told me about how poor Vietnam was, but despite the situation of the people, they remained positive. They enjoyed the things that should matter most like family, friends, and the environment. She told me about the beauty of Vietnam's scenery. Vietnam contains some of the most beautiful beaches and jungles where many exotic animals dwell. The country is very different from the big cities of the United States. I have dreamed of visiting Vietnam ever since she told me about the country. My grandmother always inspired me to do so much. I like to believe that she was helping me grow by sharing her wisdom with me and I was helping her retain her youthfulness. I would have liked to visit Vietnam with her, but unfortunately, fate would not allow it.

On the morning of January 6, 1996, my mother left home for work. Before leaving, she told me to check on my grandmother because she had recently been ill. While I was watching Saturday morning cartoons, I told her I would, although I was not really paying her any attention. A few hours passed by and my mother was soon home for her lunch break. She asked if I had done what she had told me to do and I gave her a blank look like I had no idea what she was talking about. We both walked across the street to my grandmother's house. We tried to open the door, but it was locked. This was unusual because she was supposed to be expecting my visit. My mother unlocked the door and we were both left breathless by what we saw. My grandmother was on the floor clenching her chest. She appeared to be unconscious. We quickly called the paramedics, but it was too late by the time they had arrived. She was gone.

The following days, my family mourned non-stop. Surprisingly, I was so stunned that I could not even shed a single tear. The whole experience was so new and strange to me. It was the first time that someone so important and special to me had died. "Is this really happening?" That is all I wondered. I was only nine years old and I had no idea how to handle the death of a loved one. The only time I had ever witnessed death was in movies and television shows. It was not until seeing her casket being lowered into the ground when I finally broke down into tears. I felt like a part of me went into that black hole with her. I felt like it was my fault. Maybe she could have been saved had I checked on her sooner.

Eventually, I realized that death is inevitable, and that I had nothing to do with my grandmother's death, but I still had difficulty recovering. I felt alone for awhile. From then on, I never spoke a single word of Vietnamese again. For a short period, I did not want to see or hear anything that reminded me of her. It was hard because we had pictures of her everywhere. My mother gave my grandmother's clothes to Goodwill. We kept her hats, books, and movies. As the years went on, the world drastically changed. I witnessed racism, terrorism, war, and other forms of hate and violence. None of these things would have occurred had people taken the time to understand and communicate with one another. It was nothing but love between my grandmother and me once we understood each other.

As a result of all the recent events such as the war in Iraq and the Israeli conflict, I have decided that I am going to learn, not only Vietnamese again, but several languages. Someday, I want to explore the world, learn about various cultures, and play a role in bringing about world peace. I know that if understanding, compromise, and communication can bring together two totally different people such as my grandmother and me, then they can unite anyone. One of the first Vietnamese phrases that I learned while growing up was cam on which means "thank you." Cam on, grandma, for all that you have taught me, not only about my heritage, but about life, language, and the value of relationships.