Hero –
noun.
A man admired for his achievements and noble qualities; one who
shows great courage.
Tonight I drove my hero to the airport. No, Superman wasn’t in my passenger seat
tonight, and neither were Derek Jeter or Hines Ward. The person I dropped off at the airport
tonight was Dr. Kuang Y. Lin. After 46
years of living in the United
States – exactly 2/3 of his life – my father
is moving to the place he still considers home.
My father will be spending his retirement in Taiwan. This is part I (of hopefully many!) of my tribute to the greatest man that I know.
Prologue
The word 'love' is a complex word in English. It can be a noun, and it can be a verb. In Taiwanese, it's not a complex word at all. That's because there isn't a word for 'love' in Taiwanese. It doesn't exist. Maybe that's why I never heard or said the words, "I love you" in the household growing up. Those words didn't exist. They were words never spoken.
Similarly, my relationship with my father has been both complex and, on occasion, non-existent. If you ask either of us, we
can probably recall numerous times where I’ve been a terrible son or he’s been
a poor father. I guess this is common
for many; after all, we are only human and none of us gets a manual on how to
be a good father/son. Most of us mature and
grow out of the stage where we can’t stand our parents, but unfortunately I
tend to be a late bloomer.
It has only been in recent years where I’ve realized he’s my hero, and that I want very badly to be more like him. The evolution
of our relationship from one of anger and borderline loathing to one of respect
and love is one of many chapters.
Chapter I: Mr. Barca
“Mr. Barca, I heard that you were an engineer in Ethiopia.”
One of the greatest parts about my job is that I can see
parts of my life in each of my 10 year olds. The week before parent-teacher conferences,
another teacher had told me that Mr. Barca, father of one of my students, had
been an aeronautical engineer in his native Ethiopia.
Mr. Barca smiled at me and nodded.
“Back home, I was,” he said in his soft-spoken way. “But I need to get more schooling in order
for me to be an engineer here in the United States. I hope to be able to do this soon. But first, I want to make sure my son gets a
good education.”
Mr. Barca is the type of parent that teachers love. He cares deeply about his son’s education and
behavior, gives him plenty of support at home, and also respects and cares for
his son’s teachers. Beyond that, he also
took a risk by giving up a great job in his native country to move to the United States. As we talked about his journey, I began to
think that he was similar in many ways to another great man in my life. Mr. Barca is an engineer with a singular
focus – to make sure his son is given the opportunities he didn’t have in Ethiopia. Similarly, my father once had a singular
focus. It was this focus that brought
him to the land of opportunity.
***
My father was born in 1943 in a rural town in central
Taiwan.
He was the 4
th of 6 boys, and
there was no running water.
I think about the stench in my classroom on days where my students have P.E. and I
cringe when I think of what things must have been like for my grandmother in a
house full of boys. Like me, he loved
playing outdoors, got into a little mischief, and even got a bad grade a time
or two in school. In fact, he once got a
33% on a test in middle school. Unlike
me though, he cried when the teacher showed him his grade.
At the ripe old age of 19, my father graduated from the
Taiwan Institute of Technology (a hilarious aside – think about what the
acronym for that is. Yes, I’m a 5th
grader at heart). After serving his
mandatory time in the Taiwanese Army, he became a math teacher, then made moldings for a gold company, and then sold electronics. That last job paid him $75 per month – great pay
at the time. To give you an idea of how
high this salary was, my grandfather was a well respected administrator in a
hospital, and his pay was only $50 per month. I asked my father years later why he gave up
such a great job, and his answer was simple:
“I wanted to be an engineer. The
opportunities for engineering in Taiwan
were not good at that time, and the best opportunity for me would be to come to
the United States.”
For 3 years, my dad had a single goal – to come to the U.S. so he
could get his engineering doctorate. 3
years is an eternity for a young man. So
much can change, and so much can serve to dissuade us from our initial goal. I recall being asked where I saw myself in 5
years in an interview after graduating college. Two years later I couldn’t tell you what that
goal was because so much had changed. But, my father is not like me. His focus never deviated. For 3 years, he and my grandfather saved
their meager salaries until they had $800 for the one-way ticket to the U.S. Then, my grandfather mortgaged the land he
owned so that my dad could have 2 semesters worth of rent and food. Everything was in place; my father was about
to come to the United States.
I recently spoke with my dad about this dynamic time in his
life:
Me:
“Dad, were you scared or nervous when you were getting ready to come to
the U.S.?”
Dad: “No, I was excited.”
Me:
“Just excited? I think I’d be
scared too. I mean, what if you didn’t
make it in your Ph.D?”
Dad: “Grampa sacrificed a lot for
me. I couldn’t fail.”
I’ve often thought about that conversation. Even though I know my grandfather loved my
father dearly; culturally, the shame that would have been felt would have been
too much for my father to withstand. On
top of that, it would have been financially impossible for him to return to Taiwan.
The courage that my father had to take
that risk – to go for his dream despite not having a safety net in case of
failure – was incredible, and even heroic. I
want that same noble quality that he has.
I want the courage to strive for a worthwhile goal. I want to be able to do this with the persistence
and single-mindedness that comes when failure is not an option. My father’s admirable
achievements in his amazing life are in large part because he has the courage
that few men possess.
