5 Decades - Part 1 One Digit Age

My First Decade

When I was 9 or 10, thinking of the year 2000 seemed so far away. I counted my age and thought by the time we celebrate the year 2000, I would be 40 years old and have very few children but a lot of cats and dogs. My friends used to come over to the house and played a game of being a bride. We would put on a lacey cloth over our heads and pretend it was our wedding dress, until my sister told me to stop playing around and be careful with the table cloth. While growing up, turning 50 had never crossed my mind.

Fast forward just a bit, a year ago, I was invited to a very unique 50th birthday party. The Birthday girl invited some of her running friends to celebrate her 50-ish birthday by running 50 Kilometer, 31 miles. When the beautiful 50 year old birthday girl asked me to join her on the long run for her birthday in February 2010, she said she wanted to do something she loved doing to celebrate her big day, which is running. The 50th party consisted of running from Beal Point, by Folsom Lake, to downtown Sacramento, starting at 6:15am. I did not run the whole 31 miles but I did show up a few hours later and ran one-third of the course. There were 7 of us runners and an injured runner on a bike as our support crew. As we all were running and supporting the birthday girl, I thought to myself that I too can celebrate my birthday every year with friends for a long run. Then it occurred to me, I don’t have enough crazy friends that would join me on the 50K run in December.



Undated picture of my mom



I thought of my mother and how much easier my life has been compared to hers. I don’t remember ever celebrating my mother’s birthday when she turned 50! The memories of her when I was young was that she had a tough life trying to feed all of us, paying old debts, and acquiring new ones at the market.



I turned 50 a year and a half ago and honestly, I don’t quite feel 50, mentally that is. Physically, I feel the joints crackling whenever I do any hard chores around the house like vacuuming or emptying the trashcan. Even when I run, I feel a pain here and there and it disappears after few minutes of running. I wonder if it could be that I am avoiding house work psychologically.

When I was younger, I never understood when people dreaded the thought of turning 50. Or the ones who would just lie about their age after they turned 40. I remember when I turned 19, some older people would wish me a happy birthday then they would add something like “enjoy your birthday because this is the last year you are in your teens.” I thought, “what happens when I turn 20? I won’t be able to enjoy my birthday anymore?” When I turned 25, everyone then said, “wow you are now a quarter century old.” I didn’t understand why people would compare my age with the measurement of time, the century. When I looked the definition of “century” on Wikipedia.com, it explains:

“According to the Gregorian calendar, the 1st century A.D./C.E. started on January 1, 1 and ended on December 31, 100. The 2nd century started at year 101, the third at 201, etc. The n-th century started/will start on the year 100×n-99 and ends in 100×n. A century will only include one year, the centennial year, that starts with the century's number (e.g. 1900 is the final year in the 19th century)”.

We didn’t have “Wikipedia” on the internet then, but I wish I was smart enough or had the gut to correct them by saying “No, I am not a quarter century old; I am a quarter of the 19th century old”. But it didn’t really matter since the person who fears getting old would find a better comeback to me and I was never fast enough with my quick wit. The measurement of someone’s age with the “century” is way off the charge that I promised myself I would never use any continuous time with anyone’s age.

As I get to add a new number to my age every year, my values also change with it. I don’t care if I don’t have the latest version of the iPad or even replacing my iPhone, even the one I dropped it in the toilet. I don’t care about the latest dress or shoes. I don’t even want my husband to buy me jewelry for my birthday, our anniversary, or even Valentine’s Day. Despite this, I do look forward to a run date with my husband (when he is not injured) or the weekend long run with my friends.

One of the benefits of getting old is that I actually enjoy my white hair here and there, all over my head. The Vietnamese girl who cuts my hair keeps asking to dye my hair to its normal color and I keep telling her that my hair is in its normal color. I do want to dye it all silver white or platinum blond like Lady Gaga. I believe if I am going to dye my hair, it will be something other than my normal hair color, and it has to be something extra bold and extra-wow, the jaw dropping that says “gutsy hairdo” type. You know, like Lady Gaga.

I have some friends that never talk about age or birthdays and if I asked them their age, they would act like it is a sin to ask such a private question. As if I don’t have any manners. So, I would tell them how much I weigh and how much I need to lose of those pounds to fit in my size double 0s or petite-petite, just to rub it in a little and saying I don’t care how old I am, but look how much I weigh type of attitude! I have a friend that dyes her hair every few months to make her look young but the funny thing is that her skin shows more of her age than her dyed dark brown hair. Like a very skinny middle age woman with the biggest, perkiest boobs the size of cantaloupes under a tight tank top.

The last 51 years, I met and became good friends to many different people from schools, work places, running groups, workout groups, and other acquaintances. I cannot mix them up. For example, people that I run with few days a week would not care for a huge slice of seven layers carrot cake after dinner. People that I go to dinner think paying over $100 pair of running shoes is crazy and they rather have a piece of that seven layer of any type of cake. My friends from graduate school would rather spend money on pricey opera tickets than spend the money on an expensive purse with a name of some guy like Louis Vuitton on the side. Some of the people I became friends at my former job would rather have an expensive purse than spend few hours listening to the high pitch voice at an opera. Regardless where we came from, how we were raised, and the different level of our economic and educational background, we all have one thing in common; we will all get old and die. Each year we get to add a number to our age. We get old as the minute ticks by; each second adds time to our age. So next time when you meet your friend for a drink or two, dinner , or for a run and you are running 15 minutes late, you have used up 15 minutes of your friend’s age. I think of how much time I’ve used from many of my friends’ age over the years, and they have used many of mine.

As I look back and review my half of the 19th century life, I want to capture the significant events that I still remember, whether it was sad or happy, disappointments or achievements, it happened and it became my history. To all my family members, my beloved parents and beloved parents’ in-laws, brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, brother and sister in-laws, good friends, bad friends, and people I have crossed path over the years. I thank you for helping me of who I am today.

One Digit Age

3 1/5 years old

Let start with my first 10 years, it’s hard to remember accurately of what really happened because I tend to think it happened the way I wanted it happened. I want to share the moments which to this day I still remember vividly and how those memories good or bad have shaped me.

My dad with two older brothers, Ti (deceased) and Ut

I remember how handsome my dad was when he took my sister and I to see a military parade in Saigon. He was dressed very nicely with a pair of white patent leather shoes with the black wingtip, a crispy linen white shirt, and cream colored polyester pants. I remember my dad smiled and talked to everyone on the street, he was singing, smiling and saying hello to everyone, mostly strangers. My sister and I both had on identical cotton dresses that my older sister made with big bowtie in the back of the dress. People looked at us with envy; I could tell that they wanted to be us. They wanted to hold my dad’s hands and sing along with him, saying hello to everyone. In my later years, I caught myself saying hi and smiling at strangers, at the mall (not much at the mall since I discovered online shopping), at Costco, at the grocery stores. I say hi to strangers in restaurant. This certainly make peoples day, or freaks them out with my friendliness.

When I was 6 years old, I found a tiny black kitten in a class room and brought it home in my school bag so it can’t run or jump off my hands and into the busy street. I was thrilled when my mom said that we can keep the cute kitten. I remember how happy I was when my dad brought home a puppy after weeks of talking about it and how I have to be a good girl for a long time before he can bring the puppy home. I remember how much I loved the smell of the puppy breath; but also how sad I was when the family’s dog died. I also remember the many cute little ducklings and baby chicks my mom got for my little brother and I to play with when we were real young, until they turned to full size ducks and chickens, no longer cute and eventually became the family’s meal for the week. And our pet pig! I won’t go there, but I no longer eat ham.

I eventually learned to turn deaf ear on insult and not to embarrass people when they make mistake. Just to reiterate, what would we gain? When my dad gave me two Vietnamese coins, one coin of 5-xu (equivalency to a nickle) and one coin of 1- xu, total of 6 xu for school one day. I took the 2 coins to the bread store next door and asked for the change of the 5-xu coin (5 pennies), the old man counted and placed the 4 xu on the counter and pointed to my other hand where I was holding my 1-xu coin and continue to count “5!”. I told him that he owed me one more coin; he told me that he gave me exact 5 xu. I looked at him - stunned! I couldn’t even say a word that he was wrong, he owed me another xu, but the old man was old and I was taught to respect the elders and not to answer back. I thanked him and picked up the 4 xu from the counter and walked out of the place. I told my dad what happened and he said to me, maybe the old man needed that 1-xu more than I did and sometime it is not worth the argument over a xu or a thousand xu! I could have come back with my dad and demand my last xu from the old man, but I didn’t think I would gain anything but may lost a smile from the old man the next day or next week or for the rest of his life he will never smile at me again. I rather he smile at me thinking I’m a dumb wit, than for me to point out that he cheated me for a xu. That day I learned the value of money is not worth as much as a happy smiling face that says hello out loud to strangers on the street.

But the last two years of my first decade, I experienced what it was like to lose my two brothers. I learned that my siblings deal with grief and comfort each other differently. I learned what devotion really meant. After we buried my two brothers, my dad never missed a Sunday of visiting their graves. I watched outsiders take advantage of my parents, especially my mother, during the grieving period with their religious conviction. But my parents didn’t object or reject people’s opinion or religious suggestions since nothing could bring my two brothers back to life. I learned the word “praying” is just a word of comfort from strangers to my parents, but praying itself was just a waste of time.

In that time, I also experienced what it was like to hold and kiss a brand new baby. I learned that all brand new babies open their eyes the minute they were born, unlike kittens and puppies, their eyes don’t open until few days or weeks. I love to feel the baby’s tiny hand holding on so tight to my finger, blowing air kisses, and sniffing the baby’s belly.

Sadly but true, in my first 10 years, you would be able to find me sound asleep at night to the noise of a bombing from a distance. We celebrated the lunar New Year in 1968, a year that noises of air raids and bombings hit far closer to home.

To be continue - Part 2 Teenager Years