Our family starts to spiral downwards again. Chaos growing in the household as new characters entered our lives.
Alone in the neighborhood
Walking home in a bad neighborhood.
Once I was old enough (age 7), my mom stopped waiting outside my school for me. She let me walk home alone. Which I was so happy and relieved about. Because she used to do that Asian mom thing (picking me up at school with an umbrella during hot summer months); so embarassing! But without my mom around, I really got to see how bad the neighborhood was. Full of sketchy characters and danger everywhere.
My school (Plasencia Elementary) had 2 entrance gates, the NORTH one and the SOUTH one. If you were ever being bullied or had problems and were hiding from someone…you would run out the other gate (if you saw them waiting for you outside your usual one). The walk from school to my home passed by several different gang turfs and dangerous streets. On my alleyway home, you saw all kinds of mess. If you left school late enough and it got dark, the homeless people were coming back to their cardboard houses and tents in the alley…and sometimes big packs of street dogs laying in the dark would chase you all the way to your house. Although the alleyway was bumpy and full of discarded trash, you better not fall!
When my father was too busy to drive me to school in the morning (which I loved because I was so embarrassed by his ugly truck), the walk to school was also terrifying. I don’t how parents thought this was ok (I guess they were too busy). If I had kids today, I would never let them walk out in a neighborhood like this.
Our alleyway was littered with shells of stripped cars almost every morning. The cars were probably stolen the night before, then stripped of EVERYTHING (wheels, doors, radio, seats, speakers, electronics, under the hood) leaving just the frame and nothing else. And occasionally you would also walk by a dead body (from a gang shootout the night before). Usually the cops would cover up the body with a sheet but sometimes the killing was too fresh and they didn’t want to disturb the scene yet. So you…as a little kid…could just walk by a real-life CSI crime scene on your way to school. With blood still wet. The worst sometimes was when a body was hanging off a tree (like a scare tactic by one gang to another).
My racist parents letting us play with the “lesser kids”.
My parents were starting to trust us more and more. It wasn’t only just letting us walk home alone, it was also letting us play with the kids in the neighborhoods. We hang around together at each other’s houses, or in the streets, or in the alleyway. We all saw each other as equal…only difference was that they were all hispanic and me and my brothers were Asian.
My friend’s parents were awfully happy to see their kids playing with Asian kids, whom they saw as a good influence, smart and had good parents, and unlikely to be involved in gangs or drugs. My parents also validated this viewpoint…feeling like they were responsible parents whereas my friends’ were not as vigilant about schooling.
Looking back, I can tell you that kids can turn to gangs and drugs for any reason. It’s all around you. You could have good parents and still, your kids might turn to negative influences because it appeals to them. Being “cool”, being part of a cool group, being respected (or having protection) on the streets, having girls around…having parties drugs and alcohol. These things can appeal to anybody. The gang life makes a strong imprint on some and none on others.
But my parents’ racist beliefs about Asians being superior to hispanics weren’t completely without logic. Asian parents were more likely to annoy their kids to death and demand straight A’s, school was college preparation…a necessary step for a successful future. Hispanic parents tend to treat school as free daycare by the government. They didn’t care about their children’s grades so much, only that they went to school. Of course I’m just generalizing…it can vary from family to family.
Living through the Rodney King Riots
It’s crazy to look back and remember how many iconic history-shaping events I lived through in Los Angeles. The Rodney King Riots being my very first as a kid.
The inner-city (ghetto) parts of Los Angeles was full of racial tension. Whites, blacks, hispanics, and asians. They all hated each other and for different reasons. The world was just really ignorant back then. And everybody wasn’t educated or caught up to speed as to why life was so bad. I don’t want to use this story to make a political statement…since that could go on for months.
But let’s generalize the hate for those who don’t know:
- Whites – hate blacks (because they’re ghetto, criminals, drug-users, and use social system), hate Mexicans (because they’re lazy, don’t speak English, stealing jobs, use the social system), hate Asians (because they’re not white, don’t speak English).
- Blacks – hate whites (because they’re racist), hate Mexicans (because they’re racist, gangsters), hate Asians (because they’re racist, don’t speak English).
- Hispanics – hate whites (because they’re racist), hate blacks (because they’re black, ghetto, criminals), hate Asians (because they’re racist, cheap, exploitive).
- Asians – hate whites (because they’re racist), hate blacks (because they’re scary, criminals, gangs, ghetto), hate Mexicans (because they’re ghetto, criminals, lazy).
These are terrible generalizations but that was the mindset in the ghetto. The atmosphere was so tense and race was an easy way to bond and separate.
The people with the most anger were the blacks. It made sense. They either lived in black or Mexican neighborhoods. They couldn’t afford white neighborhoods and nobody would rent to them in an Asian neighborhood. They were frequently harassed by all the other races. It seemed everybody hated black people.
Black people were treated poorly by white people and harassed unfairly by the cops (usually white), harassed by hispanic gangs in the neighborhood/schools, and simply hated on and distrusted by shopkeepers in their neighborhood (usually Asian storeowners).
At the time, police chases were all the rage on TV news. This trend actually started in my childhood and in my hometown Los Angeles. Hahaha. Los Angeles is perfect for police chases because of the giant freeways and sprawling streets. Lots of space for criminals to think they can get away and lots of room for them to go fast and make for exciting live television. When a police chase was on the news, everybody watched.
Rodney King was a black guy driving intoxicated and police had to chase him down. Once they caught him, they pulled him out of the car and beat the crap out of him. Usually…people cheer this part. They want to see the “criminal” get caught and beat up. Criminals themselves also cheer at the driver for lasting as long as he did, like how you might cheer a rodeo bullrider for lasting long before getting thrown. In prison and on the streets…you were also given street cred if you ever made it on TV for a police chase. Basically….it’s a win-win-win all the way around.
But on this night…the police were especially brutal to Rodney King, they really beat the crap out of him. And it pissed black people off so much to see it. They had been angry at the police for so long and now they wanted revenge. So they did it the only way most people knew how. By protesting on the streets. Unfortunately as you’ve seen with many street protests…it makes room for more violent and angrier protestors to get bold.
People started throwing bricks and cocktails into shops, setting cars on fire. Many people even started to loot the shops. Not only black people, but also hispanics who lived in the area…who were like, “Hey screw it, FREE SHOES!” Ideally…this would have been big brand corporation-owned shops (like Nike, Zara, etc) who had the money and insurance to not care about the losses.
But actually, many were local shops owned by Korean immigrants. They were in tears and sorrow watching their life-savings and livelihoods go up in flames. Many even tried to defend their shops and died in the process. The luckiest ones brought friends and sat on their rooftops with guns, firing down at anyone daring to enter their shop. Some looters or neighborhood gang members even had their own guns, and fired back. The Koreans and blacks have been hating each other for years anyway.
Lucky for us, we weren’t in that neighborhood (by Koreatown). We were 15-20 blocks away. But we heard the gunshots at night for a few months. Honestly, not so bad since our neighborhood already had gunshots of its own.
- LA 92 National Geographic – a good documentary if you’re curious.
Rafael, porno, and molestation.
If you remember, there were 2 kids living in the back house. Diana & Rafael. Now I was 7 years old, Diana about 5 and Rafael was 14. I played inside their house a lot since they were right there. I remember their father Luis taking us out for a ride on his black motorcycle.
Their house had 2 interest things. Porno magazines and video games. Rafael and his older cousin were trying to show me magazines of naked women, which I thought was fascinated but not really at the age to appreciate yet. I much preferred the video games. Being older and having their money, they had cooler games than the ones I had.
But there was a sick little game Rafael played with me. He only let me play his games if I let him touch me. Being naive I agreed. While focused on the game and pressing all the buttons and full of adrenaline rush, he was molesting me. I think this happened a few more times before I though….”Ehhh, I don’t like this. Not fun!” and stopped agreeing to this arrangement. They also moved away soon after since the kids were growing up and they probably needed a bigger house with more space for each kid.
Why I never told my parents right, I don’t know. I guess I didn’t know it was wrong. I’m so grateful today that it happened when I was so young and naive. I wasn’t crying or held against my will. I just didn’t know about personal space boundaries at that age and luckily, I think that saved me from being psychologically scarred about it. I never told my parents after since it felt shameful and embarrassing. And haven’t told them in my adulthood as I think it would make them feel so bad.
Looking into the future
My dad’s beliefs in fortune-telling and Chinese superstition.
My dad has always been fascinated with fortune-telling and reading about people’s lives and futures. He was a massive believer and practiced in Chinese astrology, palm-reading, face-reading. He wasn’t a professional who charged money, no. He was more like a passionate enthusiast. Reading books on it and cross-checking with everybody he knew to see if what he read was accurate to their lives.
Much to everyone’s annoyance…I’d say he was pretty accurate. He’d read things about people and mention it to the family and we’d dismiss him as being too negative or too hopeful but quite often, he’d turn out to be exactly right. When I made new friends (ones that he liked or had a girlfriend), he’d ask for their birth day and time, and he’d also look at the lines on their hands, the lines on their face, also the shape of their eyes. And he’d say some stuff. He really believed in destiny and prophecy and all that.
After each brothers and I were born, he took us to an old Chinese fortune-teller who would talk about the baby. Telling the parents its characteristics, strengths, weaknesses, tendencies, what to expect in its future. He also gave advice as to how each baby should be raised and also what things to go towards and what things to steer away from. And as far as I know…the fortunes given to each baby has been 100% right on the mark. But my parents would only confirm to us each one only after the prediction already happened. I will tell you too in this story after the fortune happens.
I remember a time I stood on the kitchen table looking out the window with a pair of binoculars. I pretending I could see something magical (I can’t remember what it was) just to bother my little brother Brian. I said, “Oooooh….I see ______.” And he yelled, “I don’t see it!” After a while, he then pretended he could see it too but I knew he was lying since it was something I made up.
The window was open and he was leaning on the screen when we were talking. The screen fell out and so did he. He screamed as fell through and my mom screamed as she was in the kitchen cooking and turn around just fast enough to see his legs fall out of view. The fall down from the kitchen to the concrete floor outside the house was about 7 feet (2.1m). A steep height for a 4 year falling headfirst. He hit his head and banged his shoulder, crying as my mom ran out the back door and over to him.
When my dad got home, it was his call to make. My parents were both concerned he might have a broken bone…but of course we didn’t take him to the hospital. That was too expensive, they thought! So the next day (in the afternoon) my dad took Brian and I to Chinatown. There we walked down a narrow alleyway full of trash and boxes from the apartment buildings and shops/restaurants. At the end…we turned left into a doorway and down some steps.
In the dark hallway was a doorway with a curtain (not a door). We went through it and inside was an old Chinese doctor. It looked like something out of a movie. A doctor’s office like nothing I’d ever seen before. No white walls and people in lab coats, with the vinyl-wrapped reclining beds and paper sheets on top, no waiting rooms or receptionists and clipboards behind the glass.
This was clearly his home. I think there was a bed or a couch, then walls of jars with random stuff and some of them with liquid inside. Of course my child imagination thought it was body parts or dead animals and aliens. On the floor, maybe some boxes, bags, and barrels of powder or leaves and other herbal medicines. I think I also remember a green light in the background.
He looked at my brother and prescribed just a patch (or some random stuff) to put on the shoulder and maybe also some herbal medicine to take. My dad couldn’t speak Chinese but kept motioning with his hands over and over, asking if the bone was broken. The old man shook his head no and my dad was relieved. We went home to my mother with the good news. But also too…my parents already knew he would be fine. Brian’s fortune already said about him, “His head will be hit many times but he’ll always be fine.” They thought it was just metaphorical advice but it turned out to be literal as well.
Developing computer aptitude
Having to connect my Nintendo video game console to the TV to play games probably made me learn to love technology. It was a source of fun and self-empowerment. Technology allowed you to do all sorts of cool things, I quickly learned.
And when personal computers started becoming popular, my dad bought one for the house. He loved buying gadgets with his money. Even if it wasn’t something he really needed. But he figured…hey, everybody’s doing it so why don’t we get one too? And he also had a friend named Tuan who knew a lot about computers. He was the IT guy for the police department.
As a 7 year old, I learned how to use the DOS command prompt just from watching Tuan use the computer. I also learned how to start the QBasic Gorillas game. It was the perfect skillset, fitting my personality and professional career for the rest of the life. I’d be forever known as the family computer guy. Later as an adult, all my friends knew me as THE knows-everything-about-computers guy.
Broken hearts in the family
Father’s fishing promise
Everybody who really knew, knew my father was a bad husband. But most people didn’t know he was also a bad father. They thought him bragging about me being smart all the time and stressing the importance of books and education made him a good father.
In reality, he was just preaching but not actually checking. It wasn’t like he sat next to us while we did our homework. No, he simply brought us home from school and then went out to be with his friends. Sometimes he would take a nap and then go out. And sometimes if he came home early enough when we were still awake…he’d ask, “Did you do your homework? Show me.”
But my homework was easy enough and fun enough anyway. I didn’t need much supervision. And I promised to do my homework anyway.
My father on the other hand, always talked fancy and promised a lot but often didn’t deliver. One time, my grand uncle-in-law (Om Singh, 1-armed Vietnam war veteran and husband of my paternal grandfather’s sister) told me he would take me fishing the next morning. I was so excited. I had only seen fishing before on TV and also referenced in books. It seemed like a fun thing to do for kids. Being out there in nature by the water or on a boat, and catch a fish. An adventure with a prize!
Om Singh said, “But you have to wake up early. It’s going to be 6am.” I promised that I would. Not a hard promise since he was going to set an alarm and go wake me up himself. The next day…Saturday morning (I think it was), I woke up and looked at the clock. 8am…I ran out of the room screaming. My parents were in the kitchen and my father said Om Singh had already left to go fishing. They said I was sleeping so soundly they didn’t want to wake me.
I never cried so hard in my life. At that age, I didn’t know any other pain worse than missing a fishing trip. Hahahaha. My father tried to console me…blindly promising, “Don’t worry. I’ll take you fishing!” And I said, “But when?” Unknowingly he replied, “Next year.”
And I held him to his word for the rest of my life without him knowing it. He didn’t care about his promise but I did. And every time my friends tried to take me fishing…I would tell them, “No thanks. My dad’s going to take me next year.” As the little child in me waited for his father.
I gave up at age 25. I knew it was never gonna happen. And also silly since he obviously didn’t remember promising that. My good friend Beverly took me…it was the Huntington Beach pier (late at night, 11pm I think) and I did catch a little fish.
The real lesson in this story wasn’t about fishing. It’s that I learned a long time ago I had a bad father.
Mom pursues her childhood dream of becoming a dentist
Now with her kids all passed the infant stage (Johnny 7, Brian 4, Harry 2)…my mother decided to go back to school. It was her only escape out of her living hell. She was tired of being stuck at home in this home all day, and doing crap labor for crap pay.
She was not a sweatshop worker, but just one level above that. Every week a guy would drop off a bag of unfinished clothes and she would have to sew on some aspect of them. Like putting zippers on each pair of pants. At the end of the week (or whenever she was finished), he would pick them up and per like say 7 cents for each finished zipper. This was easy and fun work for her since she would sew them while watching movies on TV, and with us kids playing in the back.
My parents both loved the idea of her going back to school.
- To my dad, it meant the family having more money. And hey, if his wife was gonna actually become a dentist…he would not only have money but also bragging rights. To be able going around town saying he was married to a doctor. He really cared so much about image.
- To my mom, going to school meant a step closer to freedom. She was going to learn English. She could leave the house without asking my dad for permission. She could learn how to drive and be able to take herself anywhere she wanted without having to ask him. And finally, she could have her own money. Ultimately, she wouldn’t have to rely on him. And who knows what other opportunities that might afford her.
- To us kids, it meant having more freedom with less parents around. Dad’s never home much anyway. And now mom won’t be much either. We’re free to play video games or do whatever we pleased. Woohoo!
When I was age 7-9 (1992 to 1994), my mother went to Los Angeles Community College (LACC) to get her GED (an equivalent of a high school diploma). This was also part of the reason why I started walk home alone from school.
Mom makes a friend at school.
My dad always asked my mom if she made any friends and her answer was always “no”. She was too different from the other students. Much older and not such great English. She had nothing in common with everybody else and also she just wasn’t a very social person. Too shy, too introverted, poor self-esteem too.
But one day at dinner she told my dad, “I made a friend! It’s another Vietnamese lady. A single mother. Who’s in my same class and she also wants to become a dentist.” My dad was excited for her. “Oh wow! What’s her name? Invite her over for dinner.” My mom said her name was “Mai”.
When the day came, my dad was tending the pot by the stove when my mom went to go get the door. Mai walks into the kitchen and both her and my dad see each other, and froze in shock with their mouths open. OMG!!!!!! It was Mai!!! The girl he almost married but then decided on my mom instead.
Mai ended marrying one of my dad’s friends from before and moving to Texas (I think city of Houston) to be with him. They had a daughter together named Meagan. But he treat her so badly that she couldn’t take it and she divorced him, then took Meagan and came back to LA. Here she decided to go back to school to get a degree and make more money. It’s easy for Mai to do this since she’s so much more extroverted. Just very fun, social, bubbly and much more outwardly-strong personality than my mother.
My father and Mai picked up where they left off.
Such a great coincidence for my dad, but not for my mother. My father and Mai started resumed their romance like the years since had never happened. You almost couldn’t even call it an affair. He had his relationship with her directly in front of my mom. And directly in front of the kids, and his friends, and at family gatherings. She was often over at our house for dinner eating right at the table with us. Sometimes when my parents went out for dinner, she also babysat us.
Even as kids we knew they were having sex. We ran and told our mom one day. “MOOOOOMMMMM! They’re having sex with each other when you’re not here!”
- My mom replied, “I know. They can have sex. I don’t care.”
- But she did.
It was so humiliating to her. To see my father’s mistress right there at all social functions and family events. She already knew not to dare question it or challenge my father. Because we all know what the answer would be….“Don’t you dare talk about Mai, after what you did with Minh!”
My father explodes on my mother (about Mai).
One day, my mother couldn’t take it any longer. She was standing by the stove cooking and said something small to him. And he said “what?” And she muttered just a little louder (still not audible). And he said “what???”. And she said in English (strange since they usually speak only in Vietnamese, especially around the kids)…“I don’t want you to be friends with my friends.” My dad shrugged it off with the comment, “Oh, being stupid again.”
He stopped talking and just got very quiet. And my mother stopped talking too so things got VERRRRRY QUIET. My mom sat down right next to him, still not saying anything else. Me and Brian were sitting at the dinner table already waiting for our food. Harry was playing by the hallway near his stroller.
My dad was packing his big bowl full of food. Rice, meat, vegetables. He packed it completely full. Then with one hand, he lifted the bowl into the air, turned it upside down and smashed it down loudly on the table. The bowl shattered into pieces flying everywhere. And the food inside splattered out. He stood up and pointed a finger at her while shouting loudly, “DON’T YOU EVER SAY ANYTHING TO ME AGAIN!!!!!” Then as he walked out of the kitchen, he flipped over Harry’s stroller with his hand. Harry then started crying from the chaos, just standing there. My father shoved him out of the way (swatting him like a fly) and he cried even louder. Everyone in the kitchen was upset and terrified.
The situation was so explosive. This happened hundreds of times throughout my childhood. Each event no less terrifying than the previous. It was like living with an angry King Kong in your house and you never knew when he would erupt. But once he did, your heart would just stop and you’d look for cover. Hiding, praying it wasn’t you he was going after. My father could be mad about anything. This family was nicknamed “the boiling blood family”, with each member having the ability to explode with anger.
I remember feeling so powerless to do anything. I knew it was wrong. But I couldn’t save my brother or my mother. My fear and hate for my father would only grow with each raging episode he had.
The Gambler uncle (one younger than my dad) moves into my dad’s 2nd house.
Our house was on Bonnie Brae street. And just 10 blocks away on Rosemont street, my dad bought a second house. His plan was the same. Renovate it and rent out the rooms. He let my uncle stay there for free to act as a landlord and property manager. My uncle just had to collect the rent, manage the tenants, manage the property…and he got to live there free (or low rent). A great deal for the both of them.
This house had a huge avocado tree that everybody in the neighborhood knew about. Our family would climb and pick hundreds every summer. But throughout the year when my uncle was at work or not home, people in the neighborhood would go into his backyard and pick them while he was gone. And when his car pulled into the driveway, they would just run off (jumping the back face away from the driveway in the front) and leave their slippers behind. We probably had dozens if not hundreds of flip-flops left behind over the years. These incidents also grew my uncle’s animosity towards Mexicans and latinos.
Dr. Ban needed a new girl.
This uncle, who at the time was still called Dr. Ban, was already living here in Los Angeles. I assume probably because he wasn’t married yet (like the older ones still living in Florida), so he came out here to find marriage prospects. He was in a longterm relationship with Tam. A girl everybody loved so sweet and kind. Also very pretty, good fit since he was tall and handsome too.
But they were running into problems since he treated her poorly. She was always coming home in tears and her parents hated that. Finally, she broke it off saying that her and her parents just couldn’t approve of him any longer. It left him heart-broken and he couldn’t move on so quickly. While his eyes on saw new pretty girls, his heart still only saw Tam.
That was until he met Mai (my dad’s mistress). My uncle was smitten by her. Good looking, extroverted, funny, social, confident speaker, and could sing in French. She was fun. Sometimes at the parties when he drank too much, he would try to flirt with her…and even so directly ask something like, “Do you like me?” Which totally went against my dad’s plans since my dad was sometimes throwing these parties and inviting him so he could meet girls.
Dr. Ban would soon meet his future wife at these parties. But he would always be attracted to Mai.