My father started rampantly cheating on my mom.
Which happened first depended on whose version of the story you listened to. My father’s version was that he left his partying ways and became a hardworking provider once I was born. He only cheated because my mom really hurt him and therefore made him do it. My mother’s version was that he was already a cheating bastard and now had more reason to cheat. I definitely agree with my mom.
My father now had a license to cheat
He was angry, possessive, and jealous. The revenge he sought suited his natural behaviors already.
If you felt him to be a non-existent father and husband before, he was even more so now. My mother’s only value to him was occasional sex when he came home to her instead of other women, and to clean the house, cook food, and take care of his son. Asian culture already put wives below their husbands and my mom was probably seen (by my father and his family) as even less than that.
My mother had no voice in the house, no say in anything. If she ever dared to argue with him on anything, his ultimate trump card would always be…”remember that time you cheated!” And his agony overshadowed any feelings she had as an individual.
Gardening friend (Tito) and his sisters (Lily & Margarita).
My father knew a guy named Tito (my mother actually forgot the real name but I’ll get it later), who worked for my dad during his gardening days. After coming back from work one day, Tito invited my dad to his place to hangout and have some beer. And there my father met Margarita, who was the sister of Tito’s wife (Lily).
Margarita was an illegal immigrant who wanted to stay in the US legally. My mother claimed Margarita was a lesbian (or at least bisexual) and dressed like a tomboy, never wearing dresses. But that didn’t keep guys from trying, or her brother (Roberto) & brother-in-law (Tito) from trying to hook her up with guys.
Tito proposed to my dad something like “Heyyy….she’s single and needs a green card” *wink wink*. And my dad went for the free sex. Messing around with Margarita all the time. Starting this affair when I was 4 months old.
Cold rainy night without a blanket.
This is my mother’s infamous story of how my father cheated blatantly in her face. It used to be that when my father’s affair with Margarita first started, we didn’t have the Bonnie Brae house yet. My parents were still in the apartment which wasn’t convenient for cheating since my mom was home all the time with me. So my dad simply dropped my mother and I off at the “bitch’s” house, and then brought Margarita over to our apartment for sex.
But if that wasn’t bad enough, my father got even more bold. One time he came to our apartment with Margarita and did his business with her in the living room. All while my mother slept in the bedroom with me (I was still an infant).
And then one day, he even kicked her out of the bed. “Go sleep on the couch, I need the bed now!” And so she went to the couch, taking the blanket with her while my father went into the room with Margarita. But some moments a later, my dad came back out and said “I want the blanket too” and took it from my mother and went back into the bedroom.
My mother said she cried, holding me in the cold while my father was in there with Margarita. She was so upset she put me in the stroller opened the door and walked out into the cold rain. Trying to go as far away from the house as she could.
My father chased after her in his prized truck, a reliable 1984 Toyota. It was the classic movie scene of the guy with the rolled down window, “Get in the car!” After refusing for some time, my mom finally agreed and got in the car and went back home with him. Crying helplessly the whole time. She really had nowhere to go. No family, no friends, no job, no money, no English, no home.
In my mother’s words many years (when I was in my mid 30’s), she remarked that her parents never knew how much their daughter suffered but her dad could guess some…his hair turned completely white by age 60.
Margarita gave birth to my half-brother Bach.
My father’s pager/beeper went off at dinner one night.
He was there with my mother and I at a restaurant when his pager started beeping. He glanced down at it and quickly jumped up saying, “I have an emergency, I gotta go!” My mother didn’t think anything of it. She figured it was a work emergency. Maybe some friend needed him or maybe a construction site had an issue (like a plumbing leak/failure) that needed to be fixed immediately.
The date was May 5th, 1986. May 5 aka “Cinco de Mayo” is a famous Mexican holiday in the United States (but not actually celebrated much in Mexico). Perhaps a fitting day for a Mexican-American baby.
One of my father’s friends told my mother the truth.
He felt sorry for her, watching her get mocked and criticized publicly…made a fool of constantly while her husband openly cheated on her in front of everyone. He told her, “You know…your husband has another son…with Margarita. She gave birth the other night.”
My mother was so angry and cried. She tore up nearly all the pictures from their honeymoon in Europe 2 years ago. The most notable that survived was her and my father sitting on a bench in Paris. (Maybe I can find it and post it here one day.)
What hurt her the most wasn’t the baby being born. It was that my father didn’t come to the hospital when I was born. Because he thought I would be a girl. It was only when I turned out to be a boy that he came the next day to help pick a boy name. But for Margarita…my father by her side during the birth. They even have pictures of my dad, Margarita, and their child together at the hospital. Whereas there was none for me.
After Bach’s birth and we now had the Bonnie Brae house, my father put Margarita in the same house as ours, she lived in the attic on the 3rd floor. I don’t know if he gave it to her for free rent or not.
Bach is actually a Vietnamese name.
My father’s family liked to use boy names starting with the letter B. It started with my grandfather…Bong. Then the boys were called Bao, Bon, Bang (my dad), Ban, Bien. My Vietnamese name (officially listed as my middle name) is “Bau”…which means successful and prosperous.
In continuing this tradition of B-names, my brother was named “Bach” (I forgot what it means). Although it’s spelled the same, he was not named after the famous German composer. Why my father and Margarita didn’t give him a Mexican name or American name to go along with it, I don’t know.
I remember being confused about Bach. I didn’t understand why he lived with us like that. He didn’t look like my dad’s Vietnamese friend’s kids and yet he had a Vietnamese name. My mother had to explain to me…”he’s from the same father as you, but different mother”. It all felt so confusing at the time.
Bach’s separation from his Vietnamese family.
My brother also took his mother’s surname name, Zavala instead of my father’s Nguyen. My father was ashamed to have a child out of wedlock and didn’t want to associate with my brother to the same degree with his pure-blooded children. It’s still strange when I come over to my brother’s house and see his family pictures on the wall. You can see my father there with his mom, and him as an infant. A stark contrast to my version of the family photos…my father with my mother and us 3 Vietnamese children. My father had 2 families in the same house. There are some pictures of me, Bach, and the next brother (Vietnamese).
My father never brought Bach around when going to his family gatherings. His parents and siblings had heard about his bastard son but never saw him. When my father took me and my Vietnamese brothers to Florida to meet the rest of his Vietnamese family, Bach was never brought along. He was the family’s dirty secret. I don’t think my mother dared to tell her family about Bach until much later.
Bach’s first 3 years was tragic.
His mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and passed away when he was a year old.
He never got to know her. At first Bach was passed to his uncle Roberto (Margarita’s brother), but he didn’t want to have a baby. Bach was then passed around to other family members and friends. Finally, they passed him right back to my dad. “He’s YOUR SON! You take care of him!”
So Bach lived with us for a bit. Playing peacefully with me at times and mostly crying all other times because he wanted his mom (who was nowhere to be found). How do you explain to a crying baby that his mother isn’t there anymore?
Bach wanted his mom, not mine.
My dad was the next most familiar face to Bach, but he was never home. He was either working or out roaming around town with his boys and girls. So my mother was left with the task of consoling Bach. She couldn’t speak Spanish and he refused to accept her care. She never knew what he wanted…food, diaper change, shower, toys, or what. Although he wasn’t her son, she claimed not to hold any resentment towards him. It wasn’t his fault and she sincerely tried to take care of him.
One day Bach tried to escape from the house. He ran outside and being very clever, he hid in the bushes laying in the mud. She found him and dragged him right back into the house (kicking and screaming). It was really scary for her as the scene looked like an Asian lady kidnapping a Mexican baby. Luckily nobody was around to see it.
Once she dragged him inside, she had to wait until he fell asleep so she could use wet wipes to wipe the dirt, mud and leaves off his face and clothes.
Bach finally went to Mexico.
One day his maternal grandmother (Margarita’s mother) told my dad, “He’s the only thing left of my daughter. Can I have him?” I think my father was all too eager to get rid of his shameful bastard child and any evidences of him.
- My father said, “Sure!” but also gave them $1,000usd. “Here’s some money. Buy some land and use it to take care of my son.”
And they did. The $1k of USD bought a huge plot of farm land that they did many things with. My father even went to Mexico every 3 to 5 years to visit my brother. Coming back to the US with pictures and stories of my brother, and Mexican souvenirs.
In Mexico, Bach was kind of the family orphan. Passed around from family to family, everybody (aunts, uncles, and older cousins) taking turns being his foster parents.
Bach grew up to be a big dude. Mexican-sized unlike his smaller lean-framed Asian brothers. He was also dark-skinned. And looked exactly like a mix of Asian and Latin facial features. The Mexicans claiming he looks more Vietnamese. The Vietnamese claiming he looks more Mexican. Culturally, he definitely identifies more with his Mexican side.
But funny thing, his best friend today of many years is an even bigger Vietnamese guy (David) who also happens to be married to a Mexican girl (Christine). So basically…you have 2 sets of Mexican and Vietnamese parents with 2 sets of mixed Mexican and Vietnamese kids.