Breathing Words

I didn’t know him well. I couldn’t communicate well. He spoke Korean. I spoke English. But still, he took the time to explain with the flinging of his arms and smile on his face the period drama on television that told the history between the Chinese and the Koreans. What he taught me was that the Chinese were dicks… but so were the Koreans… and do you have any girlfriends to introduce to my son so that he can get married already?

He was a kind and generous man. When I needed to move my stuff out of storage to start senior year at NYU, he lent his van (and son, I suppose) without having even met me. He asked then if I knew any girls to hook D up with. Years later, I visited NY again, and he lent me his home, made his son treat me to dinner, gave me the best figs I’d ever eaten, and asked if I knew any girls to hook D up with. 

I wish I had known some girls… Well, there’s still time for D.

And I think Dad’s already found D’s dad and made friends and now they’re having a grand ‘ole time in Heaven.

I’m happy for Dad.

I’m sad for D, who’s going through exactly what I went through, and still in a totally different way. He’s the man of the house now and he’ll have to be strong, mostly because it’s what he expects of himself. I regret not being in New York for him, because he’s too stoic to call me on the phone and “bother me.” *sigh* Boys…

He won’t even read this, I know. And though I’m not close to his family in a way that I can give a proper eulogy or even cry for them, I felt compelled to honor his father in even this small way.

All my love and all my prayers to the Nam family.