Countdown to the green light

One sunny afternoon in Essex, my mom and I stopped on at Grand Union to buy groceries. This was way back in the day when Grand Union, Ames, and one other store I can’t remember took the place what is now Lowes.

Just Mom and I in the front seat. There’s something special when it’s just the two of us. As we sat there waiting for the light to turn green, I reached up and changed the angle of the rear view mirror. Pretending to drive means I have to be able to see the cars behind me, right? Well Mom changed the mirror back so she could see, so I just looked at the mirror from the visor above my seat. A man in a pickup track waited behind us, and I tried turning around to get a better view. My eyes barely made it over the seat; I probably only saw the top of the window of the backseat. I sat back down, waiting for the light to change green.

“5…4…3…2…”

But I never got to 1. What happened stopped my thoughts as our car spun into the three way intersection. I don’t remember how many times our car spun. Everything was just a blur, but when we finally stopped I felt a tinge of guilt. Why did I have to change the rear view mirror? What if I hadn’t tried to see the driver behind us?

Mom was very dazed and confused. She was trying to be strong and brave, but she couldn’t communicate with the other drivers as they ran to our car. I was too young and scared to say a word. But my mom was strong and brave. She was also smart. She removed a cap from her head and pointed at the logo stitched to the hat: the phone number and address to our restaurant about a mile down the road.

We sat in the car with traffic stopped all around us. I couldn’t remember who else was involved. Maybe there was a police officer directing traffic. We must have sat there for a long time. My sister came running down the road, wearing the same hat as my mother. My heart felt relieved.

Who is your super hero?

Looking back, I have very few memories of my dad. He was always working hard for the family. I have a few pictures of him and I together in the same photo. There is a family photo where I am sitting on my dad’s lap. I used to wonder why I sat on his lap. Why not sit on my mom’s lap? My brother sat on her lap, but not me. For some reason, I felt that I should be sitting on my mom’s lap.

One strong memory I have is that my dad smoked. It’s not a negative memory; it’s just difficult for me to remember him from my childhood. I don’t think he was a heavy smoker, but I remember he liked to smoke. Maybe from working so hard in restaurant he needed to relax. Could be that this was just something he carried over from China.

My brother and I are only 4 years apart in age, and we didn’t like that he smoked. One time during a road trip, we all stopped at a convenience store. There was a cigarette box key chain with a single cigarette poking out the box, and if you pressed it down, the voice box within the key chain would cough a few times followed by something against smoking. I thought it was a great key chain, but of course my dad couldn’t understand the message.

It’s tough trying to remember what kind of father you had when you were so little. I have many pictures of him and myself: birthday parties, dinners, him and my mom. I even have a family movie with him in it, however it’s scary to realize that these real events from the past cannot be found within my memory. I don’t remember whose birthday we are celebrating, but there is a cake in the photo. In another photo, he holds my arm to keep me balanced as I stand in a chair to get in the photo frame. We are all chiming our drinking glasses. Our home video shows us all enjoying a dim sum meal in Boston. Maybe as I continue with this blog, I will be able to recall more memories of my father.