23 years. It took 23 years for me to finally hear my dad’s story. On April 30th, my dad asked me if I knew what today was. It was the Fall of Saigon. It’s funny how I was on the leadership board in a Vietnamese cultural club to rediscover my roots yet I still had not fully known my dad’s refugee experience.
He was never one to talk about himself or his past life, except with a few lectures here and there about his struggles. It seemed like he was almost hiding it from me when I inquired about it.
plant mom of 2.5 🌱