“If you wouldn’t have shown up last night, I wouldn’t have
been able to sleep.”
I’m moving to Cambodia…well, maybe not. Perhaps I’ll
move to Long Beach…to the section where all the Cambodians live because they
are nice, gracious, inviting, and in the small sample pool last night there were
plenty of good looking ladies, too. And they all dance. And they all sing, and
sing well. And like some other cultures they had a tendency to refer to a high
number of others as brothers and sisters. I have heard Shaun call me “brother”
or “my brother” many times before but now in full context it makes so much more
sense.
Right now it is Sunday morning and I don’t think I’ll need
to eat again until Wednesday. Last night we had a six-course feast, and then
when Shaun and his beautiful wife invited us back to their Long Beach home,
they had prepared for us chicken with ginger; soup with rice, chicken, and
homegrown-in-the-side-yard-that-somewhat-resembled-Miyagi’s-in-The Karate
Kid-mint; and tea that was designed to chase away too many turns of Remy
Martin. You would never guess the quiet foreigners--custodian and wife (who
also works at our high school)--could put down so much and yet keep the highest
level of hospitality through the whole night, mixed with some good dancing,
lots of laughs, and some serious conversation in between.
Somehow it is Sunday morning, close to 7AM, and after
getting home at 130, after all that food (and adult beverage), Kim was right—special
tea and soup behind us…and everything is good, the mind is clear. Perhaps that
is magic, perhaps that is humility, perhaps that it is love, perhaps it was the
tangible quality of all three squeezed into that bowl of pho. Most likely it is
the residue of goodness from the night before in which a bunch of people were
intent on shaking my hand upon entrance and exit, and others I had just met
(and one I never did) pulled me out to the dance floor and just said, “Follow
me.”
***
The restaurant is probably one we’ve driven by on Anaheim St. in Long Beach. It runs up to
the sidewalk so the signage is not distinct in any way, or at least not that I
remember. But Hak Heang Restaurant now means so much more than it did less than
twelve hours ago when I walked in with my two buddies, and we were only three
white guys in the establishment. Because when I walked out I had learned that
many of the people involved in last night’s Cambodian cultural celebration and
heritage reminder had actually worked in that restaurant at different points. Many
in last night’s attendance had found their first job in America at this restaurant, many after spending
years in refugee camps in Thailand.
“But first I crossed over to Vietnam and survived their turmoil for a year
before crossing to Thailand, spending six years there in camp before I came to
America,” reflected Jimmy, Shaun’s friend, a current realtor in Long Beach who
had spent time in a refugee camp with many others in the restaurant. Basically
I had entered a time warp, and indoctrinated we became into Little Cambodia. There
were older speakers who got on the microphone and spoke of Cambodian history. Since I don’t speak the language, I understood
next to nothing that was said, but our interpreters filled us in on enough. And at one point one of the speakers began
speaking about us—the newcomers. I knew because suddenly while we were chowing
down on a delicious dish of beef, cabbage, and noodles, the whole room was
looking at us with shy smiles. Later these smiles would be so much brighter
when we all took to the dance floor. I kind of felt like Larusso in Okinawa.
Jimmy got here when he was high-school aged in the early-mid
90’s, just in time to wonder what the heck was the obsession with this OJ guy. Jimmy
went to Long Beach Millikan HS—a school I am relatively familiar with through
meetings in athletics. I believe their population is in the mid 4000s, and so I
can only imagine what that must be like for someone who has survived multiple
border crossings, six years in the refugee camp, and now comes to go to an
American high school while working three jobs on the side. But that is the typical story. And that is
what amazes me…
In between turns of Remy I am clear enough to think about
how we have all gone through trials, and that we shouldn’t feel guilty that we
haven’t had to survive civil war, hide in trees or drainage ditches for dear
life, yet I am amazed at how kindhearted these people are despite the darkness
that clouds their pasts. And I keep
telling Jimmy as I have told Shaun before, “More people need to know your
stories.” If you can be one of the most kindhearted and gracious persons after
going through so much, people need to know this. I don’t want to get too political but I do
think people need to understand why so many people cross the border—there is
opportunity and haven here that does not exist on the other side. People risk
their lives to get to the minimum wage jobs we do not esteem. And so often we turn our back on these people.
So when Shaun tells me how grateful he is for myself and my
two colleagues and our relationship, comparing us to some of our coworkers at
the high school that don’t give him the time of day, I am ashamed not because
these are my coworkers, but moreso because I know there have been plenty of
times when I have failed to notice that these restaurants in Long Beach exist. They are part of this beautiful country. God
Bless America.
We say that, but do we mean it? Despite all the heartache in our lives, we do
have a lot of opportunity here, and that is beauty, and we are blessed to have
this. And it is often the foreigner who
picks up on the blessedness so much more than we do. I have failed to recognize
this so many times. I have failed to recognize all my brothers and sisters so
many times.
But I am flattered that my brother Shaun recognizes me as
such. And so when he says, “If you
wouldn’t have shown up last night, I wouldn’t have been able to sleep,” that is
enough to summon tears. It is so simple,
yet beautiful. All it takes to make
someone’s day is to show up, to say hello, to be acknowledged. Heck, I was the one who was treated like
royalty last night in someone else’s cultural/historical celebration and
acknowledgement. My two friends and I were kings last night, awkwardly dancing
white boys who drew smiles from everyone in the house. I am flattered and I
humbled, and I know I have so much more to learn—about different cultures, about
Cambodian and Vietnamese refugees, about showing up, about what it truly means
to have a kind heart. I see people who don’t have the same faith as me but they
exemplify it better. I would imagine that when we turn our backs on God, He isn’t
able to sleep either. So God bless you, Shaun, the man who cleans my messy classroom
every night, the man who serves others, the man who has two beautiful teenage children
who stay up late while the adults are carrying on just so they can say goodbye
to their guests as they walk out the door…God bless you for inviting me to show
up to your party.
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