Grandma Blia reached down with her leathery fingers and grabbed my little hand and said, “It is time for you to know, Justin.” She led me up the carpet worn stairs to her bedroom in our old house in downtown Milwaukee. She paused before her room, pushed open the handleless door and led me to her bed–a well-worn mattress lying on the floor.
As I sat on the bare hardwood floor, Grandma Blia went to an old dresser and pulled out the bottom drawer. Ever so carefully, she placed one hand beneath and the other on top of a large piece of folded blue fabric. She said in the Hmong language it was called a naj ntaub, a flower cloth. She gently took the cloth out of the drawer and with great care, unfolded, and laid it out on her mattress.
To a boy of seven, the heavy fabric was about the most wonderful piece of art I had ever seen. It was about six feet long and four feet wide. Most every inch of the cloth contained some sort of detailed embroidery depicting majestic trees and exotic flowers, colorful birds, a churning river, and swirling clouds. There were also many types of people, some in beautiful dresses and some in soldiers’ uniforms carrying guns. There were strange looking animals, grass roofed huts, cornfields, razor-wire fences, and oriental style buildings. In a word, the tapestry was magical. It looked more like a famous painting on canvas than intricate needlework on cloth. Grandma Blia then pulled me close and staring deeply into my eyes with all the love gathered from a lifetime of sacrifices said, “This tapestry tells the story of our people, Justin, our family, the story of the Hmong. You must never forget it.”
*****
“Never forget it…never forget….”
My reverie was broken by the sudden skid of tires and the bright, strobelike flashes of reporters’ cameras. The car door flung open and amid wild applause and boisterous chanting, my campaign manager, Jerry Strong, stuck his head in the car and shouted, “We did it Justin! With 95% of the precincts’ votes counted, we hold a 4% lead! We can’t lose! You’ve won Senator! Get used to hearing it, Justin. Senator Justin Thao of the great state of Wisconsin. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
Jerry led me quickly through the jubilant crowd that had gathered outside the Milwaukee Pfister Hotel and into a small receiving room near the main banquet hall and anxiously waiting press. After shaking all my party leaders’ hands, Jerry said, “OK, Justin, here’s the scoop. About five minutes ago, Ex-Senator Nelson thanked his people, conceded the election and congratulated you. You’re scheduled to make your acceptance speech in about ten minutes! This is what we’ve waited for buddy…ah, I mean Senator. Go knock em’ dead Justin! Show the people of Wisconsin why they made the right choice for senator. Man, I’m so proud of you.”
As I walked down the plush red carpeting that led up to the podium, I thought of all the people I needed to thank, all the people that helped me get to this point in my life–my family, my teachers, my friends. With all these faces swirling around my thoughts like loose photos in a dust devil, my mind was suddenly drawn back again, thirty years, to that room with my grandma, Blia.
*****
Pointing to a small image on the tapestry of a man standing under a tree with both hands touching the trunk, I asked, “Grandma, who is this man holding the tree with all the colorful birds?”
“That is your Grandpa Xeng (pronounced Seng). His nickname in Hmong is “Tug Tuav Ntoo,” or in English, “Treeholder.”
Over the years, Grandma Blia had brought out the tapestry many times to show me the embroidered scenes and explain what they had to do with our family.
“Why was he called that, Grandma?”
“That is not a short story, Justin.”
“Oh, please Grandma! Tell me about the Treeholder and the birds!”
“Well then, as you know, Grandpa Xeng is deaf, but he was not born that way. Once, long ago, Grandpa Xeng had an accident in our native land of Laos that took his hearing from him. After the accident, he couldn’t hear anything—not a sound! Even if you stood up on a chair and screamed into his ears, he still couldn’t hear a word you said! This made Grandpa Xeng very sad. One day, while he was still recovering from the accident, he was sitting under a small shady tree in the hot afternoon sun. He said he felt a strange tingling along his back, and quickly jumped to his feet, violently brushing his back, thinking some ants or other bugs had crawled up his shirt! When he realized there were no bugs on his back, he looked up and noticed that a handful of birds were perched not too far up in the tree. He could see their beaks moving, but he could not hear their song. While he was still looking at the birds, he gently touched the trunk of the tree and said he could feel the vibrations of the birds singing! Their song had traveled through the trunk of the tree and into his hands! Grandpa Xeng said he felt that God had given him the gift, to hear with his hands.
Ever since that day, Grandpa Xeng was given the name, Tug Tuav Ntoo, Treeholder. He once told me that he could tell what kind of bird was in a tree by the pattern of vibrations he felt in his hands! You know, Justin, Grandpa Xeng doesn’t say much; he’s too worried he won’t understand what other people are saying, so he thinks it’s just better to keep quiet and not risk the misunderstanding. But give him time and he’ll talk; he’ll talk a lot. He’ll say things that he thinks are important for you to know, things that a person should really listen to without asking many questions. This may also sound strange, but I really believe birds come to him, just so he can feel their song! Many times when we go for walks, he’ll touch a tree and in a few minutes the tree will fill with birds! It is really amazing, Justin. Whenever I see a tree full of birds now, I think of him, and I wonder if he isn’t too far off somewhere. He is such a gentle man and has done so much for our family.”
“Grandma, what accident did Grandpa Xeng have that made his hearing go away?”
“For that answer, Justin, you’ll have to ask Grandpa Xeng yourself! You might have to ask him more than once and make sure you’re facing him when you speak, but give him time. Over the years, he’s become pretty good at reading lips and he learned very good English before the accident. He’ll understand your question and eventually he’ll give you an answer. Just be patient with him. You’ll be surprised at how much he might have to say.”
*****