Category: Patriotic

By Larry Shurilla

After a short pause, I continued my acceptance speech.  “My grandfather said we could be free in America and that was his dream.  I stand before you tonight as a grandson of a Laotian refugee and as a senator of the Congress of the United States of America—the freest country in the world!  I chose to run for senator because I still carry my grandpa’s and Thomas Jefferson’s dream in my heart, that all men and women are created equal and that God has given us the right to live in freedom and not be persecuted.  He has given us the right, by our own hard work and ability, to try and make our lives better than those who have gone before us.  My people, the Hmong, as the newest immigrant wave to seek refuge on these golden shores, face many challenges, but this is nothing new to America.  The Irish, the Polish, the Germans, the Africans, what people haven’t faced challenges to integrate into the fabric of America and what people do not face challenges today?  What is good for one race of Americans is good for all Americans.  I pledge my life to honor the trust you have placed in me to work for the good of all my fellow citizens of this blessed land.  I thank God for my life, my grandpa for his dream, and tonight, I thank you all for your votes and your confidence!”

Once again, the crowd boiled over with wild applause and then I noticed a small group of people making their way toward our stage.  As they drew near I could tell they were holding something rather bulky and heavy.  When I caught a glimpse of bright red, white, and blue, I knew the secret of their precious package.  They began to unfurl a large American flag, that took four people to hold, and started flapping it like it was waving in the breeze. Then, to my great surprise, seated right next to the billowing flag, Grandma Blia, now bent with age, along with my mother, my wife, Aunt Paxia, and my daughter, slowly stood and began carefully unfolding another fabric I immediately recognized, our family’s tapestry!  They were all excitedly pointing to the lower right portion of the bright blue fabric and motioning for me to come over and see!  I made my way through the happy crowd, shaking hands, thanking friends, and accepting well wishes.  I knew the tapestry so well, knew that in the lower right corner there was no embroidery.  It was an empty spot, waiting for the next notable event in our family’s story. 

As I approached those wonderful women who have taught me so much about love and what it means to be a family, my eye caught the corner of the fabric.  There, neatly stitched with the care and love of my aged grandmother, Blia, was a needlework image of me standing in front of the United States Capitol building in Washington D.C.  An American flag was waving proudly atop the Capitol and I, I was holding a small, blue rectangle, bordered by two thick red stripes, one across the top and bottom, with a large, solid white circle in the center-the national flag of Laos. 

For me, that moment will always be frozen in time.  Looking at those beautiful, loving women–four generations of Hmong, now, four generations of Americans, holding that priceless history of my family, was just about the proudest moment in my life.  But even at this moment of my greatest triumph, I felt, somehow, that something, or someone, was missing.

*****

“At long last, the date for our departure from Nong Khai arrived and we gathered up our meager possessions and were taken by railroad about 300 miles south to Thailand’s capital city, Bangkok, for some final testing and processing.  Luckily we passed and began the long, and I truly mean long, flight to America. “

“Do you know how far away Thailand is, Justin?”

“I have no idea, Grandpa.”

 “The trip from Bangkok to Atlanta, Georgia is over 9,000 miles!  That’s over a third of the earth’s circumference!  It’s like flying from New York to Los Angeles almost 4 times in a row!  We’d never flown on a plane before and being cooped up for so long, I almost wished we were paddling on our homemade raft back in the Mekong River!  I’m telling you these things because I want you to realize that every step of our path to the U.S. has been difficult.  Every time we thought the worst was over, that things would start getting better, we would meet another obstacle to overcome; but somewhere deep down inside, I knew it would all be worth it, because we were doing it for Sher and for Paxia and for you, for those who would come after us.

“Once in America, besides our new found freedom, we also found that with some people, we were not welcome.  At first we were just so thankful to be out of the refugee camp and able to walk down a street without the fear of being chased, shot at, or scolded by angry soldiers, but as time wore on we could see on the faces of some Americans that we were not wanted here either.  I also noticed that being around so many white skinned people was a little unsettling to me.  Maybe I was a little prejudiced too!  Racism is an ugly thing, no matter where it’s found and it doesn’t stop at the borders of countries.

“One day your father, Sher, came home from school, crying.  He said that the kids at school were making fun of him again and calling him dumb and stupid.  Sher said one bully in particular came up to him and showed him a photograph.  The bully said, ‘See this picture, Sher?  That’s my dog.  He’s a Black Lab.  I call him, Duke.  Do you know what your kind would call him? Dinner!’  Then Sher and this bully got into a big fistfight and both were given after-school detentions by the Vice-Principal.  Those were tough days for your father.

“Don’t’ misunderstand, Justin.  We met many wonderful families in America that actually took us in and shared their food, clothes, and homes with us.  Those first few months in America, when we felt so out of place and were adjusting to the culture, we were blessed to live with wonderful people in Good Hope, Georgia and Selma, Alabama.  Kinder people don’t exist!  Without those caring people, I don’t think we could have survived the transition to western society. 

“As hard as the move to America was on me and the kids, living in the deep South was especially difficult for Blia.  She felt so isolated and uprooted.  Living with a deaf husband who didn’t talk much, trying to fit in with an American family’s daily routines and feeling her own family traditions slowly eroding was almost too much for her.  I remember many mornings her pillow was wet from tears.  We had some very serious talks and knew we had to make another change.  Until you are really on your own, you cannot feel free.

“After a few years of living with host American families, we had the opportunity to move in with a number of other Laotian families in Chicago, Illinois.  Although we were cramped, sharing an apartment with five other Hmong families, Blia was the happiest I had seen her in years.  We now had friends who were going through the same culture shock that we were and we could finally communicate in our native language.  After a few years in Chicago, we moved here, to our own home in Milwaukee where we’ve been ever since.

“You may not realize this, but speaking and listening to a foreign language is exhausting.  I learned this, even before I became deaf, but Blia had to learn it in America.  Every word takes concentration and effort.  When we first came over, it was a little easier for me because I knew English pretty well, but for most Hmong, the English language is an incredible barrier.  Until you learn English, there is an invisible wall between you and the rest of America.  This wall of English must be overcome in order for our people to progress.

“I knew that our children would face a difficult challenge.  They had first learned the Hmong language at home and then they would have to go to American schools and interact with children who only spoke English.  I knew some Americans would think we were stupid because of our broken English, but these things just had to be.  What I tell you now, Justin, you must never forget, never!!

“People are pretty much the same, everywhere.  In Laos, we hated the North Vietnamese for forcing us to leave our home.  In Thailand, the Thai people wanted us out, and now, some Americans see Hmong, in the same way, as people who don’t belong, but there are good and bad people in all countries and America is a very special land of opportunity.  In America, the law has set us free.  Here in America, all people are protected by the words of our most noble documents—the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.  I didn’t know much about these documents before I came here, but I have learned.  They protect us.  These documents state that all men are created equal and that God has blessed each of us with the right to pursue happiness and not live in fear.

“God has led us to America, not so much to give us things or to make our lives easier, but so that we can give to America and help make her stronger.  As America grows in strength, so does the dream of freedom for the world.  The Laotian people, the Hmong, have much to share.  Our people are strong and good.  We work hard and know how to show respect.  We value the family above all else.  America has many problems, but its biggest problem is that she is forgetting the family.  We will help make America stronger, help her remember the family.  We are as American as any Irish, German, African, or Italian person.  Don’t ever forget that!  We just haven’t been here as long.  Except for Native Americans, America is a nation of immigrants.  Unlike many earlier generations of immigrants, our path to America may not have led us by boat past the Statue of Liberty, our path was by an airplane that came up through the southern United States, but we are as American as anyone.  In fact, as the newest Americans, perhaps, we are the most American of all, for we know what it’s like to live each day in fear and each breath we take of freedom fills us with hope that there’ll be a better day ahead.  This is the dream of America.  

            “Now, Justin, I am growing old and don’t have a lot of time left to really make a difference for our people or for America, but you do and I love you so much.  There’s not a lot an old, deaf man can do, but you are young, smart, and so full of hope!  Your generation must keep our Hmong traditions alive and you must help make America a better place.  In Laos, we could not live free.  The North Vietnamese Government wanted to punish us, but here in America, we have been given a very great gift—our freedom to live and worship as we choose.  We earned the right to live here.  We fought alongside the Americans in the Vietnam War.  I didn’t know it then, but I see the hand of God in it now.  I thought I was fighting to protect Laos from invasion, and I was, but as I look back on the war now, I see I was also fighting for my right to come to America, the right to come to a place where freedom is the greatest gift of all, where a whole people would rather die than live in bondage.  Learn English well, Justin.  Learn the history of America.  It is a long story of freedom.  It is our history now, and our history is now part of America’s.”

*****

            The day after the election, there was a place I knew I had to visit, a story I needed to share.  When my grandpa died suddenly of a heart attack fourteen years previously, I had a difficult time accepting that he was really gone.  There were so many stories that I knew I would never hear from him, so many questions I wanted to ask that I never took the time to ask, but how thankful I was, for that special talk we had when I was a curious boy of thirteen and he opened up his gracious heart and shared our family’s story with me. 

            As I walked upon the grass, almost hesitantly, perhaps a little afraid to actually reach my destination-there it was, a small white rectangle amid ten or more equally small rectangles, neatly spaced.  The limestone grave marker, with the letters of my grandfather’s name, Xeng Thao, deeply etched into its surface, stood stiffly, like it was standing at attention, guarding a place of profound respect, which indeed, it was.  Beneath his name and the dates of his birth and death was etched, “Treeholder.”  My grandfather had been buried in an older cemetery in downtown Milwaukee, one that was embedded in the heart of the city; one that had little space, many mature trees, and probably hadn’t seen a new entry in quite a few years.  To me, this place was hallowed ground.

 As I came upon his grave, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride and loss.  I was so proud to be his grandson, yet, so sad that he wasn’t here to share in my greatest triumph.  I knelt down at the foot of his stone and put my hands on top of it and started to cry.  Between sobs, I said, “When you were here with us, Grandpa, you never heard my voice, but maybe now, you can.  You did it, Grandpa!  Thanks to you, we made it.  You came to America to find a better home for us, make a better life for our family, and you did it.  Thank you, for bringing us here.  Thank you for providing us a home in the freest country in the world and for the opportunity to live a better life.  Thank you for fighting for freedom in Laos, for hiding in the jungle all those years, and for surviving the long, bleak days of the refugee camp.  You never lost hope that there was a better place for the Thao family and you were right; you were right.  The sacrifices that you and Grandma Blia made for us were truly worth it!  You once told me you believed that God led us, the Hmong, here for a reason, to help America remember the importance of the family and help make America stronger.  I think I can help make that difference now.  I’ve been elected a senator and have pledged my life to serve this country, our country.  I finally realize how understanding our past helps us move forward with purpose.  Because of you, I’m so proud to be Hmong and to know where I’ve come from and I’m also proud to be American and know where I’m going.  Oh, Grandpa, how I wish you were here!”

I slowly stood up and prepared to go home.  As I leaned one hand against a big maple tree a few feet from my grandfather’s grave stone and began wiping the tears with my other, I felt something crawl on my fingers and quickly shook my hand off the tree and looked at the ground to see what it was.  The ground was practically barren, just neatly trimmed grass.  Then my eyes caught a blur of red, flutter just above me and land on a lower branch of the maple tree.  I quickly noticed the tree was beginning to fill with cardinals!  From every direction, swift, red streaks were blazing into the maple tree and filling it with song and brilliant color.  I gently placed my hands onto the tree trunk, smiled, and felt for a grand moment in my life, God’s pleasure.  As I stood there, marveling, I looked up into the miracle sent from my grandpa and whispered, “Thanks for the message, Grandpa; I’m glad you heard.”  I then closed my eyes and bowed my head, oh, so thankful, to feel the song.”

#####

By Larry Shurilla

“After an hour or two of restless sleep, we were taken to a refugee camp on the northern border of Thailand and Laos, to the outskirts of a city called, Nong Khai.  It didn’t take long to realize that we wanted out of that place and fast!  The camp was very crowded and dirty.  At one point there were over 11,000 refugees in the camp.  There were open sewer ditches and scattered garbage that reeked constantly.  It was really just a bunch of makeshift jungle huts surrounded by razor-wire and patrolled by Thai soldiers.”

“Do you know what razor-wire is, Justin?”

“Never heard of it, Grandpa.”

“Razor-wire is a lot like gigantic, metal Slinkys laid end to end on their sides.  Placed every few inches along the coiled wire were razor blades-nasty stuff.  Those razor blades were so sharp they could cut through the soles of boots!  Imagine what they would do to your bare skin!  The huts we stayed in had uneven dirt floors and the walls and roofs were made of bamboo shoots and rusty corrugated steel.  We were fed mostly rice and fish, which after nearly starving for three years was a welcome relief, but with armed guards patrolling the gates and not permitting anyone in or out without permission, we couldn’t help feeling more like Prisoners of War than Laotian refugees.  The Thai people tolerated us, Justin, but being tolerated and being wanted are two very different things.  They really didn’t want Hmong filling up their crowded cities or draining their economy with our daily needs.  So they put all the Hmong refugees into camps.  That way they could be sure we weren’t sneaking into their cities and they could find a more permanent home for us.

“Our all-consuming goal was to get out of that camp and if we were lucky enough, make it to America.  Tables had been set up for registration and various countries such as France, England, Germany, and the United States were accepting some refugees as new immigrants.  Our greatest prayer was to come to America.  I had fought alongside the Americans and knew that in the U.S.A. we could live free. 

“During this period of endless waiting, testing, and filling out forms, I was lucky enough to get an interview with an American official named Charlie.  One of the first questions he asked was whether or not I had served in the Laotian army.  I said, ‘Yes,’ and he said, ‘Prove it!’ and handed me a box of automatic weapon parts and asked me to assemble it, fast!  Charlie knew if I had really served in the army, I would know how to take apart and assemble that rifle with ease and he was right.  What he didn’t know was that the word was out, and non-military Laotian men would give anything they had to a former soldier if he would show them how to handle a rifle’s assembly.  For many refugees, Justin, this knowledge made the difference between making it to America or not!  I quickly put the rifle back together and Charlie made some notes on his papers and I felt it wouldn’t be long before we would be able to go to America.  I was correct that we had been approved for processing to come to the United States, but what I didn’t know was that it would take over a year of waiting in that dismal place and almost losing Paxia before our dream finally came true.”

*****

“After over a year of getting our hopes up week after week and having promises of our departure broken time after time, we were finally told that we would definitely be leaving for America in two weeks and that our visas had been approved!  I had just come home from a work outing where about 50 of us had taken a truck out of camp and helped harvest vegetables on a farm about 15 miles south of Nong Khai.  As I walked into our hut, I found three men from the Vang clan waiting for me to arrive.  Blia was crying and deep inside I knew this day would eventually come, Justin, I just hoped we could have made it out of Nong Khai before this happened.

“I don’t get it Grandpa.  What were those men doing in your hut and what were you so afraid of?”

“I was afraid of losing Paxia.  The three men who came to us were attempting to arrange a marriage with a member of their family, the Vangs, and Paxia.”

“But wasn’t Paxia too young to get married, Grandpa?  She would have been, like, a seventh grader!”

“Paxia was about 13 years old and in those times, 13 was a suitable age to arrange a marriage.  I know it seems strange to you, Justin, but marriages took place at a much younger age back in Laos and Thailand.”

“What did you do, Grandpa?  What did you say to them?”

“Well, I told those men to take me back to their home because I wanted to talk to Paxia before this went any further.  I decided to bring Blia along with me to help translate if I had any trouble communicating.

“When we arrived at the Vang hut, we found Paxia surrounded by four older women who were fussing over her and laughing and singing songs.  I made a general announcement that Blia and I wanted to speak to Paxia alone.  So we took her by the hand out of the hut and onto the dirt road.  When we were far enough away so we could talk with some privacy, we sat down on the ground and I started talking.  I concentrated very hard on Paxia’s face and lips and asked her what was going on?  She really began opening up and her feelings came flooding out.  Paxia said she was sick of living in the refugee camp and that if she married this young man, she would be able to move out and start her own life in Thailand.  She said she wasn’t sure if she could get official papers to leave camp, but that she and the Vang boy were planning to run away and somehow blend into the Thai society.  She said that he paid attention to her and that she loved him and could take care of herself.  She reminded me of her mother when she glared defiantly at me and shouted, ‘I’m old enough to be out on my own!  Let me go!’ 

“I told her that I loved her and that I knew she had gone through a lot.  We all had.  I told her I was sorry for not providing enough for her, for constantly moving us around and putting her in danger.  I said I knew her life had been a hard one and that her childhood was not what I had hoped it would be, but I also told her that marrying now was a bad decision, that if she ran away and got caught they would either put her in jail or send her back to Laos.  I also said that things would be different in America and that we were so close to gaining our freedom!  I remember taking both of her hands and kissing them and saying, ‘I will always love you, Paxia.  When you were born, I felt like I was a king and that the world could never be better.  I was so proud.  I have never stopped being proud of you and I never will.  You have been so brave, so many times and have always been such a comfort.  I will not force you to come to America with us, but I beg you to reconsider.  I do not want this family torn apart.  If you stay here, we may never see you again and your children will never know their grandparents.  Is this what you really want?  We need to stay a family, Paxia.  We need to trust in God that things will work out and we must stay together!’

“With tears in her eyes, Paxia hugged me, kissed me on the cheek and walked back into the Vang hut.  I honestly didn’t know what she would do.  I wondered if I would ever see her again.  When we arrived back at our hut, Blia, wouldn’t even look at me because she was so angry that I didn’t bring Paxia home with us.  It was an awful night of tossing and turning and praying.  Just as the sun crept over the horizon, I heard loud sobbing outside our hut.  I went out and found Blia, with Paxia in her arms, rocking and crying.  Paxia looked up at me and said, ‘Txiv, Nam, (Dad, Mom) I’ll go.  I’ll go to America with you.’ 

“When she said those words, I think my heart leapt out of my chest!  After all that we’d been through, the war, the hiding, the night in the river, after all those frightening experiences, I felt losing Paxia would have been the greatest hurt of all.  Somehow, after all we’d been through, we were still together and, now, we were ready to come to America, as a family.” 

*****

By Larry Shurilla

“Once we had the tapestry and with the Viet Cong closing in, Blia and I decided to make the break for freedom to Thailand.  Almost daily, other former soldiers and their families would also make the escape attempt from Laos.  The North Vietnamese army was well aware of this, Justin, and had just about every inch of the Mekong River guarded with armed patrols.  The Mekong River is the long, natural boundary between Thailand and Laos.  The nighttime was our best chance of escape.  Under the cover of darkness, many of us could swim or float across the river to safety, but there were so many dangers to overcome.  The Mekong River was almost a mile wide at some points, quite deep, and had many raging currents.  Even the best of swimmers would have trouble swimming that far under perfect conditions; but at night, with soldiers firing automatic rifles at you and patrolling the river in swift boats, making that swim was nearly impossible.  To make matters worse, sometimes the darkness and swirling currents could disorient you and turn you around!  You would think you were paddling or swimming to Thailand, when in fact, you were going directly back toward Laos and back into the hands of an angry group of North Vietnamese soldiers!  If it was a cloudy night, thinking the stars would help guide your direction was a big mistake!

“Blia and I decided our best chance at escape was to construct a crude raft and paddle across the river with Paxia and Sher onboard.  Paxia was old enough to carry some food and help paddle the boat, but Sher was born in the jungle about 6 months before our escape attempt.  We were very worried that he would begin to cry and give away our position, so we gave him a rice-sized piece of opium.  Do you know what opium is, Justin?”

“I think it’s a really strong drug that’s illegal.”

“Yes, very powerful and very addictive, and for a baby that small, it could be deadly; but we had to take the chance.  The opium would make him sleep a really deep sleep.  You couldn’t wake him up if you tried.  We just hoped and prayed that the next morning, when the trip was all over, he would be able to regain consciousness.  The risk of Sher crying out was just too great to do nothing.”

“What did your raft look like, Grandpa?”

“I had bartered with the little food we could scrounge up with some of my friends and obtained six bamboo poles, four black plastic garbage bags, and a paddle.  Blia and I rummaged in the jungle for some long grasses that we dried and wove together into fairly strong cords.  I used four of the poles to make a square and criss-crossed the square with the other two bamboo poles.  It looked like a large flat square with a giant X in the middle.  We tied the poles together where they met with the woven cords.  Then I blew up the four garbage bags like big, black, balloons and tied them to the four corners of the raft to help it stay afloat.”  

“Grandpa!  I’ve seen that funny looking balloon boat on Grandma’s tapestry!”

“It wasn’t pretty, Justin, but it was our only hope of gaining freedom.”

*****

“The night of our escape, the summer air was hot, heavy, and wet.  Thick clouds blanketed the sky.  The moon was hidden and not one star peeked through the dense black barricade.  We positioned some of our friends throughout the jungle and along the Mekong’s shoreline.  Although it wasn’t much, we had some light from fungus lanterns we had made ourselves.  The lanterns didn’t give off much light, but we hoped they were just bright enough for each of us to see our way in the pitch dark and just dim enough not to be seen by the Viet Cong.  We were each carrying a small amount of food and water strapped to our homemade backpacks and Blia, besides carrying Baby Sher, also carried the family tapestry, wrapped tightly in plastic.  When the path to the river was clear, our spotters whistled and we made our run for the river!  Because I was deaf, I had to totally rely on Blia and Paxia for hand signals on when to move out.

“We hid the raft under some thick brush about 20 feet from the river’s edge.  As soon as we uncovered the raft, we dragged it along the shore and pushed it into the river.  We all laid down, face first, on the raft, and started paddling for our lives.  We hadn’t made it 20 meters into the river when a strong wave came out of nowhere and flipped the raft over!  One second I was furiously paddling and the next I was gulping dirty river water and gasping for breath!  To make matters worse, Blia let me know she heard voices in the near distance hollering and shouting.  We knew the Viet Cong were hot onto us and had picked up our trail.  And then the bullets began.

“I somehow managed to turn the raft over, but the paddle along with one of the garbage bags was lost.  Blia held tightly onto Baby Sher and luckily he was still in a deep, drugged and now wet, sleep.  Paxia was shivering with fright and frantic, but we all knew what was at stake and somehow managed to get back onto the raft and start paddling again.  Blia kept motioning to me that the voices on shore were getting louder and louder.  Soon came the shower of bullets.  I looked back at the shore and saw gun flashes that looked like a swarm of fireflies blinking in the dark.  Blia later described the crack, crack sound of rifles fired from shore and the almost simultaneous sounds of pfffft, pfffft, plooch, plooch as the bullets flew over our heads or speared the water all around us.

“Paddling in the darkness with all that commotion, knowing we could die at any moment, I prayed with all my heart,  ‘Dear God, please protect my family!  Please guide us to safety!  I know you have a plan for us!  Please Dear God, Please!’

“It wasn’t much, Justin, but right after I prayed, something was different.  I felt a touch of peace, a calm resolve.  Blind fear had left me and I started to hope again.  The river became less choppy and the bullets finally stopped.  It seemed like we had been paddling for hours, but I knew we would somehow make it to shore.  I just hoped it was the right shore!

“At long last, we beached the raft, hopefully, on the shore of Thailand.  We were absolutely exhausted.  After we climbed off the raft, we looked at it and noticed it was literally unraveling at the seams.  Many of the ropes we used for fastening the poles together were loose and frayed, barely holding the thing together!  Another few minutes in the water and we would have sunk.  Since we weren’t sure if we had really made it to Thailand or had gone off course and returned to Laos, we dragged the raft a little inland and hid it under some cover.  After resting a few minutes, we started to cautiously make our way into the jungle while Blia and Paxia listened intently.  They were listening for voices they couldn’t understand—that was the sign that we were in Thailand and not back in Laos.  It took about an hour, but they finally heard voices speaking a strange language and we knew we had made it.  We walked up, with our hands raised high in the air, to a group of Thai soldiers that were just sitting around a campfire.  They knew right away we were Hmong refugees and had us stay put while they figured out what to do with us.  Just then, the sun began to rise and color returned to our dark, jungle world.  The morning light touched baby Sher on his face and for the first time in many hours, his eyes fluttered open!  We were all so relieved and then suddenly realized the escape had taken all night.

*****

By Larry Shurilla

“When I returned home to our corn farm, Blia and Paxia accepted me right away and did everything they could to help me learn to live with my disability.  It was only a few months later that we learned a peace treaty had been signed by the Americans and North Vietnamese in Paris and that the war in Vietnam would soon end.  This sounds like good news, Justin, but it was not.  We knew the moment the American military pulled out, the North Vietnamese army would move in.  We knew that the South Vietnamese government, the country the Americans were helping, was weak, weaker than our own.  We knew it was only a matter of time before the Viet Cong fully controlled South Vietnam and would come after us and this time we would have no Americans to help us.  The American people were frustrated with the war.  They were sick of their sons dying thousands of miles away from their home.  They looked past what this meant for us and they pulled out.

“For the first few months after the peace treaty was signed, we still had hope that the North Vietnamese would be happy to gain total control of both North and South Vietnam and leave Laos alone, but gradually more and more yellow uniformed soldiers started appearing in our villages and cities. 

“In 1975 we learned that the North Vietnamese had removed our president from office and put him in jail!  We also heard that the Viet Cong were rounding up anyone that had served in the Laotian Army or had helped the Americans and were taking them prisoner or putting them to death!  This was a very difficult time for Blia and Paxia.”

“Did they come after you, too, Grandpa?  Did the Viet Cong ever capture you or Grandma Blia?” I asked.

“Yes, Justin.  They came after us, again and again, but we were never captured.  They were relentless.  For almost three years, Blia, Paxia, and I would keep moving and hiding in the jungle to avoid the North Vietnamese soldiers.  Think about that Justin! Three years on the run is a long time and if that wasn’t hard enough, near the end of those three years, Blia gave birth to our son, Sher. ”

“What did you eat, Grandpa, and where would you sleep?”

“During the first year of hiding, we ate no meat, no salt.  We would try to hide near our farm and gather scraps of wheat and corn whenever we could.  We would drink our water right out of creeks and rivers.  For our beds, we would gather banana leaves and weave a leaf-carpet and sleep on the floor of the jungle.  Sometimes, if we were lucky, we would find qos ntoo, wild potatoes, and feast on them.

“It was a hard life, Justin, a hard time for my family.  Every day I prayed to know what to do, where to go.  I wanted to stay in my homeland of Laos, but as the years drew on, I knew that would be impossible.  The North Vietnamese soldiers were getting closer and closer to capturing us and we were so weak from hunger.  Our clothes were becoming like rags and there were days we were so hungry and weak, we would just lie down all day and not move around at all. 

“When you are truly hungry, getting food is the only thing you ever think about.  You do not care how you look, what you are wearing, what the weather is like; you only care about food and where you can get some.  You will eat spiders that crawl in the dirt, and plants that taste awful and might even make you sick, but something in the belly is better than an aching hole in your stomach.  I became so tired of scavenging for food and worrying about my family. 

“The North Vietnamese would also send airplanes into Laos.  The planes would be looking for our campfire areas and they would drop a toxic chemical from the sky that we called ‘Tsuaj ab,’ which translated means, ‘chemical or bitter medicine.’  Itwas the color and consistency of egg yolks.  Tsuaj ab would kill all the vegetation; anything green would die.  If that wasn’t bad enough, if you got the tsuaj ab on your skin, it would burn you terribly.  In a few days, your stomach would grow large and tight like a basketball.  You could not eat anything.  In about a month, you would die. 

“Some of our friends, who were also in hiding, told us that the North Vietnamese were offering freedom to families of Laotian soldiers.  They said that all we had to do was register with the North Vietnamese and they would let us return to our farms.  We saw many soldiers and their families trust this rumor and leave for registration, but we never saw one come back.  It was during these desperate times that Blia and I decided to make the escape attempt to Thailand, our neighbor country to the west.

*****

”Before we could leave Laos, Blia and I knew we needed to stop back at our farm one last time.  Blia had been begging for months to return home in order to get the family tapestry she had placed inside a large plastic tub and buried near our small farmhouse.  Blia felt the tapestry was the one thing she could never leave behind because it told the story of our family and that story was worth risking our lives. 

“On the day we went back to the farm, the area was crawling with Viet Cong.  Because Blia was smaller and quicker than I was, we decided she would make the attempt alone, for one person would be harder to spot than two.  So about a mile from home, we split up.  I took Baby Sher and Paxia with me, while Blia snuck back to the house, alone.  Since we knew we’d have to keep moving to avoid the Viet Cong, we planned to meet at a certain spot in about an hour.  If either one of us didn’t make it to the rendezvous point, we were to go back to our hiding place in the jungle and find friends for help.  This was a very scary time for us.  If we didn’t make it to the meeting point, that meant the Viet Cong would have caught one of us and we’d never see each other again!  I’ll always remember when I kissed Blia goodbye, I saw such determination in her eyes.  I almost felt sorry for the Viet Cong because I knew I wouldn’t want to be the one to stop her from getting that tapestry!

“When Blia got about 20 feet from the farmhouse, she hid face down under a large leafy bush.  Blia said she could hear the soldiers laughing and banging around in our old house.   The tapestry was hidden about 6 inches underground in the plastic tub, no more than 10 feet from the back porch near an old rusty, half buried barrel.  Blia thought if she could crawl on her hands and knees to the barrel, she could start digging and if necessary, crouch low and hide behind it if the soldiers came.  All Blia had to dig with, besides her hands, was a big old wooden spoon. 

“She quietly made it on her hands and knees to the barrel, pulled the spoon out of her shirt, and started digging as fast as she could.  Just as she reached the lid of the tub, two Viet Cong soldiers came crashing through the back door of the house and out into the backyard!  They were wrestling, punching, and cursing each other and ended up rolling right next to the barrel!  Blia said she coiled up into the smallest ball she could and prayed with all her might not to be discovered.  While the two soldiers came crashing into the barrel, three more Viet Cong came sprinting out of the house, hollering, and pointing their rifles at the two fighters.  Blia felt she failed for sure and just when she thought the soldiers would see her, a large bouatay came sprinting out of the jungle, running right toward the house!  The Viet Cong were as hungry as any of us and with their rifles already perched on their shoulders, they started chasing and firing at the bouatay!  Luckily they weren’t very good shots because they kept missing the beast!  Blia said the bouatay was scared to death and kept zig-zagging wildly around the house and eventually ran right back into the jungle with all the soldiers, including the two fighters, in hot pursuit.  That gave Grandma Blia just enough time to remove the tub, slip back into the jungle and return to our rendezvous point, on time.  Once again, Justin, God kept our family together.  It was no chance that Grandma Blia made it back to us safely.  He has always watched over us and when we have needed Him most, He has been there.

“I was so happy to see Blia at the meeting place!  I had imagined so many bad things that could have happened to her and how miserable my life would have been without her.  After we all hugged and cried and once Blia told us what had happened, she carefully opened the tub and pulled out the tapestry.  She tenderly kissed it and pressed the cloth close to her heart and whispered, ‘Zag nuav kuv khaws tau kuvib thooj tsev ca laum.  Now, I’ll always have my piece of home.’”

*****

When I caught the disabled vet’s eyes with my own, I winked and gave him the “thumbs up” sign.  He returned the favor and the crowd gradually quieted down.  I continued my speech.

“First of all, I’d like to thank my opponent, Senator Nelson, for running a clean campaign and sticking to the issues.  Senator Nelson is a credit to his party and I respect all the good he has done for the state of Wisconsin.  He has served his fellow citizens with distinction and I congratulate him on an outstanding career of public service. 

“A few months ago, I was asked by a television reporter why I chose to run for public office, why I wanted to become a senator.  I said then that I wanted to help make America a better place for my family and for future generations.  I’d like to elaborate on that theme a little bit tonight by sharing a short story from my grandfather’s life.

“My grandfather, Xeng Thao, was once a Hmong refugee, fleeing from Laos after the Vietnam War with his wife, Blia, and his two children, Paxia and Sher.  They were petitioning to come to America.  Sher Thao just so happens to be my father and is seated on the stand tonight.  After a harrowing escape from Laos, my Grandpa Xeng took his family to the refugee camp in Nong Khai, Thailand.  There he lived in a decrepit hut for about a year while his processing to enter America took place.  The camp was crowded, dirty, and surrounded by razor-wire.  The refugees were not allowed to move freely in and out of the camp.  Each day trucks would come and take those who wanted to work out of camp and return them, exhausted, at the end of the day.  They worked awfully hard, but made very little money.  My grandfather once joked with us that he was a TV star because one long day after he returned from the work outing, American television reporters were crawling all over the camp, doing some sort of news report on the conditions of Laotian refugees.  Grandpa said that one of the American women reporters came up to him and jabbed a microphone into his face and asked, ‘Why is it that you wait here, hoping to get permission to come to the United States?’ 

Grandpa replied, ‘In America, you can be free.’”

*****

By Larry Shurilla

The time had come for me to make my acceptance speech.  Jerry Strong proclaimed, “And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, permit me to introduce the newest United States Senator from the great state of Wisconsin, Senator Justin Thao!”

As I made my way to the pulpit, it was surprising to notice how the cheering and applause of over a thousand people could seem so quiet and muffled.  My attention was racing between my prepared acceptance speech and the avalanche of new thoughts that were overtaking me faster than a Ferrari in the fast lane.  I grabbed the wooden edge of the top of the podium, looked out over the smiling faces of so many supporters and began, “Thank you, Jerry, ah, Mr. Strong, and thank you my dear friends and family for the honor of standing before you this evening.  It’s going to take a little time getting used to being called, Senator.” 

The word, “Senator,” had barely escaped my mouth when the room once again erupted into spontaneous applause and chanting, people jumping and waving “Thao Now!” campaign signs.  It was then that I noticed, to my left and near the front row of the audience, a man seated in a wheelchair.  He sat tall and proud, clapping his hands solidly and wearing a cloth hat with multi-colored pins.  His hat was dark blue with golden embroidery that read “Vietnam Vet.”  Suddenly, the words my grandfather had spoken to me years before came quickly into my mind. 

One day after school, I had come home excited to tell my parents that my class had visited the traveling wall of the Vietnam Memorial and that I had made a rubbing of one of the names.  When I showed the rubbing to my grandpa, he said, “It is good to remember those who have given their lives in battle for others, Justin, but please remember this also.  I fought alongside many Laotians during the Vietnam War.  We have no wall to honor our dead, but the names and faces of those who fought with me in Laos are forever etched in my memory; that is why you must always remember the things I have told you and share them with your children.  We must never forget our Hmong brothers and sisters who have died for the cause of liberty.”

This confused me at first because wasn’t I an American?  What did I have to do with Laotian Hmong who died in the Vietnam War?  Only years later did I come to understand what my grandpa really meant. 

As I continued looking at the veteran in the audience, I noticed a broad smile on his face and that no feet touched the ground beneath his wheelchair.

*****

 “Is that when you lost your hearing, Grandpa?  When you were shot in the hand?”  I asked.

“No, Justin, the accident that took my hearing came about a year later on a different patrol.  I became friends with an American soldier named James Schmidt.  We all called him Jimmy.  He had been assigned to our platoon as an advisor and he would call in for air strikes against the North Vietnamese whenever we discovered a concentration of the enemy or were under attack.  Jimmy was the friendliest American I had ever met.  He asked me to teach him the Hmong language and he also helped me learn English.  It was through Jimmy that I first learned about Christianity.  He once told me, ‘God has a purpose for you, Xeng.  Everyone has a purpose in life.  Even this war has a purpose, but darned if I know what it is right now.’

“One day during the monsoon season, we had been given orders to secure part of a supply trail through the jungle.  The Americans were always moving food, vehicles, and weapons throughout Laos and Vietnam and many times asked us to help make sure the roads were protected or safe for travel.  It had been raining every day for weeks and we were all soaked and feeling miserable.  Jimmy had just gotten off the field phone with his superiors, and was leading about seven of us along the muddy supply road.  We hadn’t seen any sign of the Viet Cong and thought the area was clear, when Jimmy stepped on a buried landmine. 

“In an instant there was a great explosion with mud and bodies flying in every direction!  All I really remember was calling out Jimmy’s name, seeing his face turn toward me and then, a great light and a sensation of floating.  I didn’t wake up for four days.  The last word I ever heard in my life was when I called out Jimmy’s name.”

*****

“When I first woke up after the road mine explosion, I quickly reached for my legs and grabbed them.  I was so thankful there was something there.  I had seen the land mines take many people’s feet and legs over the years.  My first thought was that I was lucky, that God had spared me.  It took me a few minutes to realize I couldn’t hear anymore because I was so thankful I still had my legs and arms.  Because we were so deeply imbedded in the jungle, there was no hospital close enough to offer help and without a real doctor in our platoon, the men just did the best they could for me. 

“After a short while, I noticed people speaking to me, but I could only see their lips moving, no sound, no sounds at all!  I started to panic.  I reached for my ears and felt gauze wrapped around my head.  I tore it off, stood up and ran from person to person, grabbing them with both hands, staring into their faces and shouting at them.  At least I thought I was shouting at them.  I was moving my mouth and thinking the words, ‘Can you hear me?  Am I speaking?  What has happened to me!!!’  Then I started feeling dizzy and fell to the ground, unconscious. 

“When I awoke the second time, I lay still and closed my eyes again.  I tried to reason within myself that I really could hear, just not as well as before.  It didn’t take long to realize, I was wrong.  It is not so strange a feeling to have absolute quiet when your eyes are closed and it is nighttime, Justin, but it is very unsettling to have absolute quiet when your eyes are open in the bright daylight.  It’s almost as if you are a spectator to the world and not a part of it.  It is very easy to draw within yourself, never speak, and let life pass you by.  I no longer felt that God had spared me.  I felt punished and betrayed.  I thought I should have been protected because I was simply guarding my country, not trying to invade someone else’s land.  I felt angry like that for a long time.

“After a while, when you never speak to people, they stop speaking to you and start avoiding you.  They feel you don’t want to be bothered, and they’re right!  I didn’t want to speak to anybody because I wasn’t sure how I was sounding anymore and reading lips was difficult for me, took so much energy and it was so easy to misunderstand someone.  While I was recovering, I became a loner and realized that the Laotian army was done with me.  I didn’t blame them.  There was no use for a deaf soldier in the jungle.  I wanted to go home, but then I became frightened and thought, ‘What will Blia think of me?  What will Paxia, my daughter, think of her deaf father?’ 

“It was during this time of hopelessness and depression that I was sitting under a tree near our camp, my back up against the trunk.  My head was down and I was asking God, ‘Why?  Why have you done this to me?  What am I going to do now?’  All of a sudden I felt something go up along my back.  At first I ignored it, but when I felt it again, I jumped up, thinking a centipede had crawled up my back under my shirt.  I reached back and began slapping and hopping around.  It only took a moment to realize there was no insect on me.  I was puzzled and stared at the tree I was resting against.  For some reason, I looked up, into the branches of the tree and saw about five or six noog liab, red birds.  The thought crossed my mind that they were speaking to me, singing for me and that I should go back to the tree and hold its trunk.  It is strange to tell you this, Justin, but it was not my thought to return to the tree.  Someone else had put that thought into my mind.  When I touched the tree with my hands, I felt that same tingle that was going up my back, only this time I felt it with my fingers. 

“Going for a couple weeks without hearing had increased my sensitivity to touch and sight.  As I stared at the birds and watched their beaks move, I felt their song in my hands.  I can’t tell you the joy that came to me, Justin, when I felt music for the first time.   I felt God was talking to me through the noog liab, telling me that things would be all right.  I wasn’t forgotten or being punished.  I was just experiencing one of life’s tests and God wanted me to know that he was there to help and comfort me. Sometimes it seems, Justin, when our heads and hopes are brought low because of the weight of the world, all we need do is look up, and see the hope that God has placed within our grasp.

“From the moment when I first held the tree and felt God’s pleasure, I’ve never been the same.  I’ve been at peace.  I began looking much more intently at the world around me and seeing things I had never seen before, beautiful things, subtle, intricate things that I used to take for granted.  The ordinary was starting to become extraordinary to me.  In a strange way, I began to think of hearing as a distraction to discovering the beauty of the world around me with my eyes.  My accident was my beginning for a new life of awareness.  Now, I couldn’t wait to get back to Blia and Paxia, but even then, I never knew the dangers that would lie ahead! “

By Larry Shurilla

As I climbed the stage in the banquet hall of the Pfister Hotel, bits of sharp-edged confetti stung my face while a barrage of clustered red, white, and blue balloons floated softly to the floor and bounced like pulsating jellyfish.  My wife and kids swarmed around me, hugging me, and everyone was jumping up and down amid a deafening clash of campaign music and cheers.  Behind the stage and hanging some10 feet above was a gigantic banner that read “Congratulations Senator Justin Thao!”  

Jerry Strong took the podium and started clapping his hands over his head.  The  crowd, sensing Jerry’s intention, joined him in unison and filled the hall with a thunderous beat—the drumbeat of victory.  As I took my seat in the front row of the stage, I noticed a security man standing near the door that led to the hallway.  Besides the typical short blue coat, matching pants, and walkie-talkie strapped to his waist, I noticed he was wearing a bright red St. Louis Cardinals’ baseball hat. 

*****

“Check out all the cardinals!” my sister Katie shouted into the glass pane of the window that looked out into our small back yard.  There I saw a tree with a half dozen cardinals looking like an apple tree in the early fall, except this was a maple tree in the middle of the summer.  “And look!  Grandpa Xeng is at the bottom, holding the tree trunk again!”

As a wiry boy of 13, I was ready to run at any time of the day or night.  Just point me in a direction and I was off, like a fun-seeking-missile on a seek-and-annoy mission, and this time my target was Grandpa Xeng. 

“Grandpa, what are you doing?” I asked.  Grandpa Xeng didn’t make a move.  He just stood there, holding the tree with a smile on his face and his eyes fixed on the birds. 

He never turned around as he said, “Don’t make so much noise, Justin.  You’ll scare the cardinals away.”

“How did you know it was me, Grandpa?” I asked, but Grandpa Xeng never turned around.  I tapped him on his shoulder and for the first time he looked at me and gently put both hands on my face.  I repeated, “How did you know it was me, Grandpa?”

Grandpa Xeng was looking very intently at my lips and said, “You run heavy, like a bouatay.”

“What’s a bouatay?”

“It’s a wild boar, like a small buffalo.  There were many bouatay in our native land of Laos.”

“Oh! A buffalo, like on the back of an old nickel, Grandpa?”

“No, Justin, like in the back of our yard.  I knew you were coming the moment I felt the door slam.  Now be still, Justin, and listen to the cardinals’ music.”

Grandpa Xeng gave the back of my neck a squeeze and then returned his hands to the tree trunk.  “They won’t stay long, Justin.  The cardinal song is very beautiful, but they have much to do and little to say.  They are God’s messengers.  I sometimes wish people were more like cardinals.”

I finally thought the right moment had come for me to ask Grandpa Xeng what his accident was all about, how he lost his hearing.  I tapped him on the arm again and when he looked at me I asked, “What happened to your ears, Grandpa?  Why can’t you hear?”

“I had an accident, long ago, Justin.”

“Grandma Blia already told me you had an accident, but I want to know what kind of accident!  Did you hurt your ears swimming in the Mekong River?  I saw you on Grandma’s tapestry swimming in a big river.  Did you get sick and not have good medicine?  What happened, Grandpa?”

Grandpa Xeng looked away and said, “You are too young, Justin.”

“I’m not too young, Grandpa!  If it’s a war story, don’t be afraid to tell me!  I’ve seen war movies on TV that show people’s heads blown off!  I can take it, Grandpa!  Plus, I‘ve played M-rated war games too!  I can take it!”

Grandpa looked away from the tree and seemed to stare off into space.  His smile was gone now and I knew by looking at the lines in his forehead that his mind had gone to a place with pain.

“My story is no movie, Justin–no video game.”

“Grandma Blia said one day you would tell me the story of your accident.  I know you can’t hear, Grandpa, but I will listen well!  You’ll only have to tell me once and I’ll remember; I promise.”

“Perhaps it is time, Justin, time for you to know.  I am growing old and my memory is fading.  What I tell you now, you must always remember and tell your own children someday.  Our road to America was not an easy one.  My story is your story.  It is your father’s story.  It is our people’s story.  We must always be thankful that God has led us here to America.

“To understand my accident, you must first understand more about me.  I was born long ago about a day’s walk from Phou Bia in the country of Laos.  Phou Bia is a beautiful mountain, Justin.  Phou means “mountain” in Laotian.  It’s over 9,000 feet tall and is the highest mountain in all of Laos.  Sometimes living here in Wisconsin, I feel so unsheltered, like I’m on top of the world and the wind will blow me right off!  When there’s a mountain always looking down at you, you somehow feel protected and watched over.  I grew up with Phou Bia watching over me.

“About 100 miles southwest of Phou Bia is the Capital of Laos-Vientiane, which we visited often.  My parents were born in China and moved to Laos before I was born.   I went to school in Laos everyday until I was 15.  Then I decided to join the Phatoo, the Laotian army, and I served for many years under the famous general, Vangpao.  At that time, our country, Laos, was at war with North Vietnam.  It was my job to guard the northern part of Laos and make sure the North Vietnamese didn’t invade our land.  Do you know about the Vietnam War, Justin?”

“I saw a movie about Vietnam once, with a lot of American helicopters and people in the jungle fighting!  Did you work with the Americans, Grandpa?”

“Yes and no.  The Americans came to us and asked us to help defeat the North Vietnamese, secretly.  I never saw a lot of Americans, but we usually had an advisor or two helping us to plan attacks and disrupt the North Vietnamese operations.”

“Did you ever get shot, Grandpa?  Did you ever see any real action?”

Grandpa Xeng didn’t answer a word.  He simply held up his left hand and pointed to a round scar the size of an acorn between his thumb and forefinger.  “A bullet went through my hand, right here,” he said. 

*****

“It was a hot and rainy evening in August, 1972.   I was on patrol near Phou Tong in northern Laos close to the Vietnamese border.  Our scouts had reported hearing some movement in the jungle about 300 yards from our base camp.  I was sent as a part of two patrols of 8 men each, to investigate the area. 

“Nighttime in the jungle is especially dangerous, Justin.  The enemy can be hiding in a bush right next to you and you can’t see them.  The only thing that helped us was that the North Vietnamese army wore yellow uniforms.  They stood out much easier against the jungle than did our own green uniforms, but the nighttime blends the colors.  Without sunlight, there is no color in the jungle.  All things appear in shades of gray and black, just shadows, dark and darker spots.  We were looking for the shapes of men, men holding rifles.

“Because our vision was so limited at night, our hearing became very good.  You may think that is funny now, Justin, but there was a time when I didn’t have to look at people’s lips to understand what they were saying.  When I stood still in the night, I could hear the breathing of my fellow soldiers many feet away.  If anyone or anything  made a sudden movement, even if it was nothing more than someone scratching his shoulder, I could hear it!  When you’re on patrol, you’re even more sensitive to sound because your life could depend on what you hear or what you don’t hear. 

“We spread out in a searching pattern that we often used. At first we could only hear the wind as it passed through the heavy jungle leaves.  Suddenly we heard a hissing sound above us! 

“Five of us pointed our rifles toward the sky and were ready to shoot at the slightest movement in the trees.  Without any warning, one of my friends, Meng, screamed as something fell on his bare arm and bit him!”

“What bit him, Grandpa?!” I asked.

“It was a Nanblong, a leaf snake.  They are about one meter long and an inch thick.  Nanblong are green and have red eyes, like a devil.  They have very sharp teeth and are extremely poisonous.  If you are bitten by one, you will become very hot with fever and after a few days in the steamy jungle, you will die.  There was no cure for their venom.

“After Meng was bitten, we saw many nanblong in the trees above us and their hissing sounded like many tires losing air.  With Meng groaning and the nanblong hissing, the North Vietnamese had a fix on us and opened fire.  Within seconds, the air was filled with the loud cracking of rifle fire and the pffffft of bullets slicing through the thick night air.  I fired in the direction of most of the rifle flashes until my rifle flew out of my hands and then I felt a burning in my left hand like someone was pushing a red hot stake into it.  I fell to the ground and grabbed my left hand with my right and felt hot liquid oozing through my fingers.  It looked like black water in the nighttime, Justin, but it only took a moment to realize it was my own blood.

“When the shooting finally stopped, we heard the North Vietnamese soldiers shouting insults and running away into the night.  We took a few more shots in their general direction and then cared for our wounded.  Five soldiers in my platoon of 20, five of my friends, lay dead in the tall, elephant grass.  I was one of the lucky ones.  I was only shot through my hand.  Meng made it through the firefight with the Viet Cong, that was the name of the North Vietnamese Army, but the fire of the nanblong in his veins took his life four days later.”

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.”

*****