It was a calm, windy afternoon. I sat on a couch behind a gentleman I call ‘Ba’ – the Southern Vietnamese word for Dad. We were at our local bank, taking care of some paperwork. Since we needed to stay in a queue due to COVID-19 precautions, we had to maintain some distance from each other, which gave me a rare chance to watch my dad from a short distance.
I’ve often seen my dad’s back, but today something felt different. It reminded me of when he’d ride my sister and me to school on his Honda 67. I’d lean forward, trying to peek over his shoulders at the streets. It feels like it was just yesterday, but now, I noticed his hair had turned grey, while everything else – his shoulders, his posture – remained the same. Time moves quietly, until moments like this make you feel it. But those shoulders still bring me the same comfort and peace.
My dad is 70 now, retired but never idle. He keeps himself busy with his small farm in Long An, about 40 kilometers from home. There, he raises chickens and tends to fruit trees. Every time he visits, he brings home a bounty of fresh produce – plums, guavas, papayas, jackfruits, grapefruits, and coconuts. Sometimes, it’s chicken eggs or even fresh meat. As much as he loves farming, we love eating the fruits of his labor.
As I sit here, watching my dad, I realize how much he’s shaped who I am, even without us needing to say much. In our culture, we don’t always express our feelings, but there’s an understanding between us that doesn’t need words. I’m grateful for all the quiet ways he’s been there for me – supporting my career choices, offering his care through actions, not just words. The older I get, the more I see how these small, everyday moments hold so much meaning. I may not always express it, but I’m proud of him.
