Poor & Loving or Rich & Heartless?

Yeah I guess I do go off on rants a lot. But to me, a blog is a collection for your memoirs in which you will write on your deathbed at age 83. Who would read it? I guess my great grandchildren.

I was putting up christmas lights today with my mom. I took us a while to put together our fake pine tree. But I guess doing things with your family makes you learn more about your family, right? So, I asked my mom if putting up wreathes and presents under a tree is solely some American tradition or did she do it too as a kid?

She said, "Of course! My dad and I chopped down pine trees in the backyard"

Grandpa with an axe? And pine trees in Vietnam? My mom said the trees were not indigenous but planted by the french during colonial times. I was pretty amazed more at the fact that my now deceased grandpa was that strong and willful to be a lumberjack. But I was jealous at the fact that my mom got to celebrate with a real tree in the home. For the last 23 years of my life, it's been the same old plastic and metal tree. My mom revealed that my grandpa was really strong and active. He was one of the fastest swimmers in his community. Then I remembered from old black and white photos, that indeedy, he was quite built with a six pack.

More intrigued about my mother's childhood, I asked her, "So your hometown was much like Oregon?"

I was damn proud that my mom got to live that outdoorsy life and that not all parts of Vietnam are tropical. She lived in a cabin home, it was cold, there were mountains, and she ran around the forest with her three dogs. Soccor was her sport and she got dirty in the mud. However, I was saddened as I realized that my mom's side of the family was completely the opposite of my dad's side.

My dad's family was all aristocratic, posh, and snooty. They were city people with servants and limos. My dad hated animals, even dogs. He hated the smell of pine trees. He ate out every single day. He got motorcycles and cars on his birthday. Enjoying cigars with friends, drinking coffee in porcelein cups, and and listening to Sinatra was the life. (My mom was actually into The Rolling Stones, The Zombies, etc.)

To this day, I have no idea why my brothers and I are here. Two different classes and two different lifestyles somehow worked out. Although, I must agree that I am much more comfortable hanging out with my mom's side of the family than my dad's. It basically comes down to being either formal or comfortable (fake or down-to-earth) (prejudice or friendly) (traditional or american). I could go on and on about how different each side is but that would take up the whole page. I just know that as a kid and even now, I always wished it was just my mom's side in my life. I'd be much more psychologically sound. Most if not all of my trauma is from my dad's side... We'd be poorer but that's freakin' okay with me. I'd rather be happy and healthy. When I was ten, I used to imagine that I'd go back in time and stop my mom from marrying my dad even if my arm would start vanishing like in Back to the Future.

Tonight, I watched a Simpsons episode parodying The Prince and Pauper. Irony.


(The most shocking historical fact I found out about my family is that my dad's dad had many servants. But there was one story of a particular servant that made my jaws drop. Grandpa always came home to his mansion and walked upstairs with his nice italian shoes on. But he wouldn't take them off. Instead he rang a bell and moments later, a servant boy came to untie them.)