I work with a man named Trung. His American name is Thomas ("because it's easier to pronounce") but when I first met him, I made sure to ask him is real name. He speaks in chopped but still-understandable English... if you care to understand. And so, after a couple of attempts, I was able to say it just right. ("troong" with a clipped "t")
He came to this country about 25 years ago on a boat, just him and his five-year old daughter, leaving his wife behind. There wasn't enough money for all of them and the dangers ahead were too great to risk losing the whole family all at once if things didn't work out as planned. He quietly told me of one or two perilous events -- when it looked as though they wouldn't make it. But he had no fear. God was looking out for him and his Little One and, sure enough, he and his small daughter eventually found land. And a new home in America.
We shared a long lunch yesterday. After helping him learn a tedious program on the pc, I recommended that he perform it all over again by himself – to burn the process into his memory. "Oh no!" he said. "I don't have time." I nodded with understanding, and as he was logging off the computer and gathering his things, I left him behind and returned to my own work. Where he found me.
"Hey, teejay, you wanna join me for lunch?!"
My first thought was, "I thought you didn't have time", but I said, "sure. Why not." So we went and for the next three hours spoke of many things.
We spoke of our wives and of marriage. His love for his wife and for marriage itself spread over his face. In line with his culture, when marriage time came for him he was not allowed to go out and pick his wife as we do in America. His family had an intimate knowledge of, not just the girl they picked for him, but of her entire family at least one generation removed.
At first, Trung did not love her but in time he came to love her like no other. Yes, he still looks at beautiful women not his wife and is sometimes even tempted to leave his wife. "I'm not perfect!" he says in broken English. But he knows the consequences of such a lustful move. He loves his wife and takes immense pride in the 27-year-long relationship that is just getting started.
We spoke of our children and fatherhood. He spoke of the hatred each of his children had for him when they reached their middle teens – when his efforts to protect them and guide them through the perilous waters of their teens in a culture not their own were met with menace and scorn. "They seemed to think that all of my experiences since I was their age taught me nothing!" he laughed. "But their hatred of me hurt," he said, growing silent, remembering the pain.
"All you can do is make the best decisions you can for your children and hope things turn out for the best." I nodded... listening. Slowly their love for him returned even stronger than before, like the downward arc of the parabola that he drew in the air with his finger – tracing their love, then their hate, back to their love again. His children were lucky enough to have been given time to compare their lives and family with that of their cool American friends. And they have come to their senses. Now they understand Dad. "And they love me now" he beams. I nod a teary nod for him.
And we talked about god and religion. A devout Catholic, he is in divinity school and hopes that four years from now he will be a deacon in his Catholic church. As he continues down the road toward a more perfect form of godliness – studying hard, worshipping with his wife every morning at seven – he speaks of the small indignities he encounters regularly because of his English and his culture. "But I don't care!" he says, smiling from ear to ear. "I know who I am. I know what is in my heart."
He learned a bit of my history, culminating in what I perceive as a god that is either non-existent or indifferent to the human experience. "So, teejay... answer me one question. Yes or no: is there a Living God?"
"I don't know. Who can say for sure?"
He smiled, confidently thankful that there was yet hope for me. Without my realizing it, I was not like some for whom there was no hope. I was on a journey, he said, one that would one day ultimately culminate in a relationship with a heretofore-unknown deity. I have my doubts, I said. That's okay, he replied. God loves all of his children and he loves you, too.
I have a friend named Trung.