he thought. If I did, it wasn't intentional. "You don't need to apologize for anything. I'm immensely proud of you," he said.
"I know you are, Pops. I see it--I know you are. Which is why I've been dodging talking to you about this. One, because there was so much going on with Mom, and two, well, because I just didn't know how you'd react."
Henry furrowed his brow; now he was worried. His mind checked off all the things his son could possibly tell him under these circumstances: He's on drugs. He's been kicked out of school. He's wrecked his car, joined a gang, committed a crime, going to jail, he's gay ...
"Dad, I'm engaged."
"To a girl?"
Henry asked the question in all seriousness. Marty laughed. "Of course to a girl."
"And you're scared to tell me this?" Henry searched his son for some meaning in
his face, his eyes, in his body language. "She's pregnant." Henry said it as more of a statement than a question. The way you'd say "We surrender" or "We lost in overtime."
"Dad! No. Nothing like that."
"Then why are we talking out here ..."
"Because she's inside, Pops. I want you to meet her."
Henry lit up. Sure, he was hiding a pang of hurt that this mystery girl had been kept a secret, but his son was busy, he was sure Marty had a reason.
"It's just that, well, I know how crazy your own folks were. I mean, they weren't just Chinese, they were super-Chinese, if you know what I mean. They were like ice cubes in America's melting pot, you know-- they had one way of seeing things." Marty struggled for the words. "And you know, you married Mom and did the whole traditional wedding thing. And you sent me to Chinese school, like your own old man did-- and you always talk about me finding a nice Chinese girl to settle down with, like Mom."
There was a pause, a moment of silence. Henry watched his son, waiting for him to continue. Nothing stirred but the shadows cast on the steps as the fir trees swayed in the slight breeze.
"I'm not like Yay Yay--not like your grandfather," Henry said, as he realized where this was going, stunned to be categorized in the same breath as his own father. He loved his father, deep down, what son doesn't? He'd only wanted the best for him. But after all Henry had gone through, all he'd seen and done, had he changed that little? Was he so much like his own father? He heard a click as the door opened behind them. A young woman poked her head out, then stepped out smiling. She had long blond hair, and cool blue eyes--the kind Henry called Irish eyes.
"You must be Marty's father! I can't believe you've been out here this whole time.
Marty, why didn't you say something?" Henry smiled and watched her look in surprise at his son, who looked nervous, as if caught doing something wrong.
Henry offered his hand to his future daughter-in-law.
She shone like a light. "I'm Samantha, I've been dying to meet you." She stepped past his hand and threw her arms around him. Henry patted her, trying to breathe, then gave in and hugged her back. Looking over her shoulder--smiling--Henry gave Marty a thumbs-up.
Urne
(1986)
In the backyard, Henry put on garden gloves and pruned dead limbs off an old plum tree--dotted with small green fruit used in Chinese wine.
The tree was as old as his son.
Marty and his fiancee sat on the back steps and watched while sipping iced green tea with ginger. Henry had tried making iced tea with Darjeeling or pekoe, but they always tasted too bitter, no matter how much sugar or honey he added.
"Marty told me this was some sort of a surprise, I hope I didn't completely ruin it-
-it's just that he's told me everything about you, and I've been dying to meet you."
"Oh, not much to tell, really," Henry said politely.
"Well, for starters, he told me that's your favorite tree," Samantha said, doing her best to fill the awkward silence between father and son, "and that you planted it when Marty was born."
Henry continued pruning, clipping off a twig with
"I know you are, Pops. I see it--I know you are. Which is why I've been dodging talking to you about this. One, because there was so much going on with Mom, and two, well, because I just didn't know how you'd react."
Henry furrowed his brow; now he was worried. His mind checked off all the things his son could possibly tell him under these circumstances: He's on drugs. He's been kicked out of school. He's wrecked his car, joined a gang, committed a crime, going to jail, he's gay ...
"Dad, I'm engaged."
"To a girl?"
Henry asked the question in all seriousness. Marty laughed. "Of course to a girl."
"And you're scared to tell me this?" Henry searched his son for some meaning in
his face, his eyes, in his body language. "She's pregnant." Henry said it as more of a statement than a question. The way you'd say "We surrender" or "We lost in overtime."
"Dad! No. Nothing like that."
"Then why are we talking out here ..."
"Because she's inside, Pops. I want you to meet her."
Henry lit up. Sure, he was hiding a pang of hurt that this mystery girl had been kept a secret, but his son was busy, he was sure Marty had a reason.
"It's just that, well, I know how crazy your own folks were. I mean, they weren't just Chinese, they were super-Chinese, if you know what I mean. They were like ice cubes in America's melting pot, you know-- they had one way of seeing things." Marty struggled for the words. "And you know, you married Mom and did the whole traditional wedding thing. And you sent me to Chinese school, like your own old man did-- and you always talk about me finding a nice Chinese girl to settle down with, like Mom."
There was a pause, a moment of silence. Henry watched his son, waiting for him to continue. Nothing stirred but the shadows cast on the steps as the fir trees swayed in the slight breeze.
"I'm not like Yay Yay--not like your grandfather," Henry said, as he realized where this was going, stunned to be categorized in the same breath as his own father. He loved his father, deep down, what son doesn't? He'd only wanted the best for him. But after all Henry had gone through, all he'd seen and done, had he changed that little? Was he so much like his own father? He heard a click as the door opened behind them. A young woman poked her head out, then stepped out smiling. She had long blond hair, and cool blue eyes--the kind Henry called Irish eyes.
"You must be Marty's father! I can't believe you've been out here this whole time.
Marty, why didn't you say something?" Henry smiled and watched her look in surprise at his son, who looked nervous, as if caught doing something wrong.
Henry offered his hand to his future daughter-in-law.
She shone like a light. "I'm Samantha, I've been dying to meet you." She stepped past his hand and threw her arms around him. Henry patted her, trying to breathe, then gave in and hugged her back. Looking over her shoulder--smiling--Henry gave Marty a thumbs-up.
Urne
(1986)
In the backyard, Henry put on garden gloves and pruned dead limbs off an old plum tree--dotted with small green fruit used in Chinese wine.
The tree was as old as his son.
Marty and his fiancee sat on the back steps and watched while sipping iced green tea with ginger. Henry had tried making iced tea with Darjeeling or pekoe, but they always tasted too bitter, no matter how much sugar or honey he added.
"Marty told me this was some sort of a surprise, I hope I didn't completely ruin it-
-it's just that he's told me everything about you, and I've been dying to meet you."
"Oh, not much to tell, really," Henry said politely.
"Well, for starters, he told me that's your favorite tree," Samantha said, doing her best to fill the awkward silence between father and son, "and that you planted it when Marty was born."
Henry continued pruning, clipping off a twig with
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