THANK YOU, AMERICA “Hurry up, Crystal!” Rachel yelled.“I am coming,” I replied.I went quickly to the next room where my co-workers and my boss were gathered around the dining table. A beautiful autumn leaves table cloth was placed under the Thanksgiving dishes: turkey slices, mash potatoes, sweet corn, vegetables, chopped salad, pumpkin pie and apple pie. The center piece was a large ring made up of silk flowers, autumn leaves and fruit. A lit candle was placed in the center of the wreath. “Would you like to say a prayer?” Angela asked John.He smiled and kindly replied, “No.”She then asked Christopher to say a prayer, but, he too refused. Therefore, I suggested: “Whoever would like to say a prayer, please come forward.” Ruben, a tall, dark complexioned man with a deep voice, spoke: “Dear Lord: We give thanks for the food we are about to have. We give thanks for allowing us to share with friends. We ask that you watch over the men and women in the military that are away from their families. We ask this in your name. Amen.” After he prayed, everyone proceeded to the table to get food. I was busy taking pictures of the food and everyone. A week previously I suggested to my unit members that they contribute money to buy food for our lunch time Thanksgiving celebration. I explained to everyone that the main reason I wanted to celebrate on the last day of the working week is because I wanted everyone to feel that we are a family who’d love to share this big holiday together. After all we are really a big family here because we spend more time for each other than our own family. I also asked my co-workers if it were all right to invite our next door unit in joining us. There are twelve of us in the unit, but only four of them. I jokingly said that they are our “adopted family”. Ruben is one of them.After we got our food, Ruben and I sat next to each other and chatted. He thanked me for inviting him to join on this big celebration. As I listened to him talk, I flashed back 20-years in the past to Thanksgiving, 1989. I was boarding at Los Angeles Job Corps. It was quieter than usual because most students had returned home on Thanksgiving weekend. Only a few people were there. Nevertheless, the people in charge of the school made us feel at home with a sense of intimacy and coziness. During the serving time, I got in line to get food. As I proceeded to the server, she greeted me with a warm smile and placed a piece of brittle-brown turkey, plus mash potatoes, sweet corn, vegetables and bread on my plate. There was a turkey carved from a large block of ice. Each drop of water dripped down slowly so as to placate the lonely heart of a young lady who had left her family and friends behind on the other side of the globe. I sat down at a long table to eat and thank the American people who have given me a place to call home.I came to the United States in 1986 as a refugee with my big brother. We lived with my aunt’s family. My cousins and I were very close back in Vietnam, but I felt so distant with them when I came here. They arrived in the U.S. five years before I did. At home they only spoke English, a language which was very alien to me at the time. Not only did we not speak the same language, but we also had a much different outlook about life. They were more Americanized. I had just arrived here, but my heart and soul were left behind in Vietnam. I lived in my aunt’s home for a couple of years. I felt a need to move out on my own, but I did not have job skills, a car, money, or a complete education. Later, I found out from a school friend that Los Angeles Job Corps would take in any poor children from 16-24 years of age for free boarding, education and food. I called the school and enrolled. Luckily, I was approved.That night I sat in the patio waiting for my aunt to come home from work. I told her that I had found a new place to live. She wasn’t happy about it. She called and told her brothers and sisters that my leaving her house was my sole decision. My aunt’s husband said loudly to the family: “Just let her go. If she does not know how to take care of herself, she would be doomed for life!” That night I couldn’t sleep thinking what would it be living in a new environment. The following morning I left my aunt’s house with a gym bag containing a few outfits and some pictures of my family. My other uncle dropped me off at the L.A. Job Corps. He gave me a twenty-dollar bill and told me to take good care of myself. Los Angeles Job Corps is located on Broadway and 11th street. It is an old building with a red-brick color thirteen stories high. Floors nine to thirteen are for students residing there. Each gender lives separately. I lived on the 11th floor with two roommates of different races. Each of us had our own bed. Every school day, we had to leave our rooms before eight o’clock with our beds made and rooms cleaned, otherwise, we would lose our privileges to go out on weekends. I took English as Second Language courses and passed the General Education Development certificate which is equivalent to the high school diploma. I also learned some secretarial skills. The first month that I was there, an earthquake shook the building very hard in the middle of the night. My floor mates and roommates prayed and cried, but I didn’t fear for my life at all. After the quake we all walked down to the parking structure outside the building. We stood there almost an hour in the chilly winter night air. It was then that I felt the pain of being homeless. I had the desire later in my life that I would help people who are less fortunate and without a place to call home. There were days I felt very lonely and extremely homesick. I often wrote my feelings down on a piece of paper. I cried a lot while reading my diary and that was how I rocked myself to sleep at nights. Sometimes I shared my thoughts with my counselor. I still remember her name was Ms. Davis. She was an African America woman with a beautiful smile. She spoke to me with her soft voice as if to ease my lonely soul. She always paid close attention to the words I said and she always expressed deep concern as a mother would for her child.For two years I lived with different races. I was grateful for the people who worked there. They treated me as if I was a part of their family. I did not see their skin color as different from mine. I only saw their beautiful hearts and their passion to help me and other unfortunate children. Los Angeles Job Corps is a place I grew to love. They were like my second family. Thank You, America. Thank You for your beautiful hearts. Crystal H. Vo Thanksgiving 2009 California
Posted on: Fri, 17 Oct 2014 03:40:50 +0000
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