I only have one photo with my grandfather. He is the man standing behind me wearing a blue shirt; I'm the little girl with faux pigtails. My grandfather and grandmother did not leave Laos. They stayed behind. After what seems to be an eternity of boat rides and safe houses my family and I finally arrived at Napho Refugee Camp in Thailand and settled into our “new home”. A few months into our stay I was awaken from my sleep one night. Many attempts were made to see who had waken me at this hour; no one around… or so I thought. Suddenly something caught my attention, there at our front door was my grandfather. His somber expression brought great sadness, so real the image forever etched into my memory bank. Alarmed by my experience I woke my father, who was unable to see what I had just witnessed at age of five. Shortly after my experience, our family learned of my grandfather’s passing.
Read MoreOne of our host families, we called Mr. and Mrs. D for short, with the inflection of dee, which in Lao, means good. Can’t really say enough about them and their kindness and generosity, people who sponsored and supported a family they’d never met before, and definitely took a gamble on how we would turn out. We spent so many good days and summers there, at their house in front of the lake. Mrs. D would call me her “Monday Grandson,” as she would take me to the local art center and restaurants while my mother was taking weaving classes or at the hospital. Somewhat embarassing but true, she can still recall the difficulty of showing me as a little boy how to use the toilet, and not always sit Indian style everywhere.
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