I am reminded of the sincerity of my father. I never doubted he always had the best intentions for his children. He was a private man named after Frank Sinatra and I remembered my dad had the coolest hair-do. Sort of that 1950's greased hair look with a very good hairline. Suave!
Even more impressive: he immigrated at 16 by himself to come to America. I remembered him telling a little bit of his childhood and how he ran away from the ravages of war and communism. My dad thought America was like Snapple, "The Best Stuff on Earth". It was truly the American dream for him. At 16, with no education he enrolled in school, got a job, worked his tail off and bought a house free and clear. Quite a simple life, but a productive one: three kids, college educated with good perspectives my dad had a lot to be proud of. Every time he bought a car it was cash. He had a simple investment principle for me: 70/30. What you make save 70% and spend 30% on whatever you wish.
That always didn't work out: my dad bought his share of American cars that made Americana wince: a pink Cadillac, a green Pinto, a lime-green Nova, and white Buick Skylark. He finally had enough of America's awkward years of cars and settled on a Toyota Camry. He never had any problems with the Camry, but my dad was still full of nostalgia towards American cars, especially Cadillacs - I think I would have loved to see him driving a Caddy.
As a husband my dad treated my mother well. They had their moments of debates, but he was faithful and devoted to her.
He wasn't the romantic, but I never doubted his love for my mom. Never did I see my dad raise a hand to my mom and he always warned me, "Never disrespect another man's daughter."
As a father one memory of my dad struck me: I was a bad kid, and did something wrong one evening (which in my youth wasn't a surprise- I think my parents thought I came from the devil's lair). I would lie, cheat, steal and did everything I could to get whatever I want.
One evening on a summer day, I was disciplined and walked to my room sulking and sat by my window still staring at the house's backyard. I was moping, but confused my dad would discipline me. The anger, hurt of disappointment painted in his eyes made me sad I retreated to my bedroom. I think my dad thought I spent too much time by myself and he walked in and sat next to me. In that day, my dad had the biceps and he looked big compared to me as a child. He spoke softly to me, "You know why I disciplined you? It's not because I'm angry with you, I love you."
I sat silently and my father spoke, "...were you right in this?" I shook my head, I knew I was wrong.
Then he wrapped his arms around me, "The discipline was THEN, and now it's past. I still love you." He ran his fingers through my dark black hair, and smiled.
That was my dad. Simple old-fashioned values.
My love for America came from my dad bleeding 'red, white and blue'. He knew what living without freedom meant and he always said, "America is not perfect, but I wouldn't want to live anywhere else."
He adapted quickly to American culture: we watched the Celtics and 49ers (ironic considering we were Californians). To this day, my friends are absolutely bewildered why I watch the Celtics. My dad loved rooting against the Lakers - imagine that!
My constant enthusiasm for this country was from my dad. My dad's work ethic made an impression on me, but the man I am today is because of my dad. My dad's values were of a nobler age.
I love you dad, you will be missed. If anything I regret: I wish I could have placed a grandson into your lap and look into your eyes and say, "Don't worry, the Wong sonship line will continue...even with Celtic pride."