Every three years, the Dong Hanh family, a Vietnamese Christian Life Community, gathers at the De Paul center in Montibello, California. Though the intricacies of the organization of Dong Hanh still elude me, I DO understand that my parents have dragged me monthly to a prayer group since before I can remember. As it turns out, some of my closest friends have grown out of this family prayer group, and as I write this, I am waiting for them to call me so I can drive back to Northern California with them. The years have not been able to break down our friendships.
And yet, when we think we have found our particular group of friends, just when we think we have found the ones that will stay with us and no one else could possibly offer similarly, we are proven wrong. We know nothing of the workings of the world or our destinies and paths of life. We are forever oblivious, naturally, of our future, bound only by our knowledge of our past and the continuing confusion of our present. Still, we have no choice, and we leave ourselves open to both pleasant surprises and painful risks.
Dong Hanh is the Vietnamese equivalent of a Christian Life Community, an organization of prayer groups that consists of thousands of Vietnamese across the United States and Canada. Every member of Dong Hanh shares a common heritage, but more importantly, shares a common faith. My mom grew up with many members of the Dong Hanh family so as expected, I was born with a strong Vietnamese Catholic mentality. When we moved from my birthplace in Worcester, Massachusetts to sunny San Jose, California, my family quickly established a Dong Hanh group, consisting of four or five families (possibly more, my memory stretches not that far), from which I would significantly derive my Biblical and social understanding (or lack thereof for all you comedians out there).
At first, these monthly meetings were a chore, forcing me to read and understand a text that was beyond my scope. In addition, these meetings were fearsome and intimidating, since I had little knowledge of the Vietnamese language. The language of my parents and their friends was one of subtle inflections and immense vocabulary. English itself was difficult to learn in school, but I was now forced to learn a second language simply to keep up with my parents. Fuck, I mean, screw that.
But as much as I wanted to run away from the Vietnamese in a different way than my parents ran away, I could not escape the inevitable, the unchangeable. Years of Vietnamese catechism, toiling away in classrooms every Saturday afternoon for years, thrust me constantly into a Vietnamese awareness for which I would eventually thank my parents, no matter how much I begged and complained and screamed to escape. Every Saturday afternoon captured the epitome of hell for me: A tender dose of Catholic teaching followed mercilessly by a whopping serving of Vietnamese grammar. For seven years I was tortured until I saw the light, both literally and spiritually I guess, in the seventh grade when I was confirmed into my Catholic faith.
I had finished Vietnamese school, as we called it, even though I had not learned an ounce of Vietnamese. However, I was definitely exposed to Bible and that has influenced me very strongly in my knowledge today.
My life story aside, I am Vietnamese. The Vietnamese Christian Life Community, or Dong Hanh, group to which my family adhered was called simply “Family Group.” I would learn later that Dong Hanh groups across the country would have much cooler names, but I’m not writing to complain about my obvious jealousy. I’m here to relate a recent experience I had.
Every three years, the National Dong Hanh convention gathers. Vietnamese Catholics form all over the nation convene to organize the next three years of national CLC events and all that crap (like I said, the Dong Hanh organization still eludes me…).
Three years ago, my family decided to join them. As a matter of fact, my parents had already been to the national convention a few times, as made evident by their semi-obnoxious shirts riddled with Biblical verses in both English and Vietnamese. This time however, in the blasé winter of 2005, as the years wound down, ready for the slick ’06, we spent our time in Southern California.
My brother and I had developed a certain attitude for things my parents wanted to do that was related to Church. As antagonistic as we were, however, mommy and daddy won out, and we abandoned all plans in order to follow our parents into the unknown darkness that was Dong Hanh.
We had the time of our lives. There was not much of a Youth Ministry in Dong Hanh at this time, so the kids were generally left to their own devices. Sensing this, I found anyone I could who was around my age or my brother’s age and we just played. We did everything together, sharing meals and losing sleep. Our parents were off to do their own thing, so we had no other choice but to enjoy our strangely acquired freedom. I met kids from all over, Han and Francis from Montreal, Stephanie from Maryland (I think), Linh, An and Tam from New Jersey, Savio from Arizona, Mark from somewhere in SoCal, Steve from UC Irvine, Paulina from New Orleans and fresh from Hurricane Katrina and a crapload of others. We owned Dong Hanh, and they didn’t even know it. There was no way they could have had as much fun as were having at that moment.
And when it was time to leave, we were all extremely happy with the new friends we made and were sure we’d have a life experience that would be unforgettable. My brother Matt claims we made a promise to come back in three years, but I don’t remember that.
But three years came. The rather sultry winter of ’08 bled slowly into ’09 and once again, Matt and I found ourselves unsure whether we wanted to go or not. Some of the people we met last time weren’t going to make it, so what was the point. Plus, there was no way it could have been the same as last time, right?
Right. There was no way it could have been the same. It was different this year, and in many ways, much more awesome. All the beauty we captured as a small group three years ago was magnified a hundred times fold. Simply by virtue of a greater population of youth, we were able to find a greater ability to enjoy ourselves.
Familiar faces made themselves apparent immediately, as Han and Francis smiled from Canada and Linh, An and Tam made themselves known.
“Andrew, do you remember our names?” An and Linh asked me.
“Linh and…”
“An,” my brother whispered, out of hearing from the two sisters.
“An,” I finished emphatically.
“Oh, damn,” An replied, evidently impressed. Matt saved my ass many times more afterward.
I then found myself tying bows onto index cards with people’s names on them. I had no idea why I was doing it, but Tam had asked me, and I had followed. There were people with matching red T-shirts walking around, apparently part of a group to which I had not yet been introduced, but I kept my head low, tying and curling the pretty bows…And yes, I lost man points.
That night, we all introduced ourselves, and obviously, I remembered no names. The names tags did not help either, since after that first night, few people wore them. But a night of games and fun forced me into slumber around midnight. Those of you reading this may realize that midnight is early for me. While this may be true, those of you who are reading this may also realize that I pull all-nighters more often than is healthy for the normal human being. It was the night after one of these notorious all-nighters that I had stayed up to meet all these new people. I was tired as hell.
From midnight, I woke up 18 hours later around 6PM, just in time to make it to the evening mass. I had spent little to no time getting to know my new friends, but I reasoned that I would eventually have time to get to know them better.
What transpired over the next few days, I cannot explain. I can only relate the hundreds of thousands of stories and inside jokes that were made, but even if I did so, it would not do the reality justice. All I can say is that there will be few jokes better than the ones to which I laughed this last week, few friends better than the ones I have made, and few experiences greater than the ones I have shared.
And for sure, there will be no love more profound than the love I gave and received. For in trying to avoid God as much as possible before this week and my entire life, I only found Him more true and ringing in my heart and soul through myself and through my friends.
No matter how much you try to avoid things, they will always catch up to you. As I have found, those that do find you and make a lasting impact are always worth it.
For example, dodging two shoes from a thrower born in Syria, with the owner of the shoes born in Afghanistan (both Peach Territories) would be ideal in securing oil lines and surrounding larger markets like ever-friendly state of Iran. Such manipulation of international real estate is a valuable and viable alternative to the spiraling housing market of America. Bush thus has made progress.