My mom is 59 and my dad is 63.
My dad fought in the Vietnam War and lost part of his thumb. He doesn’t like talking about it, so whenever I ask, he tells me a crab pulled it off, or that when I was a kid, I sucked it off. He would just tell me stories like that when I was younger so I wouldn’t know. But, He still doesn’t tell me the truth to this day.
My mom was a seamstress when she met my dad, like her mother. Her name literally means Thread in Vietnamese. She’s the youngest in her family.
The story goes that my dad had popped a button off his shirt so he went to the nearest sewing store he could find. He found the store that my mom was working in and she quickly sewed it back on. He was so enamored by my mother that he did it again the next week. And, I guess the rest is history.
My mom and dad came to America right after the Fall of Saigon. They went through a lot and I’m surprised they had the strength to go through it all. They gave me a lot and I really am proud to be their daughter despite all my moaning and groaning about them.