Childhood Part I

Growing up, my daddy was the only parental figure I had, after my mom passed away when I was a young toddler. Although, I didn't have the maternal love that most children my age would have, my dad represented both of my parental figures in my life. After my mom passed away from the unprofessional and uneducated hands of the medical surgeons in Vietnam after operating a surgery on her to treat the brain tumor, my family decided to immigrant to America.

When we first came to America, my dad and I moved to California to live, while my three sisters stayed in Texas with our aunt and uncle.  I didn't like staying in California with my relatives because my cousin was always playing tricks on me. I remembered once he poured water in my only pair of tennis shoes, and my dad was very mad, but he couldn't reprimand my cousin for his actions. My dad had to clean and air dry my tennis shoes for me,so I can wear it to school the next day.

All of our relatives always seemed to criticize my family ever since we immigrant to America. After living in California for about a year and a half, my dad and I moved back to Texas. My oldest aunt had built an extension to her house, creating a duplex like style for my family to live. Our own little space was pretty nice, with the exception that my aunt and uncle being a little controlling sometimes. This little extension had two average sized rooms, a small kitchenette, and a living room revamped from an unused garage. My dad stayed in the outer room, and my sisters and I stayed in the inner room. We used the hallway to place a mini breakfast table. Although this extension of the house was not ours, I am very grateful for my oldest aunt for spending $20k to build this area for us. Without her, we wouldn't have a nice place to live. I didn't understand this when I was little, but living with my relatives was not very cozy. Co depending on them gave them easier access to ask my dad to house work like mowing the lawn, picking persimmon, or other garden work. I didn't like seeing my dad mowed the lawn, or do the house chores when he was an old man.

I remembered once around midnight when my dad was driving home from work, he was being pulled over by these two so called police officers in front of our house. The officers made the assumption that my dad was using cocaine or other illegal drugs, which was impossible! My dad obediently listened to their orders, and stepped out the car, showing them his lunch box was not any bag of drug. For no reason and no explanation, those officers pushed my poor and English illiterate dad down on the ground. They started to use their sticks to violently hit my dad, who was yelling for help. He knew barely any English to explain that he didn't carry any drugs or to understand what they were trying to do. The officers were unprofessional, unethical, abusive, reckless, and corrupted. My uncle finally came out to stop the hitting caused by the officers alone, but he did not raise any legal entanglements or questions to the justice system. If my family would have known more about the legal system here in America, we would have pursue to sue those two officers and seek for justice and revenge for my dad. Once my dad came in the house, I heard him talking with my grandma, and I peeked through the door. I saw bruises all over my dad's arms as my grandma was rubbing medicated oil on him. When I saw my dad all bruised and battered, I was very sad and I wished there was something I could have done to help him.  Up until today, I still hold a strong prejudice against officers. If I knew who those officers were, I would want them prosecuted, and pay for the consequences of violently hurting an old man who can't understand English.