Just knowing her makes me proud somehow.

Minh Tran always smiles. We met her almost a year ago, when she waited on our table at the restaurant where she works. Along with our bill, she presented us with small origami figures, folded paper cranes and turtles, which she made during break times, just for her customers. But more, she presented us with her smile and her friendship, both immediate and endearingly spontaneous.

Minh usually works the evening shift because she still attends Central High School during the day. She works until ten or eleven at night, she says so she can “do her little part” for her family. It was five years ago that her father died, leaving his wife and eight children. Minh was only eight years old when they came to America from Viet Nam. She couldn’t speak English, but she did start school and she did her best. Now, she’s a Senior, and soon to be the Valedictorian of her graduating class. She intends to go to the University of Texas next fall, perhaps to become a pharmacist.

Of course, our friendship is only casual, but I’ll miss her when she goes off to college. I’ll miss her smile, but more I’ll miss her youth, her optimism and enthusiasm as she goes off into her future. And I’m sure that wherever she is, and whatever she does, she’ll still be doing “her little part” for her family, for her adopted country, for us all.

Makes me proud somehow, just knowing her.

-- Lon (lgal@exp.net), January 29, 2003

Answers

Wow, Lon, you've done it again - got me all teary eyed. Good for Minh for being who she is, and good for you for noticing!

-- Tricia the Canuck (jayles@telusplanet.net), January 29, 2003.

What a neat girl! My daughter is at UT. She really likes it. Nice to see you posting Lon. How is your brother? Kit?

-- Gayla (privacy@please.com), January 30, 2003.

{{{Lon}}}

-- helen (glad@to.see.you), January 31, 2003.

I'm attending a conference on church leadership this weekend, and one of the early options was a day long creative writing seminar. Our speaker was Phil Callaway - a good writer and even better speaker. One of the exercises that he had us do was to first remember, as clearly as possible, a happy occasion in our lives. Then he had us draw a picture of it (he encouraged those of us who are pathetic at art to just do stick men pictures). *Then* he had us write about the memory. This is what I wrote - at least somewhat it's a tribute to how much I've enjoyed all Lon's postcards and the people I've met through them.

.

The sun was warm as I ran. The red earth and the large green coffee bushes were aromatic in the warm air. Ahead, my best friend caught sight of me coming to her house and ran out to greet me - smiling and laughing and calling out my name. She was smart, pretty and popular and although she often told me how special she thought I was, I never did understand how she could like me so much. I still have the notes she sent me that told me how much she cared. Somehow she never believed me when I told her how lovely she was. She had gorgeous black hair and soft brown eyes that reflected her kindness to the world. She was tall, slender and gracefully lithe and had a warmth of personality that caused others to blossom in her presence. We've lost touch over the years, yet I still thank God for the gifts He bestowed through her friendship and I pray for her well-being.

-- Tricia the Canuck (jayles@telusplanet.net), February 01, 2003.

Tricia, you are really getting good at this. I once heard someone (an author) say that writing was a skill; it must be learned, practiced daily to perfect. I'm glad to have watched your skill grow for a couple of years now. Keep it up.

And thanks for the great compliment. I really hope that readers can "meet" people or see places thru my writing. I just posted one of the most difficult snapshots I've ever written. I think that is what forces us to get better.

-- Lon (lgal@exp.net), February 01, 2003.

Every Friday I eat lunch at the same Mom and Pop restaurant. My server is always Claudia (pronounced Cloudia) who is a college student at Butler U. She is from Monterrey MX. Her mom is from Spain and her father (dead) was from Japan.

Claudia is a Eurasian-lovely and her personalized warm smile and playfulness makes Friday a favorite day. I gave her a Christmas card that had a picture of me and my family on it. Claudia went home to Monterrey for two weeks at Christmas. When she got back she told me that she had shown my card to her mom and brother.

That was one of my best gifts.

-- (lars@indy.net), February 01, 2003.

Lon, thanks for your words of encouragement. They mean even more coming from someone with as much talent as you've repeatedly shown us! I haven't yet tried to write a postcard or other piece about some of my blacker moments, but when I do, I hope to move people as you have.

Lars, thanks for sharing a vignette of your life. Having been a waitress, I'd bet you're a favorite customer - one the waitresses squabble over who gets to serve you. With your description of Claudia, I can see her pretty smile from here in Canada :-)

-- Tricia the Canuck (jayles@telusplanet.ent), February 02, 2003.

I appreciate your kind words, Tricia. I tip pretty good too.

There is something about how a much older man can feel about a young woman, not any young woman, but someone with a "je ne sais quoi", that evokes a feeling of protective generosity. I just want the best for her. I know, "there's no fool like an old fool" but Claudia "makes me proud somehow, just knowing her.

-- (lars@indy.net), February 02, 2003.

I agree completely, Lars. Not having any daughters of my own to spoil, I have always been an easy mark for a pretty young smile, but expecially so, now that I'm just a toothless old dog of a grandfather type. Now, girls like Minh will actually start a conversation with me (oh, the inequities of age!).

Also, having been a waiter for several of my young years, I am an abnormally good tipper, especially to young people who give cheerful service. And if one should stop a minute to talk to Kit, well, they certainly are rewarded.

I like to think that they will have to make a special "weeping waitress" section at my funeral. :-)

-- Lon (lgal@exp.net), February 02, 2003.

I've been a waitress for years. The special customers aren't always the old guys. :)

The special ones look you in the eye and actually speak to you. They make you feel like they notice you're a unique human being. And you'll move mountains for them in return.

-- helen (invisible@to.most), February 02, 2003.

Hmmmmn.

Uhm, helen, what about us younger guys who don't care what you serve 'em?

You know, the order with "Some kind of food. Lots of it...... And a cup of coffee."

-- Robert A. Cook, PE (cook.r@watchLondrinking.glug), February 02, 2003.

Well, Robert, are you making eye contact? >;)

( o Y o )

-- helen (uh@huh.yup), February 02, 2003.

Remembering to make eye contact with helens' (*)(*), Robert nods his head up and down
up and down
up and down
up and down
up and down
up and down
up and down
up and down
up and down
up and down
up and down
up and down
up and down
up and down
up and down
up and down
up and down
up and down
up and down

-- Robert A. Cook, PE (cook.r@watchLondrinking.glug), February 04, 2003.