Phone conversation done, he turned to me, so I smiled and extended my hand, "Cho anh, tà i l ngdegreesa' i Via' "t Nam. Tà i l ba' n ca' a tha' ng ny."
Face blank, Thinh said nothing, so I continued, "Anh nà i tia' ng Via' "t 'degreesa' c cha' ?" Still nothing.
Laughing, I turned to Earl, "Yo man, this guy can't speak Vietnamese. He's probably not even Vietnamese!"
I said to Thinh, "Wow, man, you really can't speak Vietnamese. Don't you speak Vietnamese at home?"
"No, my wife is American."
Though we exchanged pleasantries, I could tell Thinh wasn't all that comfortable with me around. It's as if I was threatening to expose a hidden side of him. He couldn't afford to become another dude in front of his Scranton buddies. Leaving, I said to Earl in his car, "Man, that was weird. He's older than me. He should know Vietnamese."
"Yeah, he was in the war. He's shown me his bullet wounds. He also goes back to see him mom every two years. I don't know. He's a great guy, though. You want to hear something funny? One time, an insurance agent called to sell coverage for his workers, so he was polite and listened to her, but she went on and on. Finally, he said, 'Listen, lady, I only hire Mexicans, and they're all poor and on welfare, so they can't afford your insurance,' then he hung up!"
"That's pretty funny!"
"And Thinh doesn't even hire any Mexicans. Here's another one. He went back to Vietnam and bought his mom a propane tank, so she wouldn't have to burn wood for fuel. Two weeks later, he found out his mom wasn't using it, so he called her and said, 'Ma, I saw dad last night in a dream, and he was crying and crying. It's all that smoke from the wood you're burning!' So he got the old lady to use the propane tank at last. Isn't that clever?!"
With so many Poles, Irish, Italians, Ukrainians and, now, Mexicans, Scranton is filled with active churches. Across the street from the Lighthouse is St. Joseph Melkite Greek Catholic Church. Founded by Lebanese immigrants in the late 1890's, it still features Arabic hymns in its service. Last Sunday, I went to mass there with Chuck, and it was wonderful to see the joyful congregation, especially the well-dressed and angelic children.
The priest read a letter from the bishop. One sobering passage stood out, "Only six out of twelve Melkite churches in Aleppo, Syria are even open. Our Melkite bishops must provide food, rent, medicine, and even home rebuilding for these poor people. Because of your generous response to last year's Bishops Appeal, I was able to send $60,000 to five Melkite bishops in Syria to assist families devastated by the on-going conflict."
Later, the priest appealed to God to guide our president, senators and congressmen, that entire cabal of genocidal Satanists. Good Lord, I thought. As long as Americans, church-going or otherwise, keep voting for mass murderers, nothing will change.
That night, Sister Lindy Morelli made stuffed peppers for dinner, and of the five at the table, only I had a spouse. Middle-aged Lou and Scott had never married. Done with eating, Lindy sang "Ave Maria," "You'll Never Walk Alone" and, her favorite, Carole King's "You've Got a Friend."
"Ain't it good to know that you've got a friend / When people can be so cold / They'll hurt you, desert you / And take your soul if you let them, don't you let them."
Amen.
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