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Photos courtesy of Phuong Nguyen Cotey

F, ~

W EWALKED ARM-IN-ARM through thebustling Hanoi market.

Rows ofvendors selling tea leavesoffered samples in tiny ceramic cups.It was mid-morning and the streetsof the capital city of Vietnam werealready crowded with shopperssnatching up fresh ingredients for theday’s dinner.

It was the summer of 2000 andI had returned to Vietnam for thefirst time since fleeing my war-tornhomeland with my family 25 yearsearlier. I was only 2 years old then, soI had no memory of my birth countryand no relationship with relatives leftbehind.

That morning, as I shopped with ayounger cousin, she asked me questionsabout my life in America. She leaned inand whispered so softly. her voice wasbarely audible over the roar of passingmopeds.

“Is it true:’ she asked inVietnamese, “that all roads in Americaare paved with gold?”

I laughed out loud. I grew upin Florida, where potholes rattle mycar; where there are riches, but also

pockets of poverty and homelessness,unemployment and sickness.

“Nonsense,” I answered back inVietnamese. “Life is tough in America,too. People work very hard to build agood life for themselves.”

My parents were no exception. Wearrived in America as refugees in 1975,settling first in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.At that time, Lancaster was amongseveral communities across the countryto erect tent cities, which served astemporary housing for the mass exodusof emigres from Vietnam.

With help from a sponsor familyand their church, my father immediatelytook a blue-collar job and enrolled inschool. In 1978, he graduated fromPenn State University with a computerscience degree and moved the family toFlorida where the warm climate had alsolured other expatriates.

My father worked as a computerprogrammer and my mother assembledsmall electronic parts in a factory. Theybought a tiny, three-bedroom, one-bath home to raise their five children,They had no savings and spent eachpaycheck on food, clothing, and whatthey considered basic necessities music

Author Phuong Nguyen Cotey, at right, poses with herfriend of 30 years, Amanda Hay LoPresti.

lessons to enrich our lives and braces tostraighten our teeth.

I spoke no English when I startedkindergarten, but I picked it up quickly.Some of it! gleaned from my mother,who struggled to learn the language.In second grade, when the teacherasked for words that began with theletter “A:’ I proudly answered: “al.cah

Amanda always wore the lateststyles: Coca-Cola shirts and Member’sOnly jackets, stirrup pants and UNITSbelts. She tabbed her jeans at theankle and adorned her wrists withjelly bracelets. Meanwhile, I wore thesame pair of pin-stripe pants to schoolevery day. Despite being a head taller,she would loan me her clothes. I stillremember my favorite outfit in seventhgrade: an oversized sweatshirt withdifferent colored lips on it, paired withbright green balloon pants.

One Christmas, she received ahard-to-find (and signed!) CabbagePatch doll from her parents. My parentsgave my three brothers and sister andme much-needed bath towels.

Many Friday nights, I went toa church youth group with Amandaand her family. Sunday mornings, theypicked me up for services. Some Sundayafternoons, I accompanied my parentsto the Buddhist temple where weburned incense, chanted, and prayed.And every Saturday morning, foryears, we attended Vietnamese school.In the ‘80s, much like today, Florida’sVietnamese population was spreadout across the state. But a handful offamilies who lived in the Tampa Bayarea pooled their money together tohire a teacher to instruct their childrenhow to read and write in Vietnamese.They became our social circle. At dinnerparties. the parents compared theirchildren’s grade point averages and SAT

scores. Did you hear about Mr. Hung’stwins? Co-Salutatorians. How abourMr. Ha’s son? Medical school.

To them, education was the keyto success. It didn’t matter what elsewe did with our time, as long as webrought home all As. My siblings andI conspired to present our report cardsonly when we all had good marks. Ifone of us had a “B:’ we waited until thenext grading period to reassess. Once,three quarters went by and my motherwondered aloud why she hadn’t seenour grades in awhile. We just shruggedour shoulders. It’s not like she could callup the school. She spoke no English.

Because my mother worked in afactory with other Vietnamese women,she didn’t have an opportunity to learnthe language. She took English languageclasses at night, but she had a seventh-grade education. Learning anotherlanguage in adulthood while workingand raising five children was difficult.

It was fun for us. My siblings andI discussed our lives freely in frontof my mother. “Don’t tell mom:’ mybrothers would say at the dinner tablein rapid English. “but we’re going outtonight.” My mother just continuedeating her rice.

But my parents kept a tight fistaround us, constantly lecturing us aboutour studies. College was not an option.It was an expectation. They told usstories about our cousins in Vietnamwho were hungry, lived in huts and

a~~CULTURESBy PHUONG NGUYEN COTEY

Water lilies found near a bridge delight Phuong, right, and her sister.The Nguyen children pose under a giant tree in a Florida park.

hawn.” My classmates snickered. That washow my mother, with her heavy accent,pronounced rubbing “alcohol” at home.

The language barrier kept myparents in the dark about many thingsoutside the home. They did not knowwhen report cards were distributed andnever attended a single conference witha teacher. They were unable to help

Wearing a red ao dai, the traditional Vietnamese dress,Phuong dances at an Asian Pacific American HeritageFestival in St. Petersburg.

us with our English homework andscience projects. As long as they saw usstudying. they were content.

In second grade, my mother didhear from a friend about a programcalled Girl Scouts. It sounded likea good activity to her. That year, Ihappened to be friends with a girlnamed Amanda, who, over the nextdecade, would introduce Americanculture, including Girl Scouts, into myvery Vietnamese life.

Ii

Phuong and her older sister on the day of Their fathers 1978graduation from Penn State University.

The Nguyen family at a Vietnamese New Year festival in 1981 atthe University of South Florida.

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Brutal winters in Pennsylvania chased tOne Nguyen family to Florida in 1979. Phuong receives a trophy for her winning sixth-grade essay: “What freedom meansto me.’ The competition was sponsored by Hillsborougln County Rotary Clubs.

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