Grandmother Chung sits on her wicker throne.
Her glare makes people clear the streets. Nobody messes with Grandmother Chung—not even the communists.
My mother, Hoa, the second-most beautiful woman in Bac Lieu.
My father and mother marry in 1966. The second-most beautiful woman in Bac Lieu marries the luckiest man in Soc Trang.
We celebrate with the other refugees on board our boat when we are told Seasweep will take us aboard.
We wait and applaud as each one of us is lifted onto the ship. My father and Jenny are the last to be brought on board.
Life on Seasweep: my mother sits surrounded by seven of her children (Bruce is off running around the boat). L to R (front): Jenny; Thai; cousin Ba; and Nikki, drinking from cup. L to R (back): my mother, holding twins Anh and Hon; me, standing behind her; and Yen.
We are happy on board Seasweep. I’m standing shirtless behind my mom, surrounded by my siblings
We stay in the cargo hold, a cavernous storeroom that becomes a refuge. That’s me, looking on as a girl reads.
We spend our days exploring the ship. Thai (left) still remembers the thick, fluffy bread they served on board.
Laundry time on Seasweep: the deck begins to resemble a Chinese laundry.
Aboard Seasweep, Stan Mooneyham shares the good news of Jesus Christ. The message pierces my father’s heart.
We do not know any hymns, so we all sing the national anthem of South Vietnam, which includes the words, On the new way, our look embraces the horizon.
Clifford Pier in Singapore, as it looked when Seasweep is permitted to off-load its ninety-three refugee passengers.
A family photo taken at the Singapore refugee camp 25 Hawkins Road: I am dressed in blue and white, standing in front of the fence.
My family remains in Singapore for one hundred days, awaiting a sponsor. I’m in the bottom left-hand corner.
My mother is holding one of the twins, and I stand directly in front of her, wearing my new moldy clothes.
Our Redeemer Lutheran Church, Fort Smith, Arkansas, sponsors my family to the United States and provides a house for us to live in for six months.
We are greeted at the Fort Smith airport by a kind, welcoming party from Our Redeemer Lutheran Church.
Our house has no furniture, but we are happy to be safe and together.
My dad saves enough money for us to become genuine American homeowners. This is our first house in Barling.
Our yellow Pontiac: ten of us squeeze into this car.
Grandmother Truong surrounded by her grandchildren; I’m on the far left, standing.
The former home of Chungking Chinese Restaurant . . . now a doughnut shop. We had the best butter-fried chicken wings on the planet.
My mother, the chef at Chungking restaurant.
When I’m not in school or playing football, I’m at Chungking restaurant. This is where I learn the useful skills of skinning and deboning an entire chicken in less than sixty seconds.
Leisle and I meet at Arkansas Governor’s School. As usual, my clothes don’t match, but Leisle doesn’t seem to mind.
My senior year of high school football: a proud member of the Northside Grizzlies. Football is my first love.
I pose with Leisle for high school prom. Her fourteen-year-old brother has to accompany us as a chaperone to my prom in Fort Smith.
I arrive at Harvard with all my possessions in an army duffel bag.
My graduation from Harvard: L to R: Bruce, Thuvan (Bruce’s wife), me, Leisle, Thai, Jenny, Hung (Jenny’s husband), and Nikki. Down front are Rebecca and Tiffany (Jenny’s daughters).
At my graduation from Harvard, I stand with my roommate of four years, Dan Schneider, who loaned me his computer throughout college.
I’m getting married! L to R: Dan Cohan (college roommate), me, Thai, and Dan Schneider (college roommate).
My parents and heroes, Hoa and Thanh Chung.
I weep when she walks down the aisle.
Leisle and I are married August 22, 1998.
I stand on the “family farm,” where my family lived after the fall of South Vietnam to the communists.
I meet family members who never made it out, including those who were on the three boats that drifted back. I stand between my two half brothers, sons of my father’s mistress. My uncle, the man to the left with the glasses, is my father’s older brother, who organized the boat escape.
I return to Bac Lieu: behind me are shacks where poor families live.
My father holds my Harvard Medical School diploma and wears my cap and gown. He earned it.
Christmas 2012: The Chung Family with our parents, 11 children, 11 spouses, 20-plus grandchildren, and growing.
Leisle and I now live in Colorado Springs with our three beautiful children and with another one on the way.