37 Years in U.S.A.
My dad recounts coming to America
I struggled with which story to tell first. Do I choose the linear path and start from my parents’ beginnings? Do I start from some random point and try to expand on that? In the end, I settled on a hybrid of the two: the beginning of my parents’ American life. A beginning, of sorts, from a point in time somewhere in the middle.
In response to my request, my dad, Huot Lor, emailed this story with the subject line, “37 years in U.S.A.” back in August 2016. It seemed to me a very proud subject line, so I went with it. I’ve tried not to changed too much of what he wrote.
On August 17, 1979 around 1:30 a.m., a DC-10 plane carrying Khmer and Laos refugees from Thailand landed at Travis Air Force Base in Northern California.
U.S. Immigration checked the papers of refugees with I-94 status that morning and loaded buses bound for San Francisco airport, then from San Francisco to Los Angeles Airport around noon. All the passengers dressed up nicely except the refugees who dressed like poor people from a third world country. I wore flip flops and a dress given away by Thai people near their border.
When Mom and I walked off the plane, my relative, Mr. Tung Lim Pheng was waiting to picked us up. We stayed in Long Beach for few days but then moved and lived in Riverside for a year. Eventually, we moved back to Long Beach.
In Riverside, I started off cleaning dishes and then I became a cook. No one understood my English, so I had to write it down on paper. I spoke some Japanese to a Japanese waitress. About four weeks later, a Persian guy worked with me as a waiter and cook, and studied at Riverside City College wanting to be a Civil Engineer. He asking me about math and physics, and taught me a few Farsi words. Sometimes I listened to Spanish language radio, and I understood some of the words. Some Spanish words had the same meaning as I imagined, but not all. [1]
In 1980, during the Republican National Convention, I understood every word former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger spoke. He was the only one I understood but I was so happy.
Today, I have lived more of my life in the the U.S. than not. I enjoy American freedom, justice, and liberty in the land of opportunity.
I hope you and Helena [2] enjoy it as much as I do.
Notes
[1] My parents both learned French in school, being that Cambodia was once a French colony. Since French and Spanish are both Latin languages, my dad could make out certain Spanish words and phrases. Completely off topic, I remember when I was younger my dad took me into a Spanish language church on Cherry, just south of Pacific Coast Highway, in Long Beach and we listened to the service one evening. An usher of some sort came over to us, the only Asians in the crowd, and asked, “¿Habla Español?” My dad replied, “Sí.”
[2] My sister, 3 years younger.
