Damned driver, he wouldn’t stop for the foreign devil. I was standing in the road, waving my ticket and pointing at his rattling bus. Couldn’t he see I needed a ride? He made no attempt to pull over, didn’t even slowdown. He looked right at me and passed me by as if he didn’t care about me at all. “Son of a bitch,” I cursed the driver out loud unaware of how much we had in common.
It was mid June 1984, around Father’s Day. For the second time I was spending my summer vacation in Taiwan, taking a break from college. I had no job, classes, or any demands on me at all. My time was spent searching out unusual places, experiences, food, and trinkets. My quest this day was for something I had failed to track down the previous summer, a T-shirt with Chinese characters. These were rare in Taiwan at the time. Stylish T-shirts all had writing in English. Many of these were worth buying. There were some crazy things written on them. Sayings that didn’t make sense, misspelled words, and popular logos changed in someway to avoid trademark infringement. One shirt I bought boasts “monday hite phpptball shirt.” I had found a place that sold good quality made-to-order silk-screened T-shirts. I had ordered one with the characters “Taiwan Da Hswei” which is the National Taiwan University. The man said it would be ready in four to five days. It had been at least a week and I was on my way across Taipei to pick it up.
Gravity felt stronger that afternoon. I ran my fingers through my sweaty wet hair, pressing hard on my scalp and the back of my neck in an attempt to ease the pain. The relentless noise and exhaust had beaten me again. I enjoyed Taiwan, but it had worn me down. My legs and feet constantly cramped as I hiked around town or stood on the buses, or stood waiting for buses. Nothing ever went as I planned and that’s what irritated me most. I wasn’t making any major life changing type plans, just simple ones, like how to get across town to pick up a T-shirt. When I wanted a specific thing to eat, I couldn’t find it. When I planned a long walk, it rained. When I needed to catch a bus, the rotten drivers wouldn’t stop. It seemed as if everything was out to get me, to make me miserable.
Eventually another bus did stop so I could get on with my plans. The bus took me to Taiwan National University. I got off the bus across the street from the university in a market called Gung Gwang where high school and college kids gathered every evening. The store I was headed to was on the other side of the market and down a major street about a quarter mile. The market crowds never bothered me unless I was in a hurry. I was in a hurry. I knew where I was going, but no one else in the market had a clue where they were going. The sidewalks were cluttered with people wandering from side to side, browsing racks of shoes or inspecting the dresses hanging overhead, then glancing down at displays of purses and counterfeit cassette tapes on the ground. Competing boom boxes blasted Chinese pop music from every store so that the complete “Top 40” could be heard at once. Kids surrounded the barbecue carts, staring at meat racks trying to choose between chicken feet, hearts, tongues, or butts making it almost impossible for anyone to pass through. On the edge of the sidewalk, motorcycles were parked side-by-side, so close that I could not even slip through to the street to bypass the most popular spots. I just pushed and squeezed through the crowd as I had gotten so used to, and tired of, doing. As I was just about to the other end of the market, I suddenly found myself in a clearing. There was a void in the crowd. I froze. Something wasn’t right. I looked over my shoulder towards the building wall, and was shocked.
It was not the first time I had seen this kind of thing. I had seen it before, but not like this. There was a hat lying up side down on the sidewalk. Students on both sides of this clearing were pulling change from their pockets, rushing out into the clearing, dropping the change into the hat, and then slipping away into the crowd on the other side. Behind the hat was what looked like a pile of body parts, it was twisted pile of arms, and legs. I’m not sure how many. They were attached to a small lumpy torso. I’m not sure if they were attached in the normal places, there were no normal places. The limbs were obviously not of much use to the rest of the body, no muscles to speak of, just skin, loosely wrapped around bones. One limb that was serving some purpose at the time was a leg, which was positioned with the knee on the ground and the lower leg bent back up toward this persons’ head so that their chin rested on the sole of the foot. There seemed to be a delicate balance holding this person up and together. I notice no movement, not even a blink of the eyes that I will never forget. These eyes gazed straight ahead and as if they burned through everything in their line of sight. They stared right through me. Their focus fixed on a place neither I, nor anyone else in the crowd could possibly see. Although these eyes seemed to vaporize everything, there was no fire inside. They were empty, no hopes or dreams, no anything. These eyes and this soul seemed completely empty.
Immediately I reached in my pockets like the other students, but I had no change. I pulled out my wallet and fumbled through it. The smallest bill I could find was a 100 Taiwan dollar bill. It was equivalent to two and a half US dollars. I saw a school supply shop just ahead and thought I’d run buy something cheap then return with some change to drop in the hat. I put the money back into my wallet and darted off through the crowd on the other side of the clearing.
At the shop I looked at pens and pads of paper for a minute or two but there was nothing I really wanted. I then realized that I could pass by this way after I bought my T-shirt. Surely I would have some change to drop into the hat when I returned. So I continued on to the T-shirt shop, but I could not stop thinking of this person and the empty eyes.
Stepping out of the T-shirt store, I realized this errand had taken much longer than I had planned. I wanted to return to give this person some change. However, I felt defeated and wanted to go home. I could catch the bus just down the street it would be much faster than backtracking through the market. For a few minutes I stood in front of the shop not knowing which way to go. I began to reason that my change wasn’t going to make a difference. Anyway almost everyone passing by was dropping change in the hat, and besides, all the money in the world couldn’t buy this person any hopes or dreams. As I wandered off to the nearest bus stop, I wished there was something meaningful I could do for this person. I wished I could switch bodies with this person for a day so he or she could feel what it is like to have body that worked.
I stood at the bus stop and imagined how much this person would love to stand and wait at the bus stop. How much this person would love to feel pain in his or her legs and feet from walking all over town. What would this person give to wave a bus ticket overhead, even if the busses never stopped.
As I stepped onto the bus I began to feel ashamed. I was so fortunate. Spending my summers half way around the world, free and able to explore as I wished. I wasn’t rich but I had a few hundred dollars in my pocket, much more than any of the students in the market. I had so much to be thankful for, but all I did was complain about all the little, meaningless things that didn’t go my way. I was miserable ⎯ because the world was out to get me? Hah! The world had gotten this person behind the hat. No ability to walk, stand, or even feed and dress him or herself. So grossly deformed that others are shocked at the sight of him or her. And on top of it all, this person is carried to a crowded market, propped up and left to watch thousands of people go by, walking, riding bikes, driving, holding hands, laughing. Just a glimpse of the things this person could never hope to do.
I found a seat on the bus and stared out the window with what felt like hollow eyes. I tried to find the empathy to feel what this person would feel to have use of my body for a day. Everything that irritated me, made me hurt, and made me mad, this person would cherish every sensation of. I imagined this person using my body to relive this day for me.
Eventually I turn my imagination to the other side of this deal. I would have to spend a day in this persons’ body. I imagined being picked up out of bed long after I had woke up. My bed consisted of a mat on a concrete or dirt floor. I was sure my diaper would then be changed, maybe if I were lucky I would have a catheter and only the bag would need to be changed. A brother or sister would have the responsibility to feed me breakfast. Hopefully, I could communicate what I preferred to eat, and I assumed I would be able to chew a bit so that I could have somewhat normal food. I might then be taken to a nearby morning market and left to collect change, but I imagined instead that I would be left to lie in one spot until late afternoon. Then I would be carried to Gung Gwang Market and propped up, a hat would be left in front of me. I then knew what to do, stare. Stare with empty eyes burning through everything. I was able to visualize this quite clearly since I was just there. I could sense the crowds on both sides with clearing straight ahead. Legs flashing passed as coins jingled in the hat. I began to feel the emptiness as I stared out he bus window. Up to this point what I imagined was consciously controlled, I chose to create these images in my mind, I chose what feelings to feel. Suddenly that ended.
My stare was fixed and far away, but someone stepped out into the clearing right in front of me and stopped. It was me. I saw myself reach into my front pockets but they were empty, then I pulled out my wallet and shuffled though some bills pulling out a 100 dollar bill, paused for just a moment then tuck the bill back into my wallet and returned the wallet to my back pocket as I began to walk off. As I slipped away into the crowd, I was rocked back to reality. My eyes filled with tears, the full message hit me all at once. It didn’t matter what my intentions were, the message I had sent to this person was clear. “You're not worth two dollars and fifty cents to me.” It didn’t stop there, that was the same message I had been sending to all the people around me for years, including my family, especially my father and my brother. Whatever I thought my intentions were counted for nothing, whatever I thought of myself didn’t matter, my actions were screaming “Your not worth two dollars and fifty cents to me.” I knew they had heard. Finally, I was able to see.
Ever since I was thirteen or fourteen I was caught up with my own pursuits, my own goals, my own stuff. I had plans. I had everything worked out. I was busy and I didn’t have time for anyone else’s plans. I did not tolerate interruptions or distractions. I pretty much stopped doing anything with my family. I didn’t go on vacations with them, didn’t eat with them, didn’t even watch TV with them, nothing. Unless, of course, I needed something from them. It wasn’t that I didn’t love them, or like them, or that I was trying to prove some kind of point. I was just too busy with my stuff. My focus was on me and no one else.
I had sent this message to everyone in my family. I felt it hurt my brother and my father the most. My mother was determined to be involved in my life so she became interested in my stuff and helped me get what I needed (camera, bicycle, guitar). I didn’t exclude her as much. My sisters didn’t seem too interested in doing anything with me anyway. But my brother was five years younger than me and looked up to me. He was interested in the things I liked and wanted to do stuff with me. I didn’t see this at the time, I was busy, my younger brother would just be in the way and slow me down. I realized my neglect had hurt him. He needed me and I wasn’t there for him. He had definitely got my message “Your not worth two dollars and fifty cents to me,” even though I never meant it.
It seemed like my father and I were always distant. I don’t remember ever doing anything with him, just the two of us. Except when I was 15, my mother made him take me to see the Dallas Cowboys play in San Francisco. We took a Greyhound bus to San Francisco and didn’t speak to each other at all except for logistics like “What would you like to eat? What time does the bus leave?” I am sure we did things together when I was younger, but I have no memories of them. I don’t think either one of us knew how to do the father and son thing. I remember not wanting him to help me with anything. I would not even allow him to help me with scout projects or putting my toys together. Later, when I was older, he would fix dinner every weekend. He would call down to my basement room “Dinner’s ready, come and eat.” I never did. I was busy playing guitar or doing homework. I would go up to eat when I was ready, long after everyone else had left the table. I never really gave him an opportunity to do anything with me.
On the bus ride home that evening, I decided I was going to change. I needed to be there when people needed me, even if it wasn’t convenient for me. I was going to find a way to do things with my family, especially my brother and my father. Things they planned, things they wanted to do. I was going to change, I wanted to let all my friends and family know they are “Worth two dollars and fifty cents to me.” It had to be through actions and I had a lot of ground to make up. I spent the next few days planning things I could do to get this new message out. Things don’t always go as I plan.
A few days later I was retuning to the United States, on my birthday. After my fiancé and I landed in Seattle, I called home to let everyone know we were almost home. We still needed to drive to Utah. My brother’s girlfriend answered the phone, she told me my family was all at the hospital. My father had attempted suicide. Fortunately, after overdosing on pills and alcohol he somehow drove himself to the hospital. When we finally made it to Utah, my father was still in the hospital and did not want to see or talk to anyone in the family. A week or so later when he did finally agree to see someone, he wanted to see me, just me. I was very nervous going to see him. Why did he want to see me? When I saw him in the hallway of the hospital, we both broke into tears, we hugged each other. He told me he loved me, and I told my father I loved him. That is all I remember about that visit.
I don’t know all the problems that led my father to attempt suicide. I felt that at least some of them had to do with me. I never learned exactly when he attempted suicide, but I learned of it on my birthday. I assumed it had to have been on the eve of my birthday or on my birthday. I don’t think it was just coincidence either. He wasn’t trying to ruin my birthday, I was just one of many things on his mind. I had just gotten engaged and would be leaving home soon. I think he felt guilty for never being the father he thought he should have been to me, and now I was leaving. Maybe that was more than he could take with everything else he was dealing with.
Over the next few years my father worked very hard to understand the sources of his feelings of worthlessness, guilt, and anger. He attended many counseling programs, which helped him understand himself better and hopefully relieved his negative feelings towards himself. I really only remember one of the issues my father faced during his counseling, his relationship with his father. He was essentially the youngest of eleven children (his younger sister died when she was four). His father was too busy hunting, fishing, and prospecting to ever spend time with the youngest. He was often gone for long periods of time. My father was basically ignored by his father, abandoned. They never had a father-son relationship. My father was burdened with pain from his childhood, much of it came from not having a relationship with his father. The pain carried over to adulthood too. He had become the type of father his father was in that he didn’t know how to relate to his children, at least not to me. I feel this was part of the reason I became so withdrawn and self-centered. It was a defense mechanism for me, if no one was going to be there for me, it’s better not to want anyone there.
By the time I learned about this, I had gotten married, moved out, graduated, started my career, etc. etc. My brother had graduated from high school and moved away to attend collage. It seamed I didn’t have much time or many opportunities to show them, to prove to them that they “meant two dollars and fifty cent to me.” I did try when I could, but I don’t know if I even could ever erase twenty years sending the wrong message. It seemed I had gotten the message too late.
At the time I was learning bits about my father’s past and how if affected him throughout his life, I became very concerned about my own ability to be a father. My relationship with my father seemed similar to his relationship with his father. Would I be a distant father, like my father and his father? I often thought back to the vision of myself I saw on that bus. I have to be available to my kids when they needed me, on their schedule not mine. I have to show interest in the things they are interested in. I must show them by my actions how much they mean to me. I still didn’t know if I could do this, I wanted to, but I had a pretty poor track record. Before my first child was born, I was nervous. I was never very good with kids. I didn’t know what to say to them, what to do with them, nothing. I just avoided them. Fortunately, the moment my daughter was born all that was forgotten. I willingly attended to her every need at any time day or night. I always knew what to say to her, what to do with her, and always wanted to be with her.
When my second child was on the way, I became nervous again. I thought, “Okay, I can do the father & daughter thing, but what if I have a son? Do I know how to be a father to a son, will I be able to? Will it turn out like me and my father, or my father and his father?” My second child was a son and fortunately these feelings and thoughts disappeared the moment he was born. When I first held him in my arms, I never doubted myself as a father again.
I often think of my father and the disappointment and pain he has struggled through. He has paid an incredible price experiencing both sides of poor father-son relationships and struggled to break this cycle in his family. His struggles have made me aware of these issues and helped me understand what it takes to be a father.
Over the years, I have also often been reminded of the person propped up in the market. When my kids interrupt me when I am busy playing guitar, surfing the net, or just focused on my stuff, I see a bit of that look in their eyes. I know they need me, and they need me now. It’s time to drop what I am doing and show them they are “Worth two dollars and fifty cents to me.” It’s time to read them a book, play cards with them, snuggle, or whatever it is they need. I have not been perfect at this by any means, but I have been consistent enough that my kids still come to me, they know I’ll be there when they need someone.
In June of 2001, I had planned to spend Father’s Day by myself in Palau. We had gone to Taiwan to visits my wife’s family. I wanted to do some scuba diving on my vacation so I had taken off to Palau. My kids, then ages 10 and 12, were not happy that I was going to be away from them for Father’s Day. They wanted to be with me. I had already completed the diving I planned to do and was going to do some sea kayaking, and hiking. I really wanted to do those things with my kids, and was already planning to take them to Palau next time we visited Taiwan. I decided I could wait for the hiking and kayaking and I would go back to Taiwan to be with my kids for Father’s Day. I cut my trip short and got back to Taiwan late the night before Father’s Day.
The next morning, Father’s Day, the kids wanted to take me to a place they had been while I was in Palau. It was to a place called Tamsui. They told me of the millions of crabs and mudskippers that were there and they knew of a place we could get some great chou tou-fu (stinky bean curd), my favorite food anywhere. My wife needed to visit some friends so my kids and I took off for a Father’s Day adventure. As we traveled, they paid for the bus and train tickets with their money. They knew how to get there and were leading me. It took an hour or so to get to the place with the crabs and mudskippers. When we stepped out of the air-conditioned train we were greeted with a steaming blast of Taiwan air and the toasting rays of the late morning sun. We melted as we walked down the path to see the critters. The nearly unbearable heat made it even more amazing to see fish out of water basking on the mud flats. Occasionally they would hop into a shallow pool just enough to get wet and then hop back out into the sun. There were many crabs but not nearly as many as the kids saw earlier in the week. Maybe they were taking a break from the sun, which is what we were forced to do.
We found a McDonald’s with air-conditioning. The kids ate lunch there. I was saving room for chou tou-fu. Since I wasn’t eating there, the kids let me pay for them. We were soon back on the train heading to the Tamsui market. This place was by the sea and received a lot of out of town visitors. The area was half market half tourist trap. We found the mobile stands that sold barbeque chou tou-fu and we each had some along with passion fruit juice and snow cones. The kids again insisted on treating me with their own money. We found a bench in the shade where we ate and hid from the sun for a while. The afternoon thunderstorms that had been rolling in daily to cool things off were nowhere in sight.
The kids wanted to show me a few more sights in the area so after resting we headed down the main street of the market. Like all the markets it was fairly crowed with people wandering in every direction. The street was a bit wider than most so we had sort of a clear path down the center. Soon after entering the street, I notice a man in a wheel chair. He wasn’t grossly deformed, but he was clearly handicapped. He wasn’t begging, he was selling candy, gum, and some handmade trinkets. I quickly asked the kids if they would like some gum. I think this surprised them, as I never ask them if they want candy, I usually get after them for eating too much candy. Their answer surprised me just as much, “I don’t want any gum.” It didn’t matter, I was going to buy some anyway. I walked over near his wheelchair and asked him how much the gum cost. He tried to verbally tell me as I leaned over to listen carefully. I could not clearly translate the sounds he made into words I understood, I thought it sounded like fifteen dollars in Chinese. Then I notice what I probably subconsciously saw that helped me with the translation. He was trying to point to a small cardboard sign that read fifteen dollars. I reached into my pocket, pull out some change and traded him fifteen dollars for a pack of gum.
I chewed a piece of gum as we continue to walk down the street. The kids showed me the place where blind people give massages and a few other cool stores. When we were well down this street my son said, “Dad, I want to tip that guy.”
I was pretty sure I knew what he meant but to make sure I replied, “What guy?”
“That guy we bought the gum from, I feel bad for him.”
“Okay.” I said, “We’ll just walk to the end of this street, then walk back down the next street over and we will be very close to where he is.”
We continued to walk down the street a little ways before my son said, “No, I want to go back right now, I’m afraid he might not be there.”
This was obviously more important to him than seeing whatever was on the next street, so we turn around and headed back. A little ways down the street my son asked, “How much should I tip him?”
“That's up to you.”
After a few moments he asked, “Can I tip him one hundred dollars?”
“Sure.”
After a few more steps he asked, “Do I use your money or mine?”
“That's up to you too.”
He thought for a moment then said, “I’ll use my money.”
I don’t think we spoke again until we were very close this man. There were a few ladies looking at the crafts he had for sale. While he was busy, I coached my son on how to say in Chinese “This is a gift for you, my friend.” When the ladies had selected their trinket and left, my son and I approached him. My son held out a one hundred dollar bill and said what I told him to, but he said it a bit quiet and I don’t think the man heard. He looked a bit confused, like “What do you want to buy?”
With my arm around my son, I said in Chinese, “He would like to give this to you.”
The man’s face lit up with joy. His eyes sparkled with life and he burst into a smile from ear to ear. A spontaneous smile, that can only come from happiness, the kind that cannot be faked. His smile was huge, every one of his crooked, chipped, and stained teeth were showing, it was truly one of the most beautiful smiles I will ever see. As he smiled he made a sound, it was kind of like a happy groan. It sounded nothing like the Chinese word for “Thank you,” which my son knows very well, but I leaned over and whispered to my son, “He says thank you.”
“I know.” My son replied out loud without turning to me or taking his eyes off of this man’s happiness.
As we waved and said goodbye, I could hardly believe the irony of what had just happened. I knew my son understood the importance of letting people know they are “Worth two dollars and fifty cents to him.”
At the edge of the market we stopped and ate more barbequed chou tou-fu, not because we were hungry but because we would soon be leaving Taiwan. I had my picture taken with each of my kids by the market for Father’s Day.
Exhausted from the heat, the air-conditioned train felt so good. My kids sat on either side of me with my arms around them. With all of our energy gone and our stomachs full, we sort of melted together on the long ride back.
The smile I had that afternoon was not nearly as big as the man’s back at the market, at least not on the outside. Mine was more on the inside, but it stemmed from the same type of spontaneous happiness. I had just received the most incredible Father’s Day gift and nobody even new it. It was a gift that came from my father, and my son, and a beggar that I had only seen once seventeen years earlier. My father had struggled most of his life with pain, guilt, shame, and anger as a result of a poor relationship with his father. When he was nearly at the point of giving in to these negative feelings, he chose instead to find the source, understand them, and overcome them. By doing this he taught me how to be a father. The beggar had shown me how I appear to others and helped me realize my self-centered ways had to change. My son had just confirmed that he was not self-centered and that the generation-to-generation chain of poor father-son relationships had been broken. This was the best Father’s Day.
Sometimes, things turn out much better than I plan.
