Inside Out and Back Again (18 page)

January 17

I’m trying to tell

MiSSSisss WaSShington

about our ceremony for Father.

But it takes time to

match every noun and verb,

sort all the tenses,

remember all the articles,

set the tone for every
s
.

MiSSSisss WaSShington says

if every learner waits

to speak perfectly,

no one would learn

a new language.

Being stubborn

won’t make you fluent.

Practicing will!

The more mistakes you make,

the more you’ll learn not to.

They laugh.

Shame on them!

Challenge them to say

something in Vietnamese

and laugh right back.

I tell her

Father is at peace.

I tell her

I’d like to plant

flowers from

Vietnam

in her backyard.

I tell her

T
t is coming

and luck starts over

every new year.

January 19

Brother Quang

has started night school

to restudy engineering

to become what

he was meant to be.

Mother smiles.

Vu Lee

refuses to apply to a real college,

instead will go to a cooking school

in San-fran-cis-co,

where his idol once walked.

Mother sighs,

twists her brows

to no effect.

Brother Khôi

announces he will become a doctor

of animals.

Mother starts to say something,

then nods.

Mother has always wanted

an engineer, a real doctor, a poet,

and a lawyer.

She turns to me.

You love to argue, right?

No I don’t.

She brightens.

I vow to become

much more agreeable.

January 29

This T
t

there’s no I Ching Teller of Fate,

so Mother predicts our year.

Our lives

will twist and twist,

intermingling the old and the new

until it doesn’t matter

which is which.

This T
t

there’s no
bánh ch
ng

in the shape of a square,

made of pork,

glutinous rice,

and mung beans,

wrapped in banana leaves.

Mother makes her own

in the shape of a log,

made of pork,

regular rice,

and black beans,

wrapped in cloth.

Not the same,

but not bad.

As with every T
t

we are expected to

smile until it hurts

all three first days

of the year,

wear all new clothes

especially underneath,

not sweep,

not splash water,

not talk back,

not pout.

Mother thinks of everything.

She even asked Brother Quang

to bless the house

right after midnight,

so I couldn’t beat him to it

by touching my big toe

to the carpet before dawn.

Mother has set up

an altar

on the highest bookshelf.

The same, forever-young

portrait of Father.

I have to look away.

We each hold an incense stick

and wait for the gong.

I pray for

Father to find warmth in his new home,

Mother to keep smiling more,

Brother Quang to enjoy his studies,

Vu Lee to drive me from and
to
school,

Brother Khôi to hatch an American chick.

I open my eyes.

The others are still praying.

What could they be asking for?

I think and think

then close my eyes again.

This year I hope

I truly learn

to fly-kick,

not to kick anyone

so much as

to fly.

January 31
T
t

Dear Reader:

Much of what happened to Hà, the main character in
Inside Out & Back Again
, also happened to me.

At age ten, I, too, witnessed the end of the Vietnam War and fled to Alabama with my family. I, too, had a father who was missing in action. I also had to learn English and even had my arm hair pulled the first day of school. The fourth graders wanted to make sure I was real, not an image they had seen on TV. So many details in this story were inspired by my own memories.

Aside from remembering facts, I worked hard to capture Hà’s emotional life. What was it like to live where bombs exploded every night yet where sweet snacks popped up at every corner? What was it like to sit on a ship heading toward hope? What was it like to go from knowing you’re smart to feeling dumb all the time?

The emotional aspect is important because of something I noticed in my nieces and nephews. They may know in general where their parents came from, but they can’t really imagine the noises and smells of Vietnam, the daily challenges of starting over in a strange land. I extend this idea to all: How much do we know about those around us?

I hope you enjoy reading about Hà as much as I have enjoyed remembering the pivotal year in my life. I also hope after you finish this book that you sit close to someone you love and implore that person to tell and tell and tell their story.

Thanhha Lai

Much thanks to Angie Wojak, Joe Hosking, Sarah Sevier, Tara Weikum, Rosemary Stimola, and of course my family (M
, Ch
Mai, Anh Anh, Anh Tu
n, Anh Nam, Anh Z
ng, Anh Ti
n, Anh S
n, Ch
H
ng), with whom I shared April 30, 1975, and weeks on a ship, events that decades later led me to Henri and An.