Virtual-Doug

Filial Piety Part II

America is often described as a Judeo-Christian country, meaning that even if many citizens are not practicing Jews or Christians, our culture is derived from the basic values of the Jews and Christians.  Of high importance is the Ten Commandments, found in the holy scripture of both religions.  The fifth of those commandments states: “Honor your father and your mother, so that your days may be long in the land that the Lord your God is giving you.”  Generally speaking, the fourth through the eighth commandments deal with people’s relationships with each other, and honoring Mom and Dad is one of those important concepts.

Self-reliance, or as we often call it, freedom and independence, is a very important part of the American culture.  A good case could be made for it being the most important element of our culture.

Most American parents raise their children to be independent by the age of 18.  One should be finishing high school, or working a job, or going on the college when you are 18 - - but you should not be living with your parents.  One of the worst insults is to be called a “mamma’s boy”, meaning a young man is dependent on his parents.  The parent of an American teen-ager may tell his off spring to “figure it out for yourself – you’re almost an adult.”  We let our children fall down as they learn to walk so they will walk sooner and therefore, be independent sooner.  For most American parents, they look forward to having an “empty nest” when the children are grown and on their own.  They want their time to enjoy life without the demands of family.  They want their own independence.

The American and Asian cultures are very, very different in the ways they look at honoring Mom and Dad.  My Vietnamese students made it very clear that merely sending money to their parents was not considered to be caring for them.  To my students (mostly female) “caring” for one’s parents meant cooking for them and being physically with them at all times.  Of course, the concept of a nursing home is almost unheard of in Việt Nam.  (I assume some Viet Kieu will introduce that idea to Việt Nam, however.)

My current situation is that my elderly mother lives near me, but she does not live in my house.  Even with her diminished mental abilities, she would not allow herself to live with me – she wants to live independently.  If we were Vietnamese, she would never have thought of living by herself – she would grow old and live with her oldest son, and cared for by the son’s children.  With four generations in one home, there would never be any idea of letting Mom live by herself.

Hence, the dilemmas of our “sandwich generation” of Americans.  We have raised our children, yet we are the ones with elderly parents who need daily care.  We yearn for the day when we can retire and travel or do whatever we damned well please. Our culture has raised us to be independent, yet somebody must care for Mom and Dad – we must honor our father and mother.  We are caught in the middle.  We are the cheese in the sandwich.

Not being raised in an Asian culture, I am not adjusting quickly to the concept of having to care for my mother in an Asian way.  This is not to be confused with my not loving her – it has to do with filial piety in our culture.  She was very successful in raising me to be independent, and now I am conflicted between my desire for that independence and my obligation to honor my mother.

Maybe the sandwich is that I know a little about being Vietnamese, yet I’m totally American - - and I’m in the middle.

Filial Piety Part I

In the Confucian tradition, the highest of all virtues is filial piety – the act of caring for and loving one’s parents.  Filial piety is higher on the scale than telling the truth, helping the poor, or refraining from adultery.  Filial piety involves subordinating oneself to parents – and it means more than obeying them, but pleasing them, comforting them, and satisfying their every need and desire.  For most Vietnamese, filial piety was and is a demand placed on every human being, from important heads of government to the lowliest peasant.

Ancient Chinese and Vietnamese stories teach the importance of filial piety.  Most of the stories are directed towards males, especially the oldest sons in a family, though daughters-in-law are expected to extend filial piety towards their in-laws.

One story is about a man who was so poor he could not afford to build an adequate tomb for his father.  To get the money, he sold himself into slavery.  One day, on the way to his new master’s house, he encountered a woman who wanted to marry him.  After the marriage, the wife wove enough silk in one month to buy her husband’s freedom.  Once that was done, she disappeared.  Moral?  Care for your parents and you will be rewarded.

Another story:  a wealthy and powerful government official took his obligation so seriously that he insisted on doing everything for his parents, even to the extent of cleaning their chamber pots every morning, even though he had the money and servants to have others do such tasks.  Moral?  Don’t pawn your obligations off on anyone else.

A third story:  a young boy lost his mother while still a child.  His father remarried and had another son by the second wife.  The new wife was similar to Cinderella’s wicked step-mother in that she made life miserable for the first son.  Nonetheless, he owed her filial piety and went to work in the fields alone and was always respectful towards her.  His piety was noticed by heaven which sent elephants to dig the furrows in the fields for planting, and birds to pull weeds with their beaks.  When the emperor heard of the young man’s acts of filial piety, he gave the young man his two daughters in marriage and made him the heir to the throne.  Moral?  Both heaven and earth will reward you if you truly respect your parents.

A fourth:  a young man lost his parents while still a child.  He regretted that he had never been able to properly thank them for their sacrifices in raising him.  When he reached adulthood, he carved small wooden statues of his parents, placed the statues on an altar, and worshipped them morning and evening.  When he got married, his wife tired of the rituals and stuck one of the statues with a long needle.  The man noticed tears in the eyes of his parent’s statues, and realized what had happened.  He threw his wife out of the house.  Moral?  Your parents are more important than even your spouse.

I remember my first semester teaching English in Huê.  One of my courses was “American Culture”, and it was a class I dearly loved teaching.  I remember one day we discussed the American family and the fact that it is a nuclear family (two parents and children living in one house) rather than the extended family (grandparents, parents, children – maybe four generations) living in the same house as is common in Việt Nam.  That concept had little impact on my students until I mentioned that I had an 89 year old mother who lived by herself.  There was an audible gasp in the classroom when I said that.  They thought I was the most incredibly bad oldest son in the world.  It wasn’t until later as we discussed American’s penchant for being self-reliant and independent that they began to see that in American terms, I’m not such a bad guy after all.  In other words, they began to realize (though didn’t totally comprehend) that American parents do not want to live with their children.

(To be continued)

(For my western friends:  Confucianism is not a religion.  It is a philosophy intended to promote good social order developed by the Chinese sage we call Confucius.   The Vietnamese culture, like the others of East Asia, draws heavily on Confucian principles.  My thanks to Steve Boswell for some of the information above.)

Photography

These little critters are hard to take pictures of.  South Texas is right in the middle of the migratory path hummingbirds take each year.  Many people put out hummingbird feeders to attract them as well as help them on their way.

Most likely, Tom will say I have too much time on my hands, but I am actually multi-tasking.  I set up the camera on a tripod, then sit near the camera with the remote shutter release in one hand while reading the morning paper with the other, coffee cup nearby.

But, sooner or later, duty calls, and I have to come back inside to write this silly blog.

The Richest Poor Man in South Texas

The man has genius in his hands.  There’s not much he can’t fix or build.  He runs his own business out of an open shed in back of his run-down trailer home.  The shed is where he makes barbeque grills out of old water heaters and shopping carts.  He is poor – as poor as can be - yet you will hardly ever see Manuel without a huge smile and outstretched hand.

As always, be sure to click on the photos to see a larger version.

Life’s been hard.  With hardly any education, and raised doing itinerant farm work, he worked in the oil fields, worked as a mechanic, learned to weld, got married, had kids - - but over time, alcohol and cocaine took its toll.  There’s an innocence to Manuel that came from that hard life.  Manuel knows he has to make his living with his hands, not his mind.

One evening, way back in 1970, he and his brother were barbequing in the back of their house.  He sheepishly told me that the cocaine was abundant that night, as was the beer.  But, somebody noticed the little barbeque pit he had made, and wanted Manuel to make one – with some differences.  So, off and on, over the years, he has been in the custom made barbeque pit business.

His workshop is open air.  He finds old water heaters through some plumber friends.  From these he can make various sized grills.  If the customer wants some wheels attached, a shopping cart provides the parts.  He had several grills in various stages of manufacture during my visit.  I watched as he deftly moved about, setting up the parts for welding, and keeping up a constant chatter while doing so.  He kept his radio tuned to a Christian music station.  When a familiar song was played, he sang along.  Well – lets say that he tried to sing, but music is not one of his gifts.  The sparks flew, the conversation continued, and I watched a new barbeque pit take shape.

But there is one picture I didn’t take.  That picture was of Manuel in prayer.  He just wanted to express his thanks to God for his abundant life.  The cocaine is gone from his life now, though there is still room for an occasional beer.  I had to join him in that prayer – and its hard to take a picture with one’s eyes closed.

I hope nobody ever tells Manuel that he’s poor.  Whoever does say that to him will be wrong.

The Morning Paper

Awhile back, I stepped out of my front door to take my usual morning walk.  It’s a quiet time – a good time to wake body and soul.  I usually meet a few friendly neighbors – greetings are exchanged.

Most days, I find my morning paper in the driveway.  Its where the paper delivery guy leaves it.  He’s a good shot.

(As always, be sure to click on a photo to see a larger version.)

But this morning, the paper was on my door step.  All I had to do was open the door to retrieve it.  I was puzzled, but didn’t belabor the thought.  I just picked it up and tossed it in the house.

The next morning, the paper was on my doorstep again.  I imagined the delivery guy had possibly started doing this, but quickly realized he would either have an excellent aim or he had more time on his hands than he knew what to do with.

Frankly, I didn’t dwell on the puzzle.

But as I walked by a neighbor’s house, I saw the paper was in the driveway – that eliminated the delivery guy.  And, at another house, the same story:  the morning paper was still in the driveway.  So – who was putting the paper on my doorstep in the morning?  Why was I so special?

I had no idea who was putting the paper on my doorstep – but I had another idea.  At the next house where I saw the paper in the driveway, I stopped.  I picked up the paper and put it on the doorstep.  It was easy – and kinda fun knowing someone was going to wonder who put their paper on the doorstep.  Maybe I made somebody else feel special.  I hope so.

The Mom Report

I was wrong.

Back in July, The Mom Report recounted  the first trip to the grocery store in her new home town.  I wrote “The next trip will be a little easier, and with each successive trip, things will become a bit more familiar.”

I was very wrong.

She called about 8:30 saying that she needed some things from “that place.”  A few detective questions and I figured out she needed to go the grocery store.

Off we went, she with her list in hand, and me with a mindset of sitting back and watching.  I could only glance at the list, but it was much like the last:  “red, milk, yellow box . . . ”  She likes to make her own choices (a remnant of her independent past), so I let her wander around the store.  I knew she was looking for visual reminders, but there were none.  She told me once that there should be a “stand-up she could see.”  I guess she used to find the forgotten item at a display of some kind.  Finally she picked out a package of sliced turkey breast and put it in the basket.  Twenty minutes later she picked up a head of lettuce.

By this time, we had been in the store for almost forty minutes.  Of course, I’m in no hurry, but I could see the frustration mount in her.  My problem was to point her in the direction of the things she wanted without being bossy.  I came up with “Mom, can you tell me what color the cap is on the milk you want?”  That got us going in the direction of the dairy section where we found the milk with a blue cap.  I also remembered that “yellow” was Cheerios, so we finished the shopping trip with a big box of Cheerios.

Total number of items purchased:  four.

Time spent in the store:  one hour.

But life is not all about grocery stores and things to do.  Life is also about people and places remembered.  She loves her books of photos and genealogy she put together over the years.  I wonder if some deep-seated instinct helped her prepare for this time in her life by recording those memories during the years past.  Conversation is never stilted when we talk about her youth and look at her pictures.  Memories of neighbors, girl-hood romance with my father, reflections of her own parents, pictures of the old houses in Syracuse, New York where she grew up – all are the dominant part of her life now.

She may have reached the point in her life when she can no longer learn anything new – but her son is learning a lot.