Thang Nguyen 555

When I asked for a driving tip (at night), Glen, a college roommate, told me: “just follow the painted line”. Given that we were winding through Pennsylvania mountains heading West, his advice was certainly heeded. Until today. Years later.

Glen was from N Hampshire, with curly blonde hair and rolled up his sleeves (short-sleeves to begin with).

I couldn’t remember whether he attended the other roommate’s wedding in Vermont, or at the time, he had already been doing geological work in Zaire.

Follow the painted line.

The road is winding, dark and deep.

We all got promises to keep.

Miles to go….

My daughter is following my footsteps….legacy admission, they call it.

Perhaps she would be sharing a dorm room with Glen-likes…trading stories, discoveries and disappointments.

Part of growing up. Part of life.

She plays an instrument. Perhaps that selling point will land her a counselor job at Mt Pocono’s summer camp.

She will have a few days off in the summer. She might go home to her friend’s town, perhaps Philadelphia.

I remember now watching the Bi-Centennial fireworks at the cradle of Democracy, by the people, for the people. This land is our land, this land is your land….

She will turn down an advance, get a few rejections of her own…heart-broken then healing.

Winter will be freezing cold. Summer muggy. Penn State in the Fall, with Alumni Day, home-game Saturdays…

The Creamery, the library and the Corner Room.

Old Main will always be there. To witness 3-day Spring outdoor concert.

“Here comes the Sun”

I know my daughter will be “alright”….

I was – even with a few close calls.

Despite all the hair, “down to his knees”….”Come together”….on the wall, facing University Boulevard.

The many hours of work-study, of reading assignment, of going to the Student Union movies (subsidized pricing), watching “Everything you always wanted to know about sex” by Woody Allen.

Late 70’s saw us question everything, embarking on our quest to ask “Why”….of listening to campaign speech (Udall), and Springsteen’s Born to run.

We reached out to the shut-in (before covid)…in nursing homes and hospitals.

We sang in choir, conducted by the late Andre Previn.

We sheered and jeered at games….WE ARE.

Later, when I got picked for an internship at WNEP-TV in Scranton, I left Penn State for the last time. Never had I come back, even for graduation.

Follow the guard rail….Part of life…Part of growing up…Pain and rejection, the warmth of other sun and personal Underground Railroad.

I have many more roommates after Glen.

But his commitment to change the world, to follow the formation of the rocks, and to follow the guard rail forever inspires me.

White dude from N Hampshire, what are you doing in Congo. Still follow your own advice?.

I know, I know….I hardly am generous on giving out advices, for fear I myself can’t measure up.

Life has not been following a straight path. Instead, it’s winded after the contour of the road.

I have witnessed enough of suffering and sorrow, of Burning Monk to Bombing the Independence Palace (S VN)

Of helicopter’s blade wildly dis-attached from the rotor, of boat exploded, boat people dinning on the other’s dead bodies for survival, of Three-Mile_island panicking and 9/11 towers tumbled.

I have watched the Capitol attack attempts (9/11 hi-jackers did not make it, while domestically incited ones did on Jan 6).

I have grown up and grown some scars. Albeit not callous toward disappointment, I still am hopeful.

That when it’s my kid’s turn, she can stomach many more than I….(still with a lump in my throat come to think of it).

Parent cannot live their kids’ lives for them.

They will have to follow their own guard rail.

Toward a destined fate. Along the way, meeting the good, the bad and the ugly.

I shed an advanced tear for my kid’s future sorrows. Wish I could shoulder a few to lighten her load.

You bet I still am following the guard rail, since the road always has been winding as we traverse the hill of life.