I Love "Huy" Like a Son!

From left to right: Nhon, Toan, Can, Thanh, Vu, Thinh, Tran, Truong, Du, Long, Hoa, Andy, Le Phuong, Quyen, Phuong Thao, Huong Thao, and Dien. I have contact with the students, whose names are bolded.

This is my last photograph with my Grade 12 Students in PFAC Palawan. Huy is not in the picture because he was in Manila or Bataan when this was taken. Most of these former students are now living in the United States, some in Australia. And most of them still communicate with me after 18 long years.

"HUY" IS LIKE A SON TO ME!

 

 

It was one sunny afternoon in PFAC… in July 1991. What a scorcher it was! I was teaching my Grade 12 afternoon class when suddenly I was interrupted by my three morning session students, who rushed into my classroom, running after their breaths and screamed, “Teacher Andy, Huy is crying wildly. He’s out of control. He’s calling your name.” I learned then that Huy had just received the Bureau of Immigration’s decision, which determined that he was not a political refugee and that, as an unaccompanied minor, he would be better off going back to Vietnam and be reunited with his family.
 

Huy then went into a wild crying in front of the CADP sisters, screaming that he wanted to commit suicide. The CADP sisters did everything they knew to pacify him, but to no avail, the poor young man wouldn’t stop crying and telling everyone that he was better off dead than return to his country of origin. He continued crying and screaming for two to three hours until he couldn't scream anymore. He gently said, “I want my Daddy! I want my Daddy.” The CADP Sisters were astonished. They wondered how they could get Huy’s father when his dad was too far away in Vietnam. “Your dad is in Vietnam," one of the sisters whispered. We can’t get him for you.” Then he murmured, “Sister, I want my daddy, please. His name is teacher Andy.” Upon hearing what Huy had just said, the three students who were there rushed to my classroom and told me the story. “But I’m teaching," I firmly said. "Please tell the sisters that I'll see Huy at 5:00.” The students then insisted, “Teacher, this is serious. Please come now. Huy is threatening to kill himself. He wouldn’t listen to anyone. He said he wanted you. Please Teacher, come now. Huy is your son… (said in Vietnamese language) he will definitely listen to you.” I dropped my piece of chalk and eraser, asked my assistant teacher to look after the class, and then I ran to the CADP Unaccompanied Minors Office as rapidly as I could.

 

I found “my son” lying down on a couch, crying and seemingly exhausted. When he saw me, he sat up and put his arms around me, tightly I could hardly breathe, and said, “Daddy, I don’t wanna go back. I’d rather die.” I didn’t know what to say to calm him down. I got choked up. I just kissed his forehead, brushed his hair with my fingers and whispered, “I’m here for you, son. Get up and come with me. I’ll take care of you. I will protect you. Nobody will take you anywhere.” I tried to control myself but my tears started rolling down my cheeks. Huy stood up and started walking with me.

 

I looked around and saw two CADP sisters, a social worker, and my three other students looking on not comprehending what was going on. When I told them that I was going to take Huy home with me, they agreed without hesitation. Then one of the sisters said, “I didn’t know that Huy was referring to you when he said he wanted his daddy. I didn’t know you were like a father to him.” I didn't know if they were joking but I responded, “It doesn’t matter, Sister. I love this boy. He’s my son and he considers me as his dad.” Then I left with my arms on Huy’s shoulders.

 

Huy stayed with me at the HTC-PFAC staff house for a week. I advised him not to go to school... just stay home, sit back, relax, read some books, and play games with his friends while I was teaching. And he did just that. But from time to time I would secretly go back to the house to check if he was all right. After one week, he told me, “Dad I think I’m okay now. I will go home to my billet tomorrow.” The following day I let him go and everything seemed back to normal.

 

Huy regained his almost lost self-esteem as he resumed his studies in my Grade 12 class. In that class he was quite a popular student and was admired by all his peers. He was very smart, friendly, and exceptionally confident. After class, we would spend time together like a family. Sometimes he would eat at my place, and sometimes in a restaurant. His English, especially his oral communication skills, improved dramatically. But then one day, in April 1992, he told me that he was going with a friend to visit Manila and Bataan. I told him, “Son, you can’t leave now. Aren’t you aware that I’m leaving for Canada on June 29? I want you to be here when I leave”. He responded, “Daddy, I’m sorry but I already have a ticket. I’m leaving this Sunday.” Huy left that Sunday, April 12, 1992. A couple of months later, I left for Manila... then California, then Canada. That was it. Huy and I lost contact. I felt as though I had lost a son.

  ***

Huy is a fictitious name. I deliberately changed his real name to protect his identity although he gave me the option whether to use his real name or not. Huy now lives happily in the United States with his family and is in contact with me. We have been reunited and we call each other as often as we can. He still calls me "Daddy" and I still call him "Son". That will never change. And indeed, I love Huy like a son.

 

OOO