Heritage Paper

Family Reunion

“We have now arrived in San Francisco. The date is March 16, 1963. The time is 7:42 a.m. Thank you for flying with Pan American Airlines. Have a wonderful stay,” the flight attendant daintily announced. I quickly took off my seatbelt and pushed my way to the aisle to get off the plane. The flight attendant, a tall woman with fiery red hair covering freckles and a pointed-nose on her face in a tight-fitted blue suit, ran up to me. She firmly scolded while never breaking eye contact, “Sir, you must return to your seat and wear your seatbelt until the plane comes to a stop.” Obediently, I returned to my seat as if I was a student in the Naval Academy again.
When the plane halted, I jumped to my feet. I was about to dash down the narrow aisle, but I was upheld by the line traffic of people stretching out of their seats. As everyone hurriedly retrieved their luggage from the upper cabinets, I struggled to squirm through them. However, I did not go very far from my seat because a wrinkly, brown-hair man wouldn’t budge. “Excuse me, I want to get off the plane,” I politely said.
“We all want to get off this plane. You’ll have to wait your turn,” the middle-aged man impatiently snapped.
“But my wife and son are waiting for me.”
“Chinaman, I told you to wait!”
“Pardon me,” a tall, young man behind me with hair as gold as the sun interrupted. I was considered tall in the Republic Chinese Navy since I was five feet and six inches and most of my sailors were five feet and three inches. This man was probably six feet tall and he was built like one of my sailors. He continued to say in my defense, “Sir, I understand we are all very tired from this long flight and anxious to return home to our families, but there’s no need to raise our voices.” The attacker, who was as fat as Chairman Mao, grunted and turned his back on us. “Thank you, sir,” I said to my defender while stuck in line.
“No problem. So, your wife and son are waiting for you, huh? My bride is waiting for me as well. I had to go to China to report some International News. I terribly miss her. I’ve been gone for two weeks.”
“I haven’t seen my wife for over seven months. I haven’t seen my son at all,” I almost whispered. I didn’t know whether to openly tell my story to this young man who had started this conversation as if we were old-time pals.
“Golly, it’s been a long time. I could barely stay away from my wife for two weeks. You haven’t met your son yet. How come?”
“My wife flew back to her family in America to give birth to our son while I was stuck in Taiwan.”
“What kept you away?”
“I had business to do.” I also thought, “Well, I was stuck in the Navy. They had a hard time letting go of their Lieutenant Commander. They finally signed me up for the Reserve, so I was free to migrate to America.” Sweaty drops of frustration began to form on my brow. The line was barely moving. We only reached the First Class Section. The friendly giant behind me asked with concern, “Are you worried your wife changed?”
“No, during our courtship we continuously wrote letters for six years. She was training to be a doctor in America and I worked in Taiwan.”
“Six years!”
“Thank you for flying with us. Have a nice day,” some flight attendants interrupted as we exited the plane. My new friend continued with relief, “Finally we’re off the plane. We must have been in there long enough for us to have written letters to exchange.” We laughed out loud like young boys in my family village in Guangdong.
After the joke I replied, “Well, sir, I truly love my wife and I’m sure you love yours too. We know we’ll be together forever, so there’s time to wait for each other.”
“Yeah, thanks for the advice. Well, there’s my wife over there. Nice chatting with you.”
“Yes, may you and your family live with good health and happiness.”
“Thanks, may yours as well.”
In the sea of white, blonde, brown, and red heads, I searched for a black one. Surprisingly there were many Asian women, but none were mine. I was a fish storming through the ocean looking for the specific fish that’s searching for me. Then I heard someone shout, “Hsia-Nung [sha-nong]!” I twirled around to find a short, curly black-hair woman in a red trench coat. She was my wife, Ida. She held in her arms a warm bundle, our son. I ran up to them to hold both of them close to me willing to never part from them. Joyous tears streaked my face. She handed me our son, Chris, for the first time. He was tiny and fat like the Buddha statue that protected my childhood home. His almond-shaped eyes looked me over. My wife said, “Welcome…” and I continued, “To my new home.”

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