My first day at school in the US

  I haven't written a blog in awhile.Partly its because Timmy's birth and coping with parenthood, partly because I have not been so disciplined in my blogging. But the sun starts to go down earlier than usual, my mom's birthday went by several days ago, and I am having flashbacks of memories of my dad. All of these things make me feel a little depressed, makes me long for my parents.
  One of my most vivid memories has to be my first day at school in the US. It was quite a transition for an eleven year old Chinese boy from Xianyang to go to school in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
  Me and Mom came to the US in February 1993, by that time Dad had already lived in the US for a year. Very quickly after me and Mom arrived, we moved to a different apartment in Shorewood, because they had heard that the school system was better there. Within matter of days since I got to the US, we moved to a new place, and I started school.
  Things were always kind of hectic, at least I felt that way. Not knowing anything, don't speak a word of English, don't have a clue. My dad, the night before I was supposed to go to school, sat down with me, and sort of gave me some details about the elementary school. He said it was nice, there was a program for foreign kids, and lunch was provided. He also taught me one English sentence, which was "could you show me where the bathroom is?". Once I understood what the word "bathroom" is, I figured that that's all I need to know. The next day, Mom and Dad drove me to school. I remember being registered at the school and off I went.
  So you can imagine the cultural shock that I was experiencing. I was surrounded by people with white skin and blonde hair, in a school that was completely different than my elementary school in China, and I had no idea of how to get home after school. I don't remember too much of the time I spent at school. But I clearly remembered what happened afterward, something that I will treasure all of my life.
  When school was over, I walked out of the building, and I had this great fear. I have no idea where I am, where home is. I felt so alone and helpless and abandoned. I think my parents, who were very new at this whole thing as well, must have forgotten to tell me that they were going to pick me up.
  But I had taken no more than three steps out of the door before I heard my mom call my name. I remember that moment so clearly, that in a sea of unfamiliar people the only one I recognize was my mom, in her green winter coat and jeans. I was so glad! My heart feelt so relieved.
  On our way home Mom took me to Walgreens. We just walked through the aisles, in wonder of all the items on the shelves. We had never seen anything like this when we were in China, so many things to choose from, all there for you to marvel at. My first feeling was we could never ever afford anything in here, we were so poor. She said it must have been very hard for me, to adjust to everything, and she wanted to buy me some candy. She took out a few dollars that Dad had given her. I saw this bunny shaped chocolate that looks good, and it was only like a dollar or so. She wanted to get it for me, and then she hesitated, and told me she buy stuff for me later on. I fully understood, since we were really short on money at the time, and I was just glad that Mom had that intention.
  Below are some pictures taken around that time, when we were at Shorewood around August of 1993. Here is a picture of me at the elementary school. I look so silly with that outfit but whatever.

  Here is a picture of my mom. 

  We stayed at this small, 1br apartment on top of a bakery store. Here is a picture of me and my dad just chilling outside, relaxing. The summers were nice because Dad didn't have to take classes, which freed alot of his time, which allowed us to hang out more.

  Here is a picture of my parents on that same bench, looking very happy.

Here is me and my dad in front of the apartment door.

This is a picture of my mom, trying to learn some English, with her tape recorder and dictionary. In the background is Dad's terminal. This is before the age of personal computers, where one must log on to a central computer to check emails and do work.

I lived in the living room, where a small bed was set up for me. There was a small table next to the bed which I did homework on. 

 Here is our dining room, and we were having pizza for dinner. When we were by ourselves, even up to recently, if we had pizza in our house Mom would always cook some vegetable stir-fry and some soup. Its a little weird to eat pizza with chopsticks, I agree, but I liked it.

   But of course winters in Milwaukee can be pretty brutal. Here is a picture of my dad shoveling snow. He once told me that one morning he spent all this effort digging the snow out of his car, only to find it wasn't his car. I think that story is hilarious. I imagined the owner of the car, going to work that morning, finding that someone cleaned up his car, must have had a pretty good rest of the day.

My favorite place in the whole world

Now I love traveling. I have been to Italy and Germany, visited Rome, Capri, Florence, Munich,  Neuschwanstein. I have been to the beaches of Hawaii, and the vineyards of Napa Valley. But my favorite place to have fun has got to be this little park in Xianyang, where I grew up in China. I grew up going to this park, and I have so many memories and pictures from it! Let me show you.

Mom and me in front of the park entrance. When I look at this picture now, I  suddenly realized  how ornate it looks.

After we go through the gate, we'd stop by a fountain, and slowly walk toward the pond. Right next to a pond is this small little hill that I love to run up to. I loved to compete with my friends to see who's the fastest going up and down. Here is a picture of me at the hill top. I must have been seven or eight years old in it.

Me climbing the hill!

Dad and me on top of the hill. Yeah! I just conquered the hill!

After the hill, we continue walking around the pond. In the summertime it is really nice. There is a Chinese pavilion that we often stop by and enjoy the scenery.

Dad and me in the pavilion.

You are not allowed to swim in the pond but you can rent a row boat. 

My parents and I on a boat in the Xianyang park.

Mom rowing on the boat. Look the weird duck boat behind the picture. Right next to Mom are our lunchboxes; she always makes lunch for us so we can eat at the park. 

Here is me rowing. I guess we were going in circles, seeing that Mom put her oar down.

Me and my mom hanging out at the pond.

And then we'd hangout some more around the pond. There is a zoo inside the park, so we always go there to say hi to the camels, birds, etc. I like the zoo but I remember it didn't smell nice.

Me at the zoo, feeding ... I am not sure what I am feeding. Is it a reindeer, or a camel?

Every time I come to the park, I always made sure to visit my good friend Mr. Lion. He's very colorful and fun to climb on top of.

Me on top of the colorful stone lion.

Usually towards the end of the day, we would go and get this beautifully made candy, and I'd sit on the leaf benches that are all around the park, and eat my awesome candy.

Me sitting on the leaf bench and enjoying my brown sugar candy.

Years later, when I went back to China in 1999, I also went to the park and got one of those candy, and sat on a leaf bench, just like when I was young. Although, you could tell that the park is losing some of it luster--- the paint on the leaf benches are coming off.

Me getting back my childhood memories by eating my favorite candy in 1999.

When I went back to China in 2009, I again got that candy. But this time, I really made sure to take pictures to document how it is made.

The candy stand.

To get a candy made for you, you must pay a flat fee. Then you must spin the needle to determine what you will get. Whichever thing the needle lands on, the candy man will make it for you. It could be a peach, a gold fish, a bird, or a butterfly; but the best one has to be the dragon. When I was young I cried when the needle landed on something small like a butterfly, and begged for the dragon but the candy man will not give in.

The candy man starts with melted brown sugar, and takes a scoop of it and carefully pours it on a cold marble slab. With each pour he makes the dragon come to life: first the serpent body, then the tail.

Then he makes the scales on the dragon.

And then he makes the feet and head.

He even makes the clouds beneath the dragon.

Finally, he pushes a wood rod onto the dragon, and must carefully lift the dragon off the slab and at the same time having the dragon stick to the wooden stick!

And there you go! The girl holding my dragon candy is my cousin Tingting.

Me holding my candy, in front of the giraffe which I used to climb on. 

I also took pictures of the hill that I used to run on when I was young. It sure looks a lot smaller to me now.

This is the "hill" that I used to run up to. Man, it sure seemed  somewhat unimpressive now. But I just remember how hard it was for me get to the top when I was five or six years old.

Mr. Lion doesn't look as nice as he used to.

Remember Mr. Lion? I used to love climbing on top of him when I was a kid. However when I came back to see it in 2009, I realized that the colorful decorations on him are actually broken shards of ceramic. When they laid down the cement to make Mr. Lion, they must have put the broken pieces in before the cement hardened. And of course there were lot of sharp edges. I was quite surprised; I don't remember Mr. Lion as being dangerous to play on at all.
It is interesting how this park has made such a strong impression in me. When I think of this park, I think of me and my parents, walking around, rowing on the pond, getting candy. Going to Rome or Venice was fun, but they were nothing more than exotic tourist attractions to me; they didn't mean that much to me as that park did. Its hard to explain, I almost feel that all the grand European architectures are outwardly amazing, but that little park in an unknown city named Xianyang is inwardly amazing, because it contains all those memories of my parents and my childhood.

Cultural Revolution: Episode 2

A propaganda Cultural Revolution poster from New World Encyclopedia.

  Cultural Revolution has got to be one of the craziest things I have ever heard. I just can't believe that it all happened. I often wondered, "How can normal people do these kind of things?". But eventually I have come to realize that yes, normal people can do these things (I can too), because we are all sinful and in a need of Savior.
  I suggest a movie called "To Live", a large portion of the movie talked about Cultural Revolution. The movie was directed by possibly China's best director Zhang Yimou, who also directed the open and closing ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics. Below is cover of the movie, from IMDB.

  Of course, to show Zhang the appreciation for the movie the Chinese government banned it (It won several awards at the Cannes Film Festival). In China, there has always been a reluctance to be truthful about what has happened in the past; talking about Cultural Revolution(CR) is considered taboo. Actually, the act of burying the past is universal---you don't talk to a German about the Nazis, or an Italian about Fascism. Or if you come from a dysfunctional family you don't tell anyone about your past experiences.
  But if you don't talk about these things, doesn't it still have a hold on you? Has that wound still not been healed, and isn't that why you can't bear to bring it up? If you are a Christian and you never talked about your past failures and pretend that everything is fine, didn't you just deny the power of His blood and His ability to wash away your sins? Do you believe that the truth will set you free? Apostle Paul never hid his past, he talked openly about persecuting the church, he recognized that his actions caused many Christians to be killed, and honored Christ for redeeming him from a life of sin (1 Cor. 15:9, Gal. 1:13, Philp. 3:7).
 We don't know how evil we really are without Christ. We would consider ourselves to be pretty good people, and we expect that a small portion of our society to be evil criminals or the insane. We acknowledge that we are sinners by our lips but deep down we don't feel that way. But the reality is that most of our "goodness" is only a mere reflection of our society. We obey laws and customs only because it serves our own self-interest, because then we avoid being punished by the law. Just look at what happened in city of New Orleans when hurricane Katrina struck. When the local government fell apart, people plundered stores, and police officers joined in as well. No, we are not good people, and we are all in need of Christ.

 My parents talked to me often of what they did in the Cultural Revolution. I think it helps them to process those events and accept what had happened. They recognized that they were not perfect people and there is no need to hide that fact. And I really want to talk about their stories because we can learn from it, and we all can re-examine our own hearts. I think the devil just keeps fooling us with the same traps, and if we learn from other's past sins then we ourselves can keep from slipping.
  I'll first begin with Dad. The most memorable was the time when the local Red Guards attacked his high school principal. I am not entirely sure if Dad was a Red Guard at the time, but very likely since every young adult was one. The Red Guards would typically tie up the victim, put a tall pointy hat on him, and put a big sign on him, which usually says he was guilty of counter-revolution or being a capitalist. Then they would make him walk through the streets to be publicly humiliated, and Red Guards would walk behind the victim and shout slogans such as "Long live Chairman Mao!!", "Down with the Capitalist!!", or "so and so is a Capitalist Pig!!!". Public hearing would be held to condemn the victim, where everyone was encouraged to come up and denounce the victim, how he is no good, what a despicable person he was. And most likely things will get out of hand, and the victim is beaten by everyone. Then depending on the severity, your job might be taken away, your property might be confiscated, and you maybe sent away from your family to live in some remote village. I am not kidding about any of this; there were countless number of these attacks during Cultural Revolution throughout China, and all the estimates were in ten's of millions of people! I have included some pics from a university history site, picture below shows what a public hearing was like.

  As for the principal, Dad was one of the Red Guards holding him down and marching him into the streets and then to the public hearing. My dad talked often of how vicious his fellow classmates were. He did it mainly for show; he held the principal by the arms and twisted his arms. Dad held him down but he didn't beat the principal; some just pretended to beat him, but there were some who really laid hands on him. Many years after the Cultural Revolution, when the principal was allowed to come back home from some remote village, Dad visited him. I guess he felt really bad about what had happened, and wanted to apologize. Dad mentioned to me that the principal was a very nice person and didn't deserve to be treated like this.
  As for Mom, she often went to the public hearings and she was also very vocal about denouncing the "capitalist pigs". But her father, Grandpa Geng, is a Christian and he urged my mom not to go to these things. Grandpa Geng visited the victims and consoled them, even though it was forbidden to do so. He knew they were innocent people and he didn't buy into all that Communist propaganda. But Mom was 15 years old at the time. She was very fervent about following Chairman Mao and being a loyal Red Guard, which was what every teenager wanted. Mom loved Grandpa Geng very much, and said that this was only time that she was seriously upset with Grandpa Geng.
  Even many years after Cultural Revolution Mom still felt a sense of loyalty to Chairman Mao. Mom said that day when he died, she felt as if God himself had died. She, along with hundreds of million Chinese, grieved for Mao. She often told me how terrible she felt at the time, as if a part of her heart was gone. Mom and I went to Beijing to visit the Mausoleum of Mao Zedong in 1991, which was 15 years after his death. When she saw Mao's body, she actually cried.

Mausoleum of Mao Zedong

But don't get me wrong, I love my mom and dad. They were not perfect; I didn't expect them to be perfect. These things happened during a time of utter unimaginable chaos, and they were without their Savior then. They loved me very much, and they loved the Lord, and trusted in His salvation and nothing else. All of this helped to transform them to the sweet and loving people that they were later on in life, for whoever has been forgiven much loves much (Luke 7).

I will talk about what we can learn from it on a later blog.

How my parents met

The story of how my parents met is an unusual one. No, its not like the romantic love stories that get made into Hollywood movies, but I personally think it is beautiful, and it should be made known to family and friends.
Please allow me to first "set the stage", if you will. The family environments in which my parents grew up in were extremely different. My dad's mom was sick for a long time, and it was my grandfather who took care of the family. Dad told me that Grandfather Cheng often had to cut corners, borrow money from friends, etc., to make ends meet. Dad said they'd often run out of food at the end of every month. Being the oldest son, Dad had to help out with the house, and in his spare time he learned about repairing TVs and radios. Later on in life he poured himself into studying, and I am pretty sure he was no "ladies' man". My mom on the other hand grew up from a family where both parents brought in incomes, and the family was stable.
Mom and Dad were very different people. Mom was out-going, friendly, and everyone liked her. Dad was not unfriendly, but he was very interested in "non-human-related" things, such as math, science, physics, and electronics. In terms of previous dating experience, I am not sure, but Dad did tell me it was hard to find anyone due to his family situation, while there were several other candidates for Mom.

It was my mom's father, Grandpa Geng (pictured above with Mom), who first crossed paths with my Dad. At the time, he was an instructor at a technical college, where Dad studied after he came back from working on the railroad. Grandpa Geng met him in the library, and was surprised that he was holding a book written in English. Grandpa Geng was skeptical that Dad could read it, and demanded Dad to read to him. Then he questioned my dad some more. After getting to know Dad, Grandpa Geng invited Dad to come to over, under the pretense of fixing the TV, and that's how he got Mom and Dad to first meet.
The story is not so impressive until I found out that high schools and colleges practically shut down in the past couple of years, and most people hadn't even received basic education, let alone to be reading highly technical writing in English. Dad was way ahead of everyone else. Not only was it not taught to him, it was illegal for him to learn these things. What a stark contrast with my generation! We, I included, should appreciate knowledge.

Since Mom had a close relationship with Grandpa Geng, Mom trusted his discernment, and that's pretty much how they got married. She did have her doubts though, when she went to visit the Cheng's family. She said she tried to not let his family situation bother her, but it was very hard.

Mom taking care of me

I always liked this picture because it shows how difficult it must have been for my mom to carry her fat little baby, which was me. She looked unusually small...or is it that I am unusually big...whatever.
As I have mentioned in their memorial service, my mom and dad never actually lived in the same place together in China, from 1981 to 1992. Once they were married, Dad went away to work in a factory, and then went to college in a nearby city, while my mom stayed in Xianyang in a fabric and dye factory. In other words, they stayed in communes in different cities.
Here I need to add a few words about communes. Back then one doesn't choose his/her profession, rather it was assigned by the government. But its more than just a workplace that you are assigned to. You were assigned to live in a commune; the workplace (i.e., factory or school) is in the commune, and so are grocery stores, restaurants, daycare/kindergarten, elementary/middle/high school, hospital. So in theory, everything you need would be close by, and you and your colleagues live in the same place, your children play and go to school along with their children. I remember my childhood was full of close friends, and every parent looked after every kid. I didn't mind living in the commune.
However, the downside is that you don't get to choose which commune to live in. If your wife lives in a different commune it wouldn't have been easy to move her over to your commune---the gears of government machinery often became deadlocked. Giving bribe is the like the motor oil that lubricates the government machinery, and believe me things get done in China when you bribe those in charge. My dad though, was never that type of person, he hated it. I can't say for sure if he never gave any bribes, but I am sure that he wanted to go to the US mainly so he could get away from this kind of bad government. Here is a picture of the Chengs, when I was just born.

But it sure was difficult for my mom, all those years, taking care of me and working, and commuting on bus routes to visit my dad on the weekends. This was why I had such a close relationship with Mom. We tried to visit Dad as much as we could and he could visit us as well, and on summer breaks Dad would leave the university and stay with us. But mainly it was my mom taking care of me. Mom told me 2 days after I was born that she was left all alone to take care of me, and how difficult it was to breastfeed me, and how I peed/pooped right after she changed me. But she was always very happy to do it for me; I can tell by the way she recalled those memories. And look at this picture, look how happy she was!

And here is when I was older.

When I look at pictures of me and my mom, I think of what a wonderful relationship we had with each other. I could never hide anything from her, and I couldn't stand to see her upset at me. I felt completely at ease to share anything with her, and she took care all my needs. Even in the last years of her life, we still talked a lot on the phone; she would talk about whatever was in her heart (which was mainly eating fresh vegetables and worshiping the Lord). She was very dear to me.

Crazy things my dad did when he was young

This is a picture of my dad during my wedding in 2010. If you look at him, you'd think, "Oh, what a happy and nice man he is!" He was very nice, reserved, and calm. That's what I always think of him, until I am reminded of all things he did when he was young. I mean, he wasn't mean or violent or anything. He was... well, you can decide for yourself.

My dad told me he used to play outside alot, and sometimes things would get a little out of hand. One time he was playing javelin with his friends. I don't remember how they played with it, I guess they were just seeing who could throw it the farthest. The way he told me seems to me that kids would be on opposite sides, one would throw it towards the other, and then that other kid would pick it up and throw it back. Well, in this particular time the boy playing with my dad was standing a little too close to my dad, and my dad ended up throwing the javelin in his eye and busted his eye out. Dad swore to me that he told his friend to move back, but he refused. As my dad recalled, that night was the only time my grandfather beat him. My jaw just dropped the first time I heard about it. Dad told me after twenty years later the boy still wouldn't forgive him.

Then another time my dad and several other kids were playing near a river bank. I couldn't remember if they decided to go for a swim or part of the river bank broke off, and they were carried off by the current. Everyone knew how to swim, except one boy. After awhile of looking for him, Dad found him floating calmly on the river, dead. Everyone in the community were outraged at what had happened, especially since the kids knew that was a dangerous place to play.

When my dad mentioned these stories to me, it was clear that he was not proud of these moments. I think after what happened at the riverbank my dad started to change into his calm and cautious demeanor that he was later on in life.

Up into the mountains, down into the villages. (shangshan xiaxiang: 上山下乡)

When talking about their experiences before I was born, they almost always mentioned the period in Cultural Revolution when every young adult in China were sent to do manual labor in the countryside. Known to the Chinese as shang shan xia xiang, this period is very difficult to imagine for the later generation, and even more difficult for people from the US. There has never been anything like this in the US that is equally chaotic, disruptive, degenerative, and ridiculous. I would probably not be a good person to give a history lesson on this period, so I recommend that you should read some Chinese history books such as the one written by John King Fairbanks or other online sources. However, after browsing through online sources it seems that there aren't too much information on this period, so I will digress briefly from talking about my parents' unique experiences and focus on China as a whole.
In the 1970's when Chairman Mao saw that he was losing control of the Chinese government he mobilized youth to help fight his cause. But when the youths were wreaking havoc in all the cities, Mao encouraged them to work in the countryside, as a way to cleanse themselves of bourgeois thinking and toughen-up. At first he encouraged youths to do so, later he made it mandatory. So millions of urban youths were sent to villages, remote mountainous regions, for farming or other construction projects. It is really hard for me to imagine: living hundreds of miles away from home, doing hard labor, living in wretched conditions, and only allowed to come home once a year. 
My dad's account of it was this. He was only allowed to bring one bag, which he took some clothes, a quilt for sleeping, some toiletries, and a few of his books. He and his classmates were hauled off on a truck and rode for several hours until they reached the mountains. Because there were no roads, they had to walk several days to their campsite. He described that hike was very difficult. They hiked the whole day until it was too dark to see, then they were allowed to rest and eat some food. As soon as he stopped, he dropped to the ground and slept, with the gear still on his back. When he woke up several hours later and ate some bread, and once the moon came out they started hiking again.
Oh by the way, as I recall every time we went for a walk in the Botanical Gardens in Athens, my dad would bring up his hike into the mountains. It was as if seeing the trees overhead and the muddy path beneath brings him back to those memories. He never said it a bitter tone, as if he felt mistreated. Rather he felt proud of the fact that he was able to experience it... but he would never want to go through it again.
Dad mentioned that his company of youth lived next to a military compound, which was good since the military were relatively better supplied. Although the military looked after the them, they still had to make their own cabins to live in, which meant they had to chop wood and haul it back to the campsite. Dad often would mention how difficult it was to carry the wood on his shoulders, walking up and down on the mountains. He often said, "I couldn't carry too much as compared to others, but I was really surprised to see that the ones who could carry the most actually had the smallest frames!"
(I find it interesting that Christ had to carry wood on his shoulders and hike up a hill, where he was crucified. It was as if God wanted him to experience this particular toil that mankind had to endure for thousands of years.)
Once the cabins were built, they went to work on the blasting tunnels through the mountains for the railroads. Dad's particular job was that he was overseeing a group of electricians who set up lighting after the dynamite is set off. He said it was a really dangerous job since there might still be some dynamite not set off when they get into the tunnel, and many lost their limbs. I was young when I heard him say this and I am still impressed to this day that Dad once had such a thrilling job.
Such was the condition of my dad in this ordeal. His only picture that I can find in this period is shown below. 

The first thing you can notice is how thin my father was; his old clothes seem to dangle on this shoulders and waist. I can see at least two patches on his right pant leg. Behind him are bare and dry mountains that nothing seems to be growing on. To the left of his feet seems to be roofs, which could be where he lived.

Intro

This is the section where I talk about their lives from 1953 until 1982, when I was born. I didn't know too much about this period, obviously. The things I knew mainly came from conversations at the dinner table, where my parents and my grandparents spent a lot of time reminiscing the past. Often the stories begins with, "Oh Tom, you really should be glad you have food (or whatever) right now, because back when we were young we didn't have anything..." I have heard this over and over again that I grow tired of them, and often while they were telling me these stories my mind would drift off into lala land. Anyways, by the time I was twenty years old I had heard all of them several times. However its by no coincidence they talked about this period so much; their experiences had made such strong impressions in their minds that they have difficulty putting them in the past. This period in their lives were very difficult, as can be expected since China was extremely tumultuous back then: gaining independence in the 40's, then Cold War with US in the 50's and 60's, Cultural Revolution in 70's, and economic reform in the 80's.

Story Outline

In the process of organizing my parents' photos, I found that the best way to tell their story is to separate them into 9 chapters:
Chapter 1: Pre-Tom (1953-1982) - Their upbringing, after college, and 1st year of marriage in China.
Chapter 2: Tom's Childhood in China (1982-1993) - Me growing up in XianYiang
Chapter 3: In Milwaukee, Wisconsin (1991-1995) - When Dad was getting his PhD he brought us to the US.
Chapter 4: In Athens, GA (1995-1997) - When Dad joined Olis, Mom was a nanny, and grandpa was with us.
Chapter 5: Living in Heather Cove, Athens GA (1997-2007) - Longest period in their lives where they lived in one place.
Chapter 6: Living in Arborwood, Bishop GA (2007-2011) - Living in their dream house.
Chapter 7: Mom's Babysitting (1996-1997) - My mom was babysitting in Marietta GA while we were in Athens GA.
Chapter 8: Being Part of Eden Church (2002-2011) - Growing close to the Ouyang family and even closer to the Lord.
Chapter 9: Wedding, Graduation, and Baby Timmy (2010) - The highlight of their lives probably was my wedding, and 2010 might well be the best year they ever lived.
Chapter 10: Final months up to funeral (2011)

In Memory of My Parents

Since my parents both went to be with the Lord on June 15th, 2011, I have tried hard to hold on to every bit of my memory of them. I want to put them into a collection so I can get to it and my children can read it and appreciate their grandparents. They have lived two very interesting lives, they loved each other, and they loved me and others. Through difficulties and challenges they eventually became Christians, became involved in a Chinese church. As the love of God poured into their lives they also began to love others. I feel that their story should be shared with others, and I am the best one to do this.