Resilience: Lessons from My Father’s Escape to America

A Legacy of Strength, Sacrifice, Perseverance, and the Unyielding Spirit of a?Family

It was dinnertime, and Dad slowly walked to the table and pulled out his chair. It creaks as he sits down and smiles, thanking my husband and me for making dinner. He was visiting from Vietnam, and at 74 years old, many wouldn’t guess his age?—?assuming he’s in his late 60s, perhaps, his active lifestyle and travels between Vietnam and America are keeping him vibrant and jovial.

We eat in silence, with my daughter to my left and my son to my husband’s right. There are five of us at the table tonight, and I ask how everyone’s day was. The kids, preoccupied with school and activities, stay quiet and quickly gobble up their meal before asking to be excused?—?leaving the three adults behind at the table. After a hectic week, I decided to raise a question from the Pathway to Citizenship class I teach at Santa Ana College.

“Dad, didn’t we try to escape Vietnam three or four times back in 1980?”

He looks at me, smiles, and replies, “It was five times. The fourth time was terrible but not to be outdone by the fifth time, when we were lost at sea for five days and nearly died.”

“How did we survive?” I ask.

He simply says, “Do you believe in God? Because I have no other answer to that question.”

His response catches me off guard. My father had never before spoken of God. I wonder if he’s referring to a higher being since we were raised Buddhist, but he goes on to share that when he was 22 years old?—?before he met my mother?—?a nun had given him a small cross to protect him during surgery for typhoid fever. It was his first near-death experience and something I never knew about. After 49 years, I realize I’ve also never asked my father about our journey to America in any sort of detail, nor his life before meeting my mom. I feel ashamed and guilty for not knowing his story but am ready to listen now, and so I ask him to share it with my husband and me on this particular evening.

Nguyen Van Tran

The year was 1978, three years after the Vietnam War ended. Nguyen Van Tran, married in April 1975 to Huoi Lu, had two daughters: Phuong Tran and Ngan Tran. After three failed attempts to escape Vietnam, it seemed like giving up was the only option; but after the Communist party had gradually seized Nguyen’s property to yank away any sort of economic opportunity, he decided he had no choice but to find some way to flee the country.

He planned their escape for early 1979 with another couple. When the day finally arrived after what seemed like years, they started their journey in the morning and hailed a taxi to drive them to the southernmost part of Vietnam. As they climbed into the car, the driver looked at them suspiciously. Perhaps it was the nervous whispers that tipped him off, but he wanted no part of this dangerous situation and so offered up a compromise: he’d take them halfway to Cau Mau, the farthest province in the south. From there, they could finish their journey out of Vietnam on foot. Arriving at the halfway point and as night fell, the family navigated a dense forest filled with mosquitoes?—?struggling with the muddy ground that tugged at their feet. They were fortunate enough to buy a boat before entering the swamp that lay ahead, with Huoi and the girls jumping in so Nguyen could pull them across. With one day down, they thought they might get lucky. No one was apparently on their tails?—?though they feared the taxi driver would report them?—?and they rationed their water and felt they were making progress. By day two, however, they realized they were merely going in circles. Every tree looked the same as the next, and the mosquitoes were relentless. During the day, they were simply a nuisance; but when the flashlights switched on at night, it was downright frightening to see them swarming. With dwindling supplies and broken hearts, they decided to turn around and head back to their hometown in Cantho?—?looking skyward at the stars to make their way east. They made it back home unscathed, alive but disheartened.

Nguyen returned to work the next morning to avoid suspicion, though sunburned and covered in mosquito bites. He resumed his duties as manager at a state-run company, grateful everyone had survived what was now the fourth failure.

Six months later, still in 1979, Huoi was expecting their third child. Nguyen’s dream of operating his own business still seemed out of reach, but a chance encounter at a local coffee shop changed everything. He met a young Navy man named Anh Hong, a pharmacist and lieutenant who’d attempted his escape three months earlier but was thwarted by typhoon season. Nguyen hired the man to work at his company, and their friendship blossomed in the months that followed. Soon enough, Nguyen found himself revealing his plan: a scheme he’d secretly concocted. He planned to use a fishing boat his staff was building to escape to Thailand and needed Anh Hong’s help to find the right people to help him navigate out of Vietnam. Though initially shocked, his friend agreed to help but with one condition: he too would join the escape. They got right to work planning and plotting, the promise of a brighter future fueling their motivation.

Six months later on January 28, 1980 (Lunar New Year’s Eve), it was time. Thirty-four people?—?26 adults and 8 children?—?secretly boarded the boat in silence. This included Huoi, who was 3 months pregnant at the time, and their two daughters. With dreams of Thailand on their mind, the group suddenly found themselves panic-stricken when the engine stalled as the boat moved out of the harbor. Thankfully, though, the backup engine kicked in to keep them moving. By morning the next day, they were far enough away from Vietnam to feel a sense of relief. The backup engine failed a few hours later, however, leaving them to rely on the sails for power.

They looked up at the stars to navigate, and by day two, doubt and fear set in amongst the Vietnamese boat people as they drifted aimlessly. To keep hope alive, Nguyen demonstrated the boat’s movement with a tissue: showing them how it floated in the water according to the current. Despite their fear, they believed him?—?the hope feeding their optimism amidst challenging circumstances. The positivity was short-lived, however, when water started running low and the makeshift filtration system produced only a cup of water every two hours to quench their collective thirst. Desperation grew, but on day three, they spotted a ship. Hope surged?—?only to be crushed when it sailed away without offering any help.

By day five, the group was on the brink of despair; gnawing hunger and urgent thirst ran rampant with no food or water remaining. A short time later, however, three small fishing boats appeared. The fishermen spotted Nguyen’s cross, perceived their dire situation, and provided the water and food they desperately needed. It’s a miracle, Nguyen thought. A true miracle indeed. The three strangers repaired the engine and helped tow Nguyen’s boat closer to Thailand. After 12 more hopeful hours, they finally laid eyes on the coast. It was the most beautiful sight they’d ever seen.

Nguyen was the first to jump off the boat when it hit the beach and quickly sought help. He encountered a man in a military jacket who asked in Vietnamese, “How did you get here?” Nguyen was initially fearful, worried his answer might send him back to Vietnam; but when he explained his tale of a tumultuous escape from a hopeless situation, the officer simply replied, “Welcome to Thailand.” Overwhelmed with relief, Nguyen dropped to his knees and cried. He’d finally escaped. He was free.

Phuong Lee

I didn’t hear my father’s story until so many years later, during that important dinner with him and my husband. He’d fought so hard?—?and yes, did eventually make it to America. A miracle? Most certainly so.

How can I waste any moment or day of any opportunity he worked so hard to gift me?

I too will fight and persevere.

Thanks, Dad and Mom.

My name is Phuong Lee, and I am passionate about lifelong learning. I believe the greatest investment we can make is in ourselves, continually growing and evolving through knowledge. Whether it’s teaching, mentoring, or personal growth, I am dedicated to fostering opportunities for learning and self-improvement.

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