A Casual Essay of Father’s Day

The week before Father’s Day, my wife and I spent the weekend in a seaside apartment in San Diego, also taking the opportunity to celebrate an early Father’s Day with my oldest son Luke, who works in the area. I very much treasure every beautiful moment I get to spend with my children like this.

We had lunch at Mimi’s Cafe. It’s an American chain restaurant we used to visit quite often, because we enjoy its French aesthetic and food. The restaurant was originally founded by an American aviator named Arthur Simms, who’d been stationed in France during World War II. After France’s liberation, he ran into a French girl named Mimi at a party, and thus christened his cafe in her name. Coming back to the present, this restaurant chain has now extended across 24 states in the US.

There weren’t many people there for lunch that day; I contentedly sat in the spacious, brightly-lit restaurant, cracked open the menu, and picked out a seafood pasta, while my wife ordered a salad. The person serving us was a beautiful young waitress. She had a refined and courteous way of speaking and always had a smile on her face, giving off a feeling of friendly familiarity. There was a little lapel badge on her chest that said Trainer; apparently, despite her young age, she was already a senior employee in this job.

I casually turned to Luke and said, “This girl is very sweet. She’s both good-looking and capable, it makes this place feel like a home away from home for us customers.” I didn’t say this expecting any particular kind of reaction from Luke; I was just trying to express how cheerful I was feeling at that particular moment in time.

But my son apparently didn’t quite agree with my opinion, showing what seemed to be doubt towards my aesthetic sense and judgmental abilities. He smiled and said, “Dad, you’re always saying things like this. No matter where you go, I’ve never once heard you say a single negative thing about others. When you were staying in the hospital, you constantly praised the nurses; when we went to get medicine at the pharmacy, you had unending praise for the pharmacist; now here you are in this restaurant, praising the waitress.”

Caught off-guard by hearing these words from my own son, I was for a moment entirely unable to think of a reply.  Was there a problem with my judgment? These past few years my health has been getting increasingly worse due to the constant torment from cancer, and my mind has been getting more slow-witted along with it. At home I’ve changed from being the head of the household to the “tail” of it; fortunately I still know myself perfectly well; whenever anything comes up at home I always listen to my wife and children’s decisions.

Seeing my delay in answering him, Luke quickly moved to smooth things over so that his old man wouldn’t feel embarrassed: “To tell the truth, a lot of my coworkers and friends from church say the same thing about me.”

I curiously asked him, “What do they say about you?”

“Their comments about me are about the same as what I just said about you: I’m always saying good things about people. They say they always have to “minus 3” from my words to figure out the truth about whoever I’m evaluating.” This was the first time I’d ever heard my son mention other people describing him this way. Noticing my great interest in the topic, he continued, “If people need to “minus 3” of what I’m saying, then for you it’d be more like ‘minus 7’ ..”

Ancient Chinese writer Yan Zhitui wrote in his book Yanshi Jiaxun: “When one is still young, their personality and worldview have yet to settle; ...the influence of their surroundings will naturally shape them in imperceptible ways.” Although at the time I couldn’t be certain if the truth hidden in my son’s words was doubting my ability to judge, or half-jokingly praising me, one thing I could be certain of was that he was saying my words and actions had created an imperceptible influence upon him.

Thinking carefully, being that kind of person whose friends can jokingly say they need to “minus 3” is no easy task. Someone whose words are “always saying good things about others” must by necessity have a great heart of his own; he must be overflowing with joy in order to reach such a level that he can continue to do that, even if he is going through suffering at the same time. Someone whose heart is filled with dissatisfaction isn’t very likely to harbor gratitude and praise towards others.

I was quietly happy for my son; who gains such high praise from his friends and coworkers, to be called a young man whose kind words needed a “minus 3”! What better present could I have asked for, this Father’s Day? Thinking about how my cancer had recently come back again, this could very well be the last Father’s Day we spent together - but knowing my child can live with a heart full of gratitude and joy, I really feel as if I could leave this world with no regrets.

What Luke said here reminded me of the grandfather he’d never met, my father Chang Zihua. If according to my son’s words I was someone whose words needed a “minus 7”, then this merit of mine should give credit to my father, because when I was still a youth whose “personality and worldview had yet to settle”, he was the one who gave me the greatest influence.

I’ll never forget when my father was kicked out of his house by the Red Guards during the Cultural Revolution Movement in 1960s. All of his properties were confiscated by communists, and they drove him and my mother away to live in a few dark and musty little rooms behind a villa on 32 Longjiang Street, Qingdao. During that difficult period of our lives, he sang the same hymn every day: “Let us rejoice and be glad and give Him glory. For the wedding of the Lamb has come, and his bride has made herself ready. Fine linen, bright and clean, was given her to wear.” (Revelation 19:7-8)

I was only fourteen years old back then. As I listened to my father sing this song every day, constantly wondered: How could my father - who’d lost everything he owned, lived in a damp prison-like shed, was treated like Public Enemy Number One by the communist sub-district officers, forced to daily sweep the road outside the door of 32 Longjiang Street, and was ridiculed and humiliated in a thousand different ways - still be able to sing “Rejoice and be glad” every day? Besides that, I didn’t understand a word of the lyrics to this song (back then I didn’t know the lyrics were taken from a passage of Revelation in Bible). Why was a lamb having a wedding? Who was the bride? Why did the bride have to wear linen? I never asked my father any of these questions while he was alive.

Me and my father Chang Zihua. Taken February 1973, in the back yard of 32 Longjiang Street, Qingdao.

But all throughout those torturous days, my father never stopped singing that song. His voice was soft and pleasant when he sang, the music lingering in the air long after he was done; the expression on his face was as pure as that of a child, almost as if he were in an entirely different world. He would sing this song first thing every morning, as he and my mother moved the damp bedding out to the front yard to dry. Whenever Qingdao’s rainy season came, with heavy rain outdoors and a light drizzle in the house, he’d sing this song while placing washbasins to catch raindrops from our leaky rafters. The tiles of our little roof had actually been intentionally destroyed by our young ruffian neighbors, harboring hatred of the class struggle. He’d sing this song whenever he climbed up to fix the tiles. When he was diagnosed with cancer, he and my mother moved to a little house a few square meters wide, in the rear court of No. 6 Xinlin Garden at my older sister’s home in Qinghua University. As my father whiled away the last days of his life in this little house, he continued, as always, to sing this song.

My father Chang Zihua teaching his granddaughter to sing a hymn at Qinghua University’s No. 6 Xinlin Garden. Taken December 1974, four months before he died.

In 1984, ten years after he passed away, I was studying at Biola University in America. That year I took a Bible course focusing on the Book of Revelation, and found to my surprise that the song my father used to sing had originally come from Chapter 19, verse 7-8. It was then that I suddenly understood why he’d continued to sing this song through all his trials and tribulations, as well as the meaning hidden behind those words. This piece of scripture celebrates a grand wedding, a metaphor for the praises those who are redeemed will give to the Lord. Within this metaphor, the Lamb represents the Lord Jesus Christ, and the bride represents the church and all the people who are redeemed by Him. And the bride’s “fine linen, bright and clean”, is a beautiful white wedding dress, representing purity and honesty. This wedding of the Lamb, therefore, is the final union of Jesus Christ and the church at the end of days.

This piece of scripture revealed to me what my father’s inner thoughts had been as he sang it. It turns out that the reason he was able to have a heart full of joy during his times of tribulation was because through this scripture, he saw God’s wonderful promise and the hope that He gave to him: that the marriage between Christ and his people would be everlasting. His singing this song was letting out a voice of praise and admiration to our Father in heaven, expressing his faith and reliance in Him.

My father’s natural voice accompanied me all my life, leaving an imperceptible influence upon me. No matter where I go, I can always hear the lingering sound of his singing voice echoing in my ears. Especially as I approach my eleventh year with late-stage cancer, his angelic song has given me enormous comfort and delight; his words and actions, always so full of happiness and joy, have become the example by which I have modeled my entire life.

As I was immersed in thoughts of my father, a total stranger from the neighboring table suddenly walked over to us, interrupting my contemplation. She gave us two gift cards for Mimi’s Cafe, saying that they could take off twelve dollars each. Because of my delayed reaction to this unexpected gift, by the time I realized what had happened, the stranger had already left the restaurant; luckily my son and wife were quicker to react, and had made sure to express their thanks to her.

I carefully read over the two gift cards: apparently we needed to hand them to the waitress before ordering if we wanted to get those twelve dollars off my meal. I said, “It looks like we aren’t destined to use these gift cards today.”

“You really like that waitress, right? Let’s give a card to her later, and see if she really is as good as you said she is.” Luke showed me a crafty smile as he spoke, as if seeking to prove his theory that you needed to “minus 7” of my praises to approach the truth of the people I mentioned.

“Won’t this cause trouble for her?” I felt as if doing things this way would be a bother to others.

“It doesn’t matter if we can’t use it today, it was a surprise present to begin with,” said my wife, joining in the conversation.

“That’s right, all we’re doing is asking a little question. Don’t worry, we won’t be bothering anyone,” my son agreed, comforting me.

After a while, that young waitress came back to our table, amiably asked how we were doing, refilled our drinks, and asked if there was anything else we needed. Her voice as she spoke was gentle and soft, always keeping up the same “trademark” smile. Just then, her sharp eyes caught the Mimi’s Cafe gift cards in my son’s hand. Quickly taking one, she didn’t wait for him to open his mouth before saying, “Did you want to use this gift card today? No problem, I’ll use it to deduct twelve dollars from your check.”

“My powers of insight and judgment aren’t too bad, huh?” I proudly said to Luke, after the waitress had left.

As we were leaving the restaurant, Luke took the remaining gift card and gave it to a pair of strangers at another table. I stood at a distance, watching him chat with the two women; their faces showed the same pleasantly surprised expression I’d made myself, not too long ago.

That night, I slept in the seaside apartment. Midnight was the time for high tide; the rhythmic sound of the waves against the sand was like a lullaby playing outside my window, lulling me slowly into the land of dreams. I dreamed of my father, and said to him, “Dad, thank you for following me with your song all these years. Before I reunite with you in the Kingdom of Heaven, I’d like to happily say that your grandson Luke will continue your legacy of singing your most favorite song.”

Original written by Joseph Chang in Chinese on June 9, 2019

In a seaside apartment at Pacific Beach, San Diego

Translated by Ida von Mizener on June 16, 2019

Edited by Joseph Chang on June 20, 2019