Little Boy Blue

Happy birthday, Little Boy Blue. Twelve months ago you entered the world amid the smells and noise and bustle and heat of Hong Kong. In your first week you got a passport, rode taxis, trains, and vans, and then took a ferry across the bay to your home. Now you've traded my favorite 31st window seat for the green grass of an American backyard.

It's been a year of hard losses. First your dad lost his job. Then you lost your adopted country. When you boarded a plane and moved halfway around the world, you lost the wonderful international family that welcomed you into the world. With your parents, you lost a culture and a precious way of life.

In the winter you lost your oldest cousin. You won't have any recollection of her, but she will temper your family and your life. You lost your dad, too, in a sense, when he had to leave to take a job in another state.

Sometimes I wish we could roll back the calendar. We'd sneak away and catch a plane to Lantau, then get the ferry across the bay. Your dad would go find ice cream at McDonalds and your mom would find Mabel and Lynn and catch up on the news. Your poppa would shoot pictures till his heart was satisfied. You and I would walk the streets, and eat ginger candy, and listen to the babble of languages. We'd go find Mr. Wong and he'd stretch his arms wide at how big you are. We'd be home, Little Boy Blue.

But it would be a dream -- because life doesn't work that way -- and it shouldn't. Life moves forward, not backwards. Your roots will influence you forever, but each year will add new dimensions. Take it all and make it yours. Stand proud when someone snickers at where you were born, or asks why you use chopsticks to eat your rice. Call your cats mau mau, and wave tai jien when you go out the door. Don't live in the past, but don't forget it either.

You've lost much, but you've gained more. Two sets of grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins, and bundles of extended family and friends. You've charmed the ladies on this side of the ocean just as you did on the other side. You've found that dads can climb into computer screens and have dinner with you, even from another state.

Soon you and your mom will join your dad and build a new life in DC. The mau mau will dash up and down the four flights of the townhouse, and you'll be close behind. There will be neighbors and friends because your mom and dad always find neighbors and friends. You'll visit the capitol and the memorials, the museums and the zoo. You'll learn to eat crabcakes and grits and put honey on your biscuits. I'm sure you'll find the best Chinese restaurants, and Indian, and Lebanese and all the other ethnic wonders of a big city.

In God's timing, you'll see your birthplace again. Meanwhile, dig your little toes into the thick grass and chase the cottonwood puffs across the yard. It's your birthday, little guy, so celebrate all you have. For all you've lost, the priceless things are what remain.