Escape from Saigon (4 page)

Though Long took care of himself during the day, his grandmother saw that he needed more supervision, that he was spending too much time on the streets with nothing to do. She worried that as he got older, he would start to get into trouble.

“She spent what time she could with me. She wished she could send me to school all day, because I was an eager student and school would keep me occupied, but she did not have an extra penny for that. Mostly, she worried that the day would come when she could no longer feed me.”

On Long's seventh birthday, May 15, 1973, Ba said they had an appointment and that it was a long distance away. She would say no more. They set out on foot through the streets. They had walked a long time when Ba stopped at a street vendor's stall. To the boy's delight, she bought him his favorite meat sandwich—his birthday present.

As he ate, she began to tell him that something very special was about to happen. She had learned of a place that would take him in. It was a good place, she said.

Her voice broke, but she continued. These people, who were Americans, would find him a new family. This would be the best thing for him. It might even be a family in America. It would be better for him there, she said. He could go to school and would have enough to eat. And he would have a new mother.

“You would like to have a mother again, wouldn't you?” she asked.

He hesitated. Could there be such a thing as a
new
mother? He took his grandmother's hand. “I have you, Ba.”

“I can no longer take care of you,” she said softly.

Long tried to understand her words. Then he realized her meaning. She
couldn't
take care of him. He felt a rush of fear. Somehow he had learned to live without his mother. But what would he do if Ba left him?

Finally they arrived at a plain three-story building with the address Ba was looking for. The sign said it was the Holt Center. Long could hear children playing. What was this place? Inside the building he waited on a hallway bench while Ba sat in an office and talked to a Vietnamese woman and an American man. Long saw his grandmother sign some papers. When she came out, she had tears in her eyes. She hugged him goodbye and promised to visit when she could.

The Holt Center in Saigon

“I know you will be a good boy,” she said. “Do whatever they tell you to do.”

As the door closed behind her, Long tried not to panic. When would he see her again? How could she leave him, when his mother had done the same thing? He wanted to run after her, hold on tight, and never let go.

He stayed on the bench, staring at the closed door. For the first time in his life, he was on his own. He took a deep breath, struggling to swallow the lump in his throat. He did not understand what was going on, but until his grandmother returned for him, he would try to be brave.

3

A
T
H
OME AT
H
OLT

At recess, Long kept an eye on the bicycles. He watched the riders carefully. How did you balance yourself on two slim wheels? Could he teach himself to do that? He had no chance to try, as other children were always on the few bikes. He dreamed of being the rider, circling around the playground, going faster than anyone could run.

Seven-year-old Long, shortly after his arrival at the Holt Center, holding a card with his name and birthdate

The children tried to get him to join their games, but he stayed apart, waiting. Ba would come back for him. He was sure of this. Whenever he was near the front gate, he looked out anxiously, watching for her.

While he waited, he tried not to call attention to himself. He slept in the bunk he was assigned to, ate the food placed in front of him, and sat obediently in his classes. Of the hundred children at the Holt Center, twenty-five were near his age. Almost all of them were Amerasian, many of them half black. Long quickly figured out which children were best friends, who was the most skilled at jumping rope, and who told funny jokes. The best bike rider was Ky, who was half black and taller than Long. He was friendly and outgoing and well liked by the other children.

Like children everywhere, the kids at Holt could turn any object into a plaything

Most of the staff were Vietnamese, but there were also several Americans. Long saw little resemblance between himself and the Americans. They seemed tall and pale, at least compared to the smaller, darker-skinned, brown-eyed, black-haired Vietnamese staff. Americans had round eyes that might be green or blue, and hair colors that were just as strange—blond, brown, and even red. Instead of the simple clothing worn by Vietnamese, their clothing had more pockets, belts, buttons, and collars. The men wore shoes and socks instead of rubber sandals. Still, Long liked them. Americans smiled a lot, and they were nice to the children.

But Long's favorite adults were the Vietnamese teachers. He liked his teacher best. The children called her Miss Anh. She was pretty and patient and lots of fun, and Long felt comfortable around her.

Even his first day at Holt, Long heard the word “adoption.” It was Ky who explained to him what it was. A week after Long's arrival, he was sitting by himself under a tree on the playground, watching the other children. Ky rode over on a bike, laid it on its side, and plopped down beside him.

“See that girl with braids?” he said, pointing. “Her name is Amy. It's an American name. Her new family gave it to her and she's already started using it. She's leaving soon to go to them in California.”

“California?” Long did not understand.

“It's a place in America. She's being adopted. That means getting a new family. When someone says they'll adopt you, everyone signs a paper. Then you get on an airplane and fly clear across the ocean to live with your new family.”

Was this what his grandmother had meant when she spoke of a new family for him? Long wondered.

“Does ‘adopted' mean a new mother?” he asked.

Ky nodded. “And a house and everything.”

Long grew thoughtful. Adoption. Was this something he would like? He didn't want to go far from Ba. But he would like a home, and especially a mother. “What is it like in America?” he finally asked.

“They have horses and a million cars and oceans and lakes and mountains,” Ky said. “It's so big, you can't drive across it in a day.” He stood up, pointing at the bike. “Want to try? It's not too hard.”

Long (on the right) and several friends pause for a moment during their play

Long eyed the bike. He really did want to.

“I'll hold it for you, so you won't fall over.”

With a shy grin, Long got to his feet. The other kids immediately came to help out, and soon Long was riding around the playground, thrilled with his new skill. By the end of the day, he was part of the group, and within another day or two, he was one of its leaders.

*   *   *

Though Long did not yet understand it, Ba had placed him in the care of Holt International Children's Services, headquartered in Eugene, Oregon. Holt was well known for helping orphaned children born in other countries find adoptive homes in America.

Somehow Long's grandmother had heard about Holt. One day she left her work and went to the Center without Long and talked to a Vietnamese social worker. She worried that it was difficult for her to make enough money to feed her grandson. But she also worried that she was old, and if something happened to her, Long would not have family to protect him from discrimination he might suffer because he was Amerasian. Could Holt help?

The social worker had assured Ba that the Holt agency would try to find a family for Long. It might take a while, and there was little possibility it would be with a Vietnamese family. Instead, it would probably be in America. Ba wept when she agreed to this, knowing it meant she would never see her grandson again.

The social workers at Holt often heard stories like Ba's. Holt wanted to help Vietnamese children who either had no family or whose families could not care for them. Other child assistance groups working in South Vietnam also wanted to help. The need was overwhelming. The upheaval of the war had created a country of refugees, with people constantly moving around, trying to stay out of harm's way. Many of the refugees had come from North Vietnam, leaving their homeland because they did not want to live under Communism.

The Vietnamese have always believed that as long as you have relatives, you have a home. But the many years of war had so weakened the family structure that this was not always true. Mothers died from illness. Fathers were away in the army or had been killed. Sometimes families were separated while fleeing enemy troops. If parents could no longer feed their children, they might take them to orphanages, perhaps planning to return for them later, if they could. Or they might leave them in public places, hoping they would be found and cared for. Only 25,000 of South Vietnam's estimated one million orphans lived in the country's approximately one hundred orphanages. The rest lived with one relative or another, or fended for themselves.

In 1973, Holt opened its first center in Saigon to assist families in crisis. Sometimes they cared for severely malnourished babies and children, working very hard to save these children's lives and return them to good health. While in Holt's care, the children lived at the Holt Center. The staff tried to find adoptive homes for children who were orphaned or whose parents could no longer care for them. Sadly, because of the hardships of the war, few Vietnamese could adopt a child. Most of the children went to live with American families. Babies waiting to be adopted did not stay at the Holt Center. Instead, children two and under lived with Vietnamese foster families until it was time for them to leave for their new homes.