Love Through Actions
Mom often had to reminded me that my dad was the type to show his love through his actions, rather than saying the words “I love you.”
March 13, 2024 | 9:32 PM
Image by Liane Metzler @liane
Was your dad born before the 1950s, maybe 60s? Is he from the “man of few words generation?” Not the touchy-feely type? Doesn’t know how to express his feelings verbally? Maybe he’s more of an “actions speak louder than words” type of dad? Was his form of conversation mostly a lecture from his mouth to your ears?
My dad who was born in the 1940s and would’ve been celebrating his 84th birthday this week, was all of those types. He was always in his head contemplating, overthinking, always lost in his thoughts. Dad saw the world in black and white. You were either a friend or an enemy, a person with honor or a liar, loyal or a coward. If you erred on the wrong side of him, he’d cut you off - as in, you were dead to him.
My mom described my dad as a samurai - disciplined, serious, stoic. He lived by the code of Bushido - one of honor and loyalty. She often had to reminded me that my dad was the type to show his love through his actions, rather than saying the words “I love you.”
“You know he loves you and he doesn’t need to say it. That’s just not his type. It doesn’t need to be said.” My mom understood and accepted that reasoning, because she was of his generation. Now, as an adult, I understand too. But it was so hard to understand that when I was growing up, even though my heart knew it to be true.
American TV, mostly ‘90s sitcoms, showed me how a dad could interact with their family. I wanted my dad to be affectionate and jovial and have conversations with me like the dads did on Full House, Growing Pains, or Who’s The Boss. Why couldn’t my dad be like that too? He just needed to watch these shows to see how to do it. Was it really that hard? Yes, yes it was really that hard for my dad.
If you watch mobster movies, then you’re probably familiar with Robert De Niro and the serious gangster characters he portrayed. De Niro plays these characters with layers and layers of depth. They are the code they live by - honorable, respectful, loyal. They are complicated, conflicted, and bring justice by their own hands. The family is everything.
That’s my dad. (More accurately, I should say that was my dad. Come to think of it, when my brother, mom, and I talk about my dad, we usually refer to him in present tense. Maybe because we believe our loved one’s spirit is with us?)
My dad loved his family and close friends with a warrior’s spirit. There is nothing he wouldn’t do to protect my mom, brother, or me from any threat.
I remember an incident during the summertime in the mid ‘90s, when my dad demonstrated that warrior spirit. We were on our way home from lunch or from a movie. I remember the vibe in the car was happy. My dad was driving, my mom next to him, my brother behind our mom, and me behind our dad. We always sat in that seating arrangement for some reason.
As we were driving, a beat up car with two teenaged boys drove up alongside of us. The driver kept revving his engine and swerving at us and played like they were going to sideswipe our car.
The boy in the passenger seat - Caucasian, wearing a white T-shirt, blonde hair, glasses, lots of acne, and braces - had a baseball bat in his hand and was smacking it against his other hand. Through his rolled down window, he was staring at my dad as he gestured threatening actions with the bat, and yelled words at my dad.
“This fucking kid…” was all my dad needed to say and my mom’s vibe changed. She told him to ignore it and leave it alone. Mom didn’t want this to become a road rage incident.
Just as their car was about to swerve at ours again, my dad rolled down his window. I think my mom let out a big sigh of distress.
“You fuckahs wanna play? I got your (something I can’t remember what he said, but I’m sure it was witty) right here!” (The spelling of fuckahs is Hawaiian Pidgin for fuckers).
Laying in the palm of my dad’s right hand was his firearm. He didn’t point it at them, but made it visible enough for the teens to see it. They swerved away and pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot on the left as we drove by St. Viator’s Catholic Church on our right.
As the situation was unfolding, I didn’t realize that we were in any sort of danger. The whole thing felt like I was watching a movie.
Ooh, my mom was pissed at my dad for pulling out his gun, instead of ignoring those boys. “What if the gun accidentally went off and someone got shot or killed! Then what? You go to jail for road rage? Stupid!”
When we got home, my dad called us to the kitchen table. He wanted to tell us why things went down the way it did.
“I pulled out my gun to scare them. Those white boys trying to hit the car with MY family in it… maybe he was playing chicken but I’m not going to take a chance. And that fuckah acting like he was gonna use that bat on me… maybe he’ll think twice about being stupid like that. Threatening Asians thinking we’re scared and not gonna do nothing. I wasn’t going to shoot them - only scare them. But it would be a different story if they hit us, especially if you guys or mom got hurt.”
And that was that.
. . . . .
I can’t speak for my brother, but for me it was just the way my dad dealt with perceived threats. It was normal for me and very stressful for my mom. I still really feel for her. Wouldn’t you be stressed if your partner was ready to throw down at any perceived threat? She was always on edge and couldn’t really enjoy the moment, whenever we went out.
Thinking about those teenagers now… was that the first time they rolled up on a non-white family and behaved like that? Did it matter that we were Asian? How many times that day were they menacing to other drivers on that same strip of road?
Like my dad said, I hope they learned a lesson for doing something stupid. I also hope they crapped their pants and that their car smelled disgusting as they baked in the sweltering Vegas sun. Yes, kids will be kids and what they do will have consequences. Maybe their threat to us was not on par with how my dad handled the situation, but it did force them to pull off the road and we made it home safely.
I haven’t been in a situation like this with Grant and Ash. I don’t think situations like road rage needs to be handled with flashing a firearm. I’m not like my dad in that way.
But when it comes to protecting my family, I am very much like my dad. I respect the Bushido code and respect the heart of a samurai warrior. Those skills have helped me overcome many obstacles laid forth for many Asian-American women who must charge forth with steadfast courage in order to make their goals succeed.
As a parent, I guess my parenting style is similar to the dads on the sitcoms I enjoyed so much. Maybe I’m a blend of my real-life dad and those TV dads? I’m happy that Grant, Ash, and I are involved in each other’s lives, we discuss our feelings and thoughts, we have conversations to problem solve as a family, and most of all, I’m grateful that we communicate our reasons why we handle situations the way we do. And if my family feels threatened, the heart of a samurai warrior will not lay dormant.
. . . . .
I understand how this article might be unsettling for some readers. If you’ve read my past articles which included my dad, then you know he wasn’t someone who had a gun at home just to feel safe. As a hotel and casino security guard, he was required to carry a firearm at his job back in those days.