Speaking of my Grandfather

On the same week I visited my dad, I attended my grandfather's funeral. Though it was a sad event, my grandfather lived a full and happy life. He had the opportunity to say goodbye to everyone before passing away peacefully, surrounded by loved ones. He was 89 years old.

My grandfather with my dad in the late sixties.

My grandmother and my grandfather in the nineties.

Here's a video of our family (with Woomi) visiting him two years ago to celebrate his birthday:

He was fluent in the Ningbo and Shanghai dialect of Chinese, and spoke basic English. Every time I visited my Grandfather, he would ask me: "So, you cannot speak Chinese anymore?" I'd reply that I could understand the language but not speak it well. Eventually, I just said: "No, not really."

For a farewell gift, I wanted to say something to him in Chinese.  So I crocheted him this speech bubble with something he and I shared: our last name.

"Woo" is embroidered as its Chinese character: 鄔

I felt fortunate to place the speech bubble in his casket before the cremation ceremony.

Most of the eulogies were spoken in Chinese, where I learned he was married to my grandma for sixty-nine years, that he spent cautiously on himself but was generous to others, that he loved practicing calligraphy and listening to Chinese operas, that he was an even-tempered dad, and that he treated his six daughters and one son equally. He taught them to keep their promises, as he was was a man of his word.

Hsien Teh Woo, 1921-2010

May you rest in peace, Grandfather.

Business by the Book

Here's my dad when he was in his twenties:

And here's me and my dad in 1977, when I was three years old:

Growing up, my Dad and I had little in common. I loved doing artistic things, like drawing and creative-writing. He loved conducting business, like selling mechanical seals, co-founding a chinese restaurant, and investing in soup vending machines.

But in 1987, my Dad and I shared an unexpected interest. He took me to see Wall Street, and I became entranced by the exciting world of stock trading.

My dad then invited me to choose nine stocks from which he would buy some shares. He taught me how to look up those share prices and track their progress in this notebook:

The mysterious stock abbreviations, the difference between NASDAQ and the NYSE, the dramatic charts and numbers: my dad confirmed the wonder that Wall Street promised, and I could understand why he became a business man.

One morning—dizzy with excitement and seeking confirmation—I exclaimed:

My parents reacted with stunned expressions. My artistic mom probably offered an opposing view, but what I remember most is how my dad didn't say a word.

The next year, my dad and I stopped following the stock market when he fell ill with cancer. He was in the hospital for many months before passing away at the age of 41. I was 13.

As a teenager, I reaffirmed my true love for art. As a grown-up, my joy and job is learning, creating and sharing art. Would I have been wealthier as a stock broker? Yes. Am I happier as an artist? Yes.

In retrospect, what I valued most was the time my dad and I spent together, knowing we had something in common.

For this Father's Day, I made a mini version of our Stock Market Notebook:

And I presented it to him:

Some people are vocal encouragers, like my wonderful mom. Others are vocal discouragers. But there are also people who—like my dad—wordlessly encourage us to find our own paths to happiness.

Thank you, Dad.

And happy Father's Day, everyone. In what ways has your dad encouraged you?