Last night a friend called, seeking advice on how to find someone who had been lost for thirty years. She wanted to help a man she knew in Australia.
Thirty years ago that man took his four small children on a perilous journey to escape the brutal regime in Vietnam. The rickety boat carrying them was wrecked at sea, the man upon regaining conscience found himself rescued by an Australian ship without his children. For many long years he had searched for them in vain; eventually convinced of their being perished he gave up and entered a monasterial life. Just recently he met a psychic who told him that one of his sons was alive in the United States. Clinging to that vague, flimsy ray of hope he started his quest again.
Communist crimes have spawned untold tragedies among my former countrymen, and most of us are determined to put them behind to move on. Still a heartrending true story would pop up once in a while, reminding us that this world can also be a very dark place.
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