For as long as I can remember, my parents’ only names were ”thầy” and “cô,” Vietnamese for “teachers.”  With only a dark green chalkboard (that daddy hand-painted himself) under a single strip of dim flickering florescent light, 3 tables, 9 chairs, and about 100 square feet of space out of our tiny home, my parents educated countless students - from elementary school children who were learning their first words to middle-aged businessmen who were trying to keep up with Vietnam’s economic demand for English speakers.

I can’t tell you how many lectures I’ve subconsciously absorbed as I was playing with my toys in the back room.  “Preposition, verbs, pronouns…dot dot dot…”  I can’t tell you how many times I heard voices respectfully greeted “Hello teacher” as they sat down their book bags.  I can’t tell you how many times I watched daddy clean the green chalkboard, class after class - the halo of white chalk dust angelically embracing his frail overworked body.