![]() ![]() when the man, who lived in a suburb of Seattle, in a retirement facility five minutes from his eldest son’s family, wrote Min, who lived just south of San Francisco. Can you send me a picture of you so I can see what you look like now?” ![]() If my memory is still good, you were born in the Year of the Rat, so you’re forty-four. I’m attaching a family picture taken on the day of my birthday. “I turned eighty-four last week,” the most recent message began. Most people would have written long ago with a stern reply, telling the sender to stop e-mailing most people would have blocked him had he persisted. There were other details in his e-mails: a week of vacation in Hawaii, a couple new to the farmers’ market who worked as elementary-school teachers but sold blueberries on weekends, a favorite restaurant closing because of a rent hike. In 2012, his wife had died, but he was healthy in general, minus some common conditions that plagued old people-high blood pressure and faulty short-term memory. The youngest, a boy born with a noble look, the man had nicknamed J.C., for Julius Caesar. ![]() There were a few more, mostly on the West Coast. The next two grandchildren were in college. His oldest grandson had graduated from college and taken a good job in New York City. In the past twelve years, the number of his grandchildren had quadrupled. Every November-after the celebration of another birthday, on November 3rd, he never failed to remind her-he also attached a picture of himself, and begged for a picture of her. A few times a year, around major Chinese holidays, Min received an e-mail from a man whom she had met twice in her life. ![]()
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