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1724525-thumb.jpgThe story is about me, my father and a little man. The little man has no relatives, like many war world II veterans escaped from China civil war to Taiwan. He does not know how to read and write. But he has a good heart, and a loyal servant.
What connected me and the little man (old Wang) was, he took care of me when I was 3 years old, during that time I was a very sick boy. My father really thanks him, he did so wonderful job that without him, I might not be here today. The little man appreciated my father for his job offering at the time he needed a place to stay.
But somehow I have no memory of him, I don't remember his face, his voice or anything. He died few years ago, it took several months for my father to locate his resting place, just an ashes urn placed somewhere in a tower for people of no relatives. A tiny wood plate caved his name.
Since then my father visits his resting place every year (a long trip for an old man). What connected him and my father is the 50 years of friendship and a servant's loyalty.
I could not help but shedding my tears what I called "Love". A gentle soul teared apart by war. What left is a gentle love of fading memory from my family.
May God keep "Old Wang's" gentle soul !
--Johnny Gau


1656528-thumb.jpgTo laugh is to risk appearing a fool.
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.
To reach out for another is to risk involvement.
To expose feelings is to risk rejection.
To place your dreams before the crowd is to risk ridicule.
To love is to risk not being loved in return.
To go forward in the face of overwhelming odds is to risk failure.
But risks must be taken...
because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.
The person who risks nothing does nothing, has nothing, is nothing.
He may avoid suffering and sorrow,
but he cannot learn, feel, change, grow or love.
Chained by his certitudes, he is a slave.
He has forfeited his freedom.
Only a person who takes risks is free.