I used to think that my "ông ngoại" (maternal grandfather) was not an extraordinary man. And I don't mean that in a derogatory way. To me, he was a good family man who was a devout Catholic and lived a simple life. Unlike my ancestors on the paternal side, he didn't hold any prestigious position in academia, high military ranking, nor did he have a book-worthy epic life.

But in my moments of reflection under the squash vines, I realized he was an extraordinary man after all. Everywhere he went, a garden grew out of nothing. He planted a mango tree found in the dumpster, and it became the envy of the neighborhood. Just look at these Chayote squash vines he planted in his 70s when he moved to California. He didn't have many eloquent words to say, but he left a green trail everywhere he went.

And although I don't have many drama-filled, epic stories to tell about "ông ngoại," I spent many tender, peaceful, and non-dramatic hours under his mango tree and squash vines, just reading comic books and watching the summer clouds roll by. And I inherited his green thumbs. And that's extraordinary enough for me.