About Manager’s Special

Vietnam. The year was 1963. She was twelve years old, the third oldest child in her family, when her own mother made her quit school to find a job in order to bring money home to help support their family. She grew up in a very poor household where they could only afford the essentials. One pair of clothes to wear throughout the year was normal. She began her first job at a textile business where she acquired the skill of hand looming. Each day she would arrive home with food to feed the family, and any money went straight to her mother, like she was handing it over to a debt collector. If she disobeyed in any way she would be thrown onto the streets. My mother not only worked, but she also took care of her siblings as if she were their own mother. She would make sure they ate, comforted their cries, got them ready and sent them off to school. Her mother was brutally abusive to her in every way imaginable, but somehow my mother was created with the most selfless, pure heart, so she did whatever was needed to survive and ensure her siblings wouldn’t see any burden or abuse. Each year her mother would give birth to a new baby, including a couple pairs of twins. By the time she was done having children my mother was the third eldest of eighteen total.

Everyday on my mother’s way to work she would pass a small storefront where she would occasionally stop to admire the jewelry in the window. She had never owned anything nice, let alone jewelry, but after a couple years of only dreaming she decided to make it happen. However, she had to figure out how to purchase something without anyone in her family knowing. If she came home with less money she would be beaten, and if she was caught with extra money or something valuable it would be taken. So, she found a way to moonlight and work extra hours on the side, and little by little saved up without anyone questioning her.

At the age of fourteen, she had made so many visits to the shop the jewelry maker took a liking to her. They worked out a plan to make her a custom piece of jewelry out of 18k gold. She had heard stories about Paris and dreamed to visit it one day, so the charm she requested the jeweler to make was the Eiffel Tower. Only this one was about an inch high. After months of working on the side she was able to slowly pay off the jeweler and finally possess her very own piece of jewelry. She never wore it, for fear of it being taken. Rather she hid it away in a safe, dark place in the wall of a closet. She felt the itch for another charm, and a little bird in a cage came to mind. Again, she did the same extra work and after months was able to pay for this new charm. She did this again and again and again, accumulating a total of six beautiful charms, and a custom chain to display them on. She still never wore it, and always kept it tucked away in its hiding place. When no one was around she would take it out to cherish it for just a quick moment. She was twenty years old when she was able to finally complete her bracelet.

The next decade of her life saw tremendous difficulty, and yet she managed to keep this bracelet with her. She fled the Vietnam War, traveling in inhumane conditions on a boat to seek refuge in Hong Kong. She had to leave behind all her siblings except one younger brother, and she endured eighteen months in a refugee camp before finally making it to the United States.

In 1980, she was thirty years old, pregnant with me, my brothers are toddlers, my uncle was about twelve years old, and she was in a foreign country with no income. She struggled, and came very close to selling her bracelet many times to provide for her children. But something always told her that she would get through these tough times, and selling the bracelet wasn’t the answer. She managed to hold onto this precious piece for fifty-seven years...until last year. She decided it was time to pass it on to me. I had not seen her bracelet in so many years, and when she handed it to me I cried. When she told me the story of it I cried even more, and as I write this now, I am crying again.

That is the story of my mother’s journey and her bracelet. I’m forever grateful it gets to continue with me.