He opened the second album, his fingers suddenly fumbling and eager. It held six sheathes of paperwork, all neatly bound, stamped and stapled. At the front of each was an identification card with a photo of Tam or a member of his family.

They had twice missed their chance at redemption and a new life - once when the chopper lifted off the embassy roof for the last time and again when the Americans posted the requirements for post-war immigration status. Applicants had to prove five years in the re-education camps and Tam had only three. Now, twenty years after the fall of Saigon, a brother who had made it out was sponsoring Tam's family to a new life in the land of hope and dreams.

But Tam was no longer the twenty-three-year-old interpreter, sparkling with energy and ready to bound into the future. Two decades of opportunities had been cut out of his life. Years that should have been spent accumulating 401K's, fixing up his first house and taking vacations to Disneyworld, had instead found him looking for a corner of the street to sleep on and scavenging rice for his children. At forty-six, with graying sideburns and creaky knees, he was starting over, with few skills other than a basic understanding of English and a pent-up love of freedom that would take him across the oceans to a foreign and frightening land.

I closed the album and sat with Tam and his family, drinking gooey sweet Vietnamese soda and fielding eager questions. Should he send his children to study computers so that they wouldn't be behind in an American school? His wife was learning how to decorate cakes to earn money - should he buy a blender in Saigon or wait for California? He had always dreamed of driving a car. How might he go about becoming a cab driver in one of the west coast cities? I listened and nodded, covertly scanning the tiny hut for a non-existent phone or flush toilet, and knew the transition would be shattering. I also knew that within a year Tam's children would be at the top of their classes, that Tam would find his taxi and eventually own it and that he would one day be sponsoring the neighbors' children that clustered at the door, staring wide-eyed at the foreigner. None of these things surprised me.

What really amazed me was his face. Filled with guileless enthusiasm, as eager to take on the world as any young man, I was amazed to see not a trace of bitterness over the hardship and lost years. Tam had long ago learned to forgive. He had learned to carry on without grudge or blame. He had learned to cherish peace and opportunity, wherever it could be found.

It wasn't Tam who was blessed to go to America. We were the lucky ones, to one day have him there.

A FATHER'S DEATH · END OF TAM'S STORY