A MOTHER LODE OF INSPIRATION

BY VINCENT HU 胡祐銘

   When my mother came to America, she named herself Vivian, a name slightly easier to pronounce than Hsiu-Wei. But more importantly, she gave herself this name because there was no other name that more aptly cap-tured her vivacity. As long as I can remem-ber, my mother has had an appetite for late-night karaoke, an affin-ity for traveling, and a passion for diabolical roller coasters. Ten years ago, a car acci-dent claimed her right leg, but she treated this only as a slight incon-venience in living up to her name.
   As an only child with a father more at work than at home and a handicapped mother, I was left bearing the family’s responsibilities after the accident. At age seven, when most parents have qualms about letting their children use the microwave, I made and carried hot dishes to my mother upstairs. Making dumplings became my niche and sanitizing bathrooms my expertise. I became a wheelchair expert at eight, often surprising bystanders when I lifted a wheelchair as big as I out of the cartrunk. Many a time I gazed out the window and saw my friends beckoning me, but I de-clined their entreaties, knowing that the per-son who has always been my provider needed my assistance. As I sat at her bed-side, I did not yet perceive the litany of ways this accident would modify my mind-set in these formative years.
   One of my strongest memories of my mother’s recovery was the resolve she put into regaining the use of her left leg, the leg she said she was “blessed” to still have even though it was re-placed with a metal joint. Everyday, she tried, albeit with great pain, to bend her leg a few more degrees than the day before. When she finally reached ninety de-grees, she immedi-ately made a list of places to visit. When I was a child, my mother insisted on implanting in me a sense of curiosity about the world, and thus she planned to travel halfway around the globe to the sweltering and rugged Silk Road, even when she did not yet own a prosthesis. During our excursion, my mother’s missing limb inevitably attracted curious, often even shocked, looks. At first,

   I was offended by their insensitivity, but my mother, obviously unconcerned, implored me to listen to the tour guide. I remember once she even showed a group of children her prosthesis when she caught their in-quisitive stares. Witnessing this, I realized that adversity is an icicle meant at times to be shattered with an impenetrable and un-bending spirit, and at other times melted with a warm and accepting heart. Since then, I have packed more muscle behind my kicks in Taekwondo and more gusto in every bowstroke on my violin – activities that now meant more than just a way to pass the afternoon. Every day I spend with her is a dose of the perseverance and en-thusiasm that buttresses me in my music, studies, and leadership.
   They say that actions speak louder than words, but being physically restricted, my mother speaks words that are as pow-erful as her actions. At a dinner party or an auditorium, her voice evokes attentive si-lence or raucous laughter. In these years since the accident, the confidence of her rhetoric found its way through my actions and words. Whether it be the stentorian voice required for leading drumline rehears-als or the suave and convincing language for my speech contests, from my mother I have developed a natural inclination to be seen, heard, and followed.
   Through accounts of her recupera-tion, she tells people that being handi-capped is a blessing, and that while being disabled implies an irreversible loss of func-tion, being handicapped means an opportu-nity to discover new abilities. Even though she sits below everyone else in the room, she is a beacon of light for many, because she believes that her injury is really a hid-den lesson for her to learn and to teach. Seeking to parallel her devotion with my ac-tions, I became the president of Operation Fly, began to board the Metro every Satur-day afternoon to teach computers to low-income families in DC, and joined honor so-cieties at school to tutor my peers.
   A decade has passed since the acci-dent, and the lessons that I have learned from my mother since that day have accu-mulated to become my goals for the future. Even though my responsibilities at home and my other pursuits at times collide, I have become increasingly organized to capitalize on every minute of the day. Lev-eraging the knowledge I have attained of the world and also my ability to lead, I have vowed to use my educational opportunities to the fullest, just as my mother has used her disability to her advantage. Most impor-tantly, I have realized that the most un-wanted and unexciting things in life are of-ten the most educational and edifying in the end, and that the largest of accomplish-ments is often achieved through the small-est of degrees. Beneath every action that I perform lies the spirit of my mother – the vivacious woman who created her own legs to walk and taught me that