My brother's house. This was my first time in it and I had to come to Santa Clara because our 83-year-old father is gravely ill. Vincent bought me the plane tickets and even treated his older brother to an A's game. Vincent came to the US at five-years-old, worked at Macy's in dumpy Eastridge Mall during high school, went to University of the Pacific in grim Stockton then managed our father's restaurant after college. Sick of that, and our psycho stepmother's ranting, Vincent quit the restaurant to join Yahoo, where he's been the last 19 years. His wife, Gina, grew up in Turlock with 11 other siblings. Gina's dad emigrated to the US at age 53 from the Azores Islands of Portugal. In Turlock, he and his oldest sons earned a living milking cows. Gina now teaches second grade in a public school. My brother and his wife, then, have clawed their ways into the middle class, and their two sons are near straigh A's students. Fifteen-year-old Tim, the older, already has a web business selling hip clothes, Pocket Tims.
Vincent's original name is Phong, but he changed it because he got sick of the other kids teasing him, with some calling him "Fonzie." Vincent can still speak passable Vietnamese, though he cannot read or write it. Vincent goes to church weekly, has drank maybe two six packs his entire life and his most scandalous curse word is "darn."