The church was filled to the rafters. It was so strong to see all the families together. An opera star sang. A student gave a beautiful speech. Then everyone began to sing the old school songs. But I am tiny, and it was hot, and there was no air, and I had to go outside for the fresh air. My husband and Aileen stayed for the service and we got separated. They rest of us walked around the campus for a while. When we thought the service was over, we walked over to the front lawn of President Roberts' house for his reception for the graduates and their families. It was still early and only a few people were there.

Under an oak tree sat an old Asian man.

He wore a blue sport coat, an open-necked shirt with ascot, and a French fisherman's cap. The shade from the strong sun was hiding part of his face. There were no guards, no TV reporters, and no heavy machine guns nearby-- just a peaceful, old man sitting by himself. No one noticed, no one cared, and no one asked who he was.

As I walked onto the lawn, I saw my husband and Aileen were already there, sitting near the old man. I glanced over at them and I saw the old man look at me. Suddenly I felt I was going to faint. My head was spinning, my checks were hot and my vision was blurred. I couldn't breathe. I was in shock. I had seen a ghost.

When I was young there were no pencils or books for me. I wanted my children to have everything I couldn't have. And my children earned the right to have the best education anybody could offer. I was so happy for them as they went off to college, but I was also afraid that my husband and my children would enter the new world and I would not. I wanted so much to be in that world, too. I wanted them to be proud of me. I wanted my education.

My husband and my children gave me the strength and the support I needed. In 1991, I entered the two-year Community College of Rhode Island. For me it was six long years, but with the help of family and friends and professors, I graduated last year. Since September, I have been a student at the University of Rhode Island. Now everything is within my reach.

This past semester in one of my classes, the professors allowed the students to pick the topics for the two big research papers. I chose to write about Lt. William Calley and the My Lai Massacre, and also about the Tet Offensive. I thought I had chosen subjects I knew best but when I started to read about My Lai I couldn't help but cry. My village was not far from My Lai, in Quang Ngai province, and the pictures of the old women and those children reminded me so much of my own mother and my son that I had lost. Many of those books and those pictures brought back a lot of unbearable memories.

I don't remember how I got inside the tent. I must have looked sick because the waitress asked me did I need help. I didn't answer her. I leaned onto the table to catch my breath. Just like a home-made movie, all the pictures I had cut out for my project were slowly reviewed inside my head. The old man's picture was there. Was I dreaming? I wanted to yell out loud to see but I was afraid so I pinched myself to see if it hurt. The waitress once again asked me did I need help. I asked for something to drink: my throat was dry. When Brian came inside the tent and stood beside me I knew it was real.

I said, "That old man sitting by himself under the oak tree-- it's him."

Brian said it couldn't be. No way would the man be sitting there without security or protection of any kind. After all, he was no ordinary citizen, and even though he was no longer in power our countries had been allies, and the U.S. government would still be guarding him, if only to make sure nothing happened to him that would embarrass the United States. What Brian said had made sense. I hate it when he is right. Of course, I love it when he isn't. He had almost changed my mind but when I took another look at the man I knew it was him. Brian asked me, "How do you know he is even VietNamese?" When I told my daughters, they said the same thing. "Oh, Mom, here you go again. You're always seeing things. You've become so American you think all Asian people look alike-- and you think all Asians are VietNamese." Then they gave me hugs and kisses to comfort me and went about the party.