The Last Chau Chau

    I was too little to remember this, but Dad liked to tell this story. One night I stood in my crib and decided it wasn’t time for bed yet, so I grabbed one of the vertical bars in front of me and yanked it out. Yeah, I was free! I toddled out into the living room and up to my two stupefied parents, elated to be part of the action again.
    After that, Dad called me “Tuff Tesse.” That name stuck all through growing up. The way he told it over the years, it almost sounded like that ole’ Johnny Cash tune. Dad already had a girl named Sue, but he needed me to be strong. “Daughter, this world is rough, and if a girl’s gonna make it, she’s gotta be tough, and I knew I wouldn’t be there to help ‘ya along.”
    When he visited us in Summer '08, he told me, "One day soon, I'm going to bed, and I won't wake up."  It wasn't quite that easy for Dad, but I'm glad it was quick for him, a couple of weeks.  Dad wasn't one to hang out in hospitals and sick beds. 
    Dad sure didn't act sick during his visit, – riding around all over Portland with Gary on bikes and MAX trains. There was one really hot day in June – almost 100 degrees – and he was in Chinatown drinking green tea. He claimed to have no health problems at the time – just a skin thing the doctors had to burn off every now and again. Who knows, maybe it was a bigger health issue, but Dad was not going to track that.
    He just wanted to enjoy life to the fullest, never missing a chance to re-invent himself - a trait that often left some of us kids wondering who he really was - and I hope he discovered himself in Paraguay.
    I'm grateful to Maria for arranging his Summer '08 trip, so all of us got to visit with him.  It makes bidding the ole' man "Chau Chau" one last time a whole lot easier.  I am also grateful for Steve and Thommy for making the long journey to Paraguay to get Dad's affairs in order and report to us.  I'm glad they found him alive, and that he acknowledged them.
   I sense Dad smiling down at us, happy to finally be with his beloved Gracie.

Cynthia Smith