Fanta Orange

Before 1975, before everything changed, there was La Cave - a quaint and intimate french restaurant on Le Loi street in Saigon. Going there for dinner on Saturday evenings was as religious as going to church on Sundays.

La Cave was a special treat. More than that, it was confirmation that my parents loved me.
The restaurant usually catered to diplomatic crowds and foreign dignitaries...never ever some little Vietnamese school girl who the Maitre'd greeted by her first name and escorted to her usual table.

It was the same routine. Around 5 o'clock every Saturday evenings, my father would appear mysteriously at 16 Le Loi street. That was where we lived. Actually, that was where we three children, our mother, and a household of domestic staff lived. Our father lived in a bedroom built behind his office at his company. He was a busy man building and running a new shipping empire; he hardly had time for much else (except a few bad habits) let alone a 15 or 20 minutes commute to and fro. Besides, I think he wanted his privacy; to come and go, to just not be bothered.

It was actually a very good scenario. I did get to see my father anytime I wanted to. After school, I was able to ask our driver to take me to his office for a bowl of Pho, a beef noodle soup (he had a full kitchen staff) or just to say hello. I have been told that he was always happy to see me. If by chance my father was screaming or hollering at an employee, he would come to a complete halt whenever I appeared so as not to scare me. I was too young. I never knew the difference. I did, however, always looked forward to my father coming home on Saturdays and taking my mom and me to La Cave. My younger sister and brother, who were respectively three and two, stayed home with the nannies.

I loved the restaurant for its fancy foods served on fancy plates. I loved the starched white table cloths and crisp napkins. My mother would always put on one of her more dressier ao dai (our traditional tunic wear) and do her hair in a special chignon. BUT most of all, I loved La Cave because it was there that my parents allowed me to order Fanta Orange soda every time. It was the best thing on earth. That bubbly orangy sweet elixir - what more can a six-year old ask for? Spotting that memorable soft drink at our local Stop & Shop these days never fails to bring a smile to my face. Despite the different graphic changes on their bottles and cans, Fanta Orange to me, is still Fanta Orange from La Cave!

I can't recall the last time I was at La Cave; those memories are too vague to clearly remember. I do know that whenever I was there, I was proud and I was beaming the whole time. I used to get the seat right next to my father. My mother sat opposite us and admired us from her side of the table. To my father, who went from rags to riches and defied all the odds against him, I was the love child, the auspicious one, the one who changed his karma and brought him his fortune. I came along at the right time in their lives, and my God, he was going to do his best to take care of me and nurture me. There was never a luckier girl, people used to say.

But that was over 32 years ago. That was when life was pure and simple, and easy. I try to keep these thoughts in mind when dealing with my own three children. As their lives get more complicated with age, my husband and I do our best to keep them pure and simple. We try to teach them to take in all the goodness that is around them and spin endlessly in their youths. We wish them good health and happiness and we try to teach them a general sense of respect for their surroundings and all the people in it. We nourish and nurture their bodies and minds. It is not easy, but we try.

You must love to live, and you must live to love. You must feed your soul as well as your hunger. And SOMETIMES, you just have to have a can of Fanta Orange. I think it is time to share one with my two older boys.