Something special arrived in the mail today something from China. It is a letter from my Fourth Uncle and enclosed is a portrait of my father as a young man.
Father passed away recently, leaving me in ignorance regarding his past. What little I do know about him is what he repeatedly boasted about when I lingered in his presence for too long. Father never ceased to repetitively recount his days as a young man, always hungry for knowledge and skill, and he never failed to mention how apt he was and how quickly he accomplished these feats.
Father had a particular passion for the arts. He asserted that he was a great musician; he learned how to play the erhu, a Chinese instrument with two strings played with a bow the violin, the cello, the flute, the clarinet, the saxophone, and many other instruments. He would say, If it wasnt for the Cultural Revolution, I could have joined a music troupe and became