In the mid 70's my family escaped Laos to Thailand after the Americans withdrew from the Vietnam war. My father, having fought in the CIA's "secret war" against communism, was a target for execution by the communist Pathet Lao and Viet Cong, as were many other ethnic minorities who backed the U.S. in the fight against communism.

Our escape was a treacherous and dangerous trek through thick forrest jungles and disease infested swamps. Thousands of families in the same situation packed what little they had to survive and made for the "other side". Young children who were able to walk walked and those who couldn't were carried on the back of their parents and older siblings. Moving by night and hiding by day as snipers flatten whole unfortunate families. Miles and miles with no safety in sight. The smell of deceased bodies along the way made for an unforgettable nightmare for those old enough to remember. Brave parents and children pushed on to the Mekong River in hopes of catching a sympathetic boatman to take them to Thailand and safety. Our family was very fortunate in that we didn't lose anyone. At the time my family included my mom, dad, my sister and I. We left my grandparents, uncles, aunts, and relatives behind as we journeyed to Thailand alone. I have to give credit to my dad, who was determined to take us to safety...all by himself. Most people had big families and relied on each other's help to get them across. We had my mom and dad, each with a kid on their back. My other family members made it a couple years later. I have to mention my grandmother (dad's mom) also. She was a small skinny woman not even 5 feet tall. This woman made it to safety all by herself a couple years after we had left. She was over 60 years old at the time and to be able to escape communist solders trying to kill you is amazing.

Life in the refugee camp was harsh and at times you didn't know if you were going to eat tomorrow. Fortunately for us, our camp seemed more open and allowed us more freedom than from what I've heard of others. My dad hunted the jungles for food and sometimes he would be gone for days at a time. Back then a few years seemed like a lifetime. As we got more comfortable living in the camp we eventually resumed our farming to grow rice and vegetables to feed ourselves. My dad built a fish pond that was self sufficient and the fish thrived there providing us with fresh fish to eat. This pond is still providing fish for my dad's friends to this day 25 years later.

Life was fun for the kids back then. Being so young we didn't know how hard it was to survive. For us it was all about fun despite the odds. The officials made us go to school and would come out looking for those who didn't. We were made to be like the other more "civilized" people. Boys and men had to keep their hair short and they would come to the villages with scissors to cut the hair of anyone with longer hair. You have to understand, our people were from the highland mountains of China and Southeast Asia and had our own beliefs and lifestyle. We didn't have a government to rule over us and any conflicts and disputes were handled by the village elders. For us to live in a more modern society we would have to adapt to our new environment, which was foreign to us. From a kid's perspective, it was a challenge to not do the things I've always done...mainly freedom to do as I pleased.

A day in the life of a refugee kid was filled with joy and fear at the same time. Most of my friends and I didn't like going to school and we would walk off the trail along the way to school every morning and head for the river and hills. Here we would relax and swim and climb trees. All day long we played. On the other side of the river was a field where herds of buffaloes and cattles grazed. Whenever we got the chance we would run up to them and climb on their backs for a ride. The buffaloes were tame but the cows were wild and nobody wanted to get on a cow if he didn't have to. The cows would run off before you could get on it and leave you in the dust. If you got on one he would run wild and you would go flying off his back. We would ride these buffaloes upstream to the hills. The kids who didn't make it on a buffalo were left runing after the kids who did because sometimes we couldn't control these animals and we went wherever they took us. As soon as we got on them most would take off upstream towards the hills. Just hold on and hope your buffalo was a nice buffalo. It was not good to be the kid with no buffalo to ride. It was a long ways from the fields to the hills.

Our lunch for the day were mangoes and any other fruits we could find. Mango trees were tall and it wasn't easy getting to the mangoes. We would throw rocks and shoot them with sling shots to try to get them down. Sometimes we didn't eat all day but didn't feel hungry either. We were tough kids back then, ranging in age from 5 to 8 years old. Looking back it seemed like we were so much older but the fact remains we were a bunch of young boys who didn't know how to wipe the snot from our noses. I can't imagine US born Asian kids today doing the things we did back then. I guess in the old days only the strong did survive. Here in the US everybody has a chance.

It was during this time in the refugee camp, while watching the older guys play with their fowl, that us kids got involved in the sport of naked heel boxing . Being just kids we didn't have or wouldn't be given the real fighting fowl. We started off with yard chickens that our family kept for food. Some had game blood in them but most were local domestic types. We would keep them in cages, made of bamboos and sticks, and looked after them as if they were real fighting fowl. Sometimes a wild jungle fowl that our fathers had caught was taken from their cages and taken out to fight...without permission. These were the most prized even among older folks so whoever got one was the luckiest. They were game but very wild and if they got loose it was back to the jungles for sure. What we did was tie a string to one leg and let them fight that way. As we got older we were given real game fowl, usually a young stag. These were game and tame. Kids who didn't have a personal stag would catch any stag runing wild and take them. Whenever he was let loose to fight he would take off running and that person would spend the rest of the time trying to catch it. It happened to me too but it was still funny as hell. Kids from one neighborhood would go to the others and fight their fowl. Whenever we spotted some fowl running around we would all run up to them and toss ours in front of them. Usually the big boss rooster from the yard would kick our stags' ass bad and make them run. This was when you either had a fighting match or was chasing after a scared one. During the days when all we had were yard stags we spent a lot of time chasing after them because they were the fastest runners. Most times they would fight then run after they got their asses kicked then the chasing begins. Sometimes an old man would come out chasing us away from his chickens. We would run and not look back until we regrouped at the next village then start all over again. Sometimes we would leave our homes with two stags under or arms and come back with none. Sometimes we would leave without any and come back with a couple.

Laos and Thailand was a fun place to live as a boy. It has been a long time but I remember it as if it happened last year. Keep the spirit...