Friday, I saw a brief glimpse of my father when I looked in the mirror.

I’ve never seen my father in my own face — in my uncle and occasionally in one of my brothers, but never in me. I might detect a familiar pose or shape of the mouth in pictures of myself, but never more.

Although he’s been gone for 27 years, there’s a good reason he’s constantly been in my mind, especially this last month.

Saturday, April 15, I will be a featured storyteller at the “I Am An American Live” event hosted by The Immigrant Story, a non-profit whose mission is “to document, narrate, and curate stories about immigrants in order to promote empathy and advance an inclusive community.”

For nearly a half year I have been working with a dedicated team of compassionate, encouraging, and skilled story editors and story tellers to develop my story, which will be about me coming to terms with my mixed-race heritage. Some very personal moments from my relationship with my father feature prominently, and I am pleased to share with the world how he impacted and still influences me today.

When I was 4 years old, he launched me on a joyful lifetime musical journey placing a small violin in my hands. He encouraged and supported me as I took private lessons on three instruments, and when I was in junior high and high school, we played live music every week in a local restaurant. That was the period during which we played the most music constantly together.

One of the sweetest memories, and one I return to several times in my story, is the feeling I felt when we’d be playing, our eyes would meet, and we’d smile:

It’s bittersweet to realize I am now the age he was when we were playing music together in the restaurant.

He died after having been hit by a drunk driver. Although it’s been nearly 3 decades’ past, it still stings. But out of that tragedy, I found a new musical outlet, one which brings me more musical joy and happiness than ever in my life.

I’m humbled to be included with three other outstanding speakers with gripping and emotional stories of their own. Although I’ve struggled with self-doubt whether I belong, they have been encouraging me and I’m pleased with my story.

Then, a week ago, I got very sick. Sore throat, headaches, loss of appetite, and malaise, I suffered for four days eating and drinking very little and losing an alarming amount of weight. I worried whether I would be safe to tell my story. I tested for COVID and Strep Throat — thankfully both came back negative.

Happily, I’ve begun eating again, my symptoms are lessoning, and my strength and stamina are creeping back. I am confident I will be able to tell my story but will exercise caution so as to minimize possible exposure to others as well as not overtaxing myself.

Maybe the glimpse of my father I saw was due to the severity of weight loss and dehydration from which I’m recovering. Regardless, I feel his kind, silent reassurance and am proud to share some of my personal moments with him with you all.

The event is sold out, but recordings of the event should be posted on The Immigrant Story web site later.

Peace and grace to you all.

Update: The event went well and I’m very pleased with my performance. You can read about it here and see recordings of all four of us storytellers here.