A class photo of Jim Jung at Twelve.
My father celebrated his 90th birthday two days ago. Though we have had celebratory meals every night this week, tonight, Saturday, we gather for the big party.
My father was born in Boston's Chinatown in 1935. His father, a Chinese immigrant from Canton, married an American waitress at the restaurant where he worked. My father grew-up in a poor, working family. Like most immigrants, his father worked hard (for little pay) to ensure that his descendants had a chance at a better life. My dad seized that opportunity. He frequently reminded us that kids who are smart, hardworking and poor can succeed. He got good grades in school and got a scholarship for Sufflok University—where he met my mother, a beautiful, first generation Irish-American. After they married, he got into Suffolk Law.
Jim Jung, aged twenty, at a college awards luncheon in Boston.
After law school, my father was recruited by a firm in Hawaii. Hawaii had just become the Fiftieth State and my parents' mixed-race marriage seemed well-suited to the Hawaiian melting pot. My ancestry seems to be composed of people who became adults and moved thousands of miles away. My grandfather left China for Boston. My maternal grandparents both left dairy farms in the South of Ireland—also for Boston. My parents married and moved 5,000 miles to Hawaii. And, at the age of twenty, I moved from Hawaii to Massachusetts to complete my college education. Though half of us returned for visits of our homelands, none of us returned for good. My grandfathers never returned at all.
After several years in private practice, my father took a job opening the brand new Public Defenders office in Honolulu. He later moved to the island of Kauai where he ran that new office. The vast majority of his career was spent defending those who could not afford private counsel. He could have made more money in private practice but his inclination was to do otherwise. In the end, he retired with a nest egg sufficient to (always) spring for family dinners and spoil his four grandchildren. And that's more than he ever expected as a poor, smart, hardworking boy.
Jim Jung, aged twenty-seven, holds his newborn son on his Honolulu apartment balcony.
It was in Hawaii, in 1963, that I was born. I am always grateful for my family's humble lineage—and the hard work and courage my ancestors displayed to account for the good life I have received. I am further blessed to have two parents now in their nineties.
Happy Birthday, Dad. And thank you for . . . everything.
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