Kieu Trang (Grace) Tran (Granddaughter)
Entered
October 21, 2025
from Houston, Texas
My name is Grace (Kieu Trang Tran), and I have the honour of being the eldest daughter of Minh Tran’s eldest daughter, Kieu Anh Tran. Minh was my grandfather - my Ong Ngoai. And while words can never fully capture his memory, I would be remiss if, from over 1,500 miles away, I didn’t at least try.
Ong Ngoai was an essential part of my childhood. Almost every week, he and my grandmother watched over my younger brother Kent, my cousin Vuvi, and me. The three of us, only a few years apart, were a whirlwind of curiosity, mischief, and energy. I have no doubt we were a handful - and yet, in their house in Thornhill, Ong Ngoai and Ba Ngoai made sure we never felt we lacked for anything, even as our family navigated the challenges of building a new life in Canada.
During one of my research projects a few years ago, I had the pleasure of interviewing the late Mr. Jim Acheson, who helped sponsor our family from Vietnam through the United Church. I asked Mr. Acheson, “What was my grandpa like when he first arrived? Was he a little tough and stubborn, even back then?” Mr. Acheson paused thoughtfully and said, “You know, I don’t remember him like that. Maybe he is now that he’s older. But back then, I saw a young man with a large family, doing everything he could to help them succeed in a new country.”
That conversation with Mr. Acheson changed the way I saw Ong Ngoai. For the first time, I imagined him not just as my grandpa, but as a young man - one with big responsibilities, carrying the weight of so much, yet doing it all for his family in a brand new country, all while being the ‘head’ of his family of seven kids.
It’s true that Ong Ngoai could be tough and stubborn. But beneath his tough exterior was a deep, enduring love for his grandkids - one that shaped so many of my favourite childhood memories. He often took us to McDonald’s for Happy Meals, patiently watching us as we ran through the PlayPlace. I remember once asking for a second Happy Meal just to collect a limited-edition Furbie toy. Ong Ngoai gave me a lecture on the consequences of being too greedy, and just when I thought the answer was no, he slyly handed me a crumpled ten-dollar bill. That was classic Ong Ngoai - firm on the outside, soft underneath, and always full of surprises.
One of mine, Kent, and Vuvi’s favourite pastimes was imitating what we believed was Ong Ngoai’s catchphrase: “Đừng có đi qua lộ!” (“Don’t cross the road!”). We found it funny how often and urgently he said it - overprotective, we thought. But now, as a mother myself, I understand that those words weren’t just warnings; they were love, plain and simple. Even when we were too young to appreciate it, Ong Ngoai was always watching out for us.
On a family trip to Hawaii, it was Ong Ngoai who introduced us to Vanilla Coca-Cola - and then proceeded to buy us can after can because he loved how happy it made us. It was also the trip where he snuck Vuvi and I our first sips of flavored coffee. To this day, hazelnut coffee reminds me of him.
Ong Ngoai was a relentless dreamer. And being a dreamer, he raised us to dream big, too. One of his long-standing fixations was winning the lottery. After Hawaii, he promised us he’d take us back there when he won - not if, but when. He’d drive us around different neighbourhoods during the holidays for sightseeing, pointing out Christmas lights and “fancy” houses, asking us which ones we liked best. He’d say, “When I win the lottery, I’ll buy each of you a house next to mine.” Then he’d ask, “How many garages do you want?” One of us would say, “Two!” and he’d respond with a chuckle, “Only two? You can have more than that when I win the lottery!” Eventually, he and I landed on eight garages each. That became our shared dream.
I remember one day telling Ong Ngoai that he didn’t have to win the lottery - that when I grew up, I’d work hard and buy him the eight-garage house. He just smiled and said, “Okay, you’re smart. Study hard so we can have that house and go back to Hawaii.” When I completed my Ph.D., despite Ong Ngoai’s fading memory, he called to congratulate me and proudly referred to me as his “Dr. Tran.” He believed in us so deeply. With him, nothing ever felt out of reach.
If Ong Ngoai loved something, he’d praise it as: “Sang quá!” (“So luxurious!”). He used it to describe his favourite things and favourite brands (Tommy Hilfiger, Nike, and Lacoste). I like to think those will be his first words when he arrives at heaven’s gates. Sang quá, indeed. I know he’s looking down from those luxurious clouds with a smile, watching over us.
Ong Ngoai, I love you more than words can say and miss you more than I can describe. Thank you for all that you did for us growing up, for showering us with tough love and ensuring that we never crossed a road unsupervised. I’m so grateful that you lived long enough to meet your great-grandson, to see his face on FaceTime. Whenever I sip hazelnut coffee, or drink from a can of Vanilla Coca-Cola, or go back to Hawaii, or drive past a house with bright Christmas lights, I'll think of you. With your love and belief in me, I know that the dream of owning an eight-garage house is never too far away.
Love forever and always,
Your granddaughter,
Kieu Trang (Grace) Tran (your “Dr. Tran”)
