Whenever I tell people about my Chinese stepdad and how he came to America, what he survived as a child, how he met my mother and fell in love with all of us, added two more children with her, making us a family of ten, and achieved his American dream, retired and was diagnosed with Alzheimer's...they listen with eyes wide, often shiny with tears, and in soft voices say, "You should write a book!"
I have given this book my very best. I hope it honors my parents and lives up to their high bar of compassion and decency. John has earned his place in the library of humanity.
Sweet Like John is the title chosen to keep me and the story clear and focused. Though his childhood was shattered by war, his enduring sweetness touches every page. And though our story begins with the darkness of abandonment by my natural father, it positively blooms into a sunny garden tended by the one who stepped up. My childhood was rescued by a good stepfather. My discarded soul was resuscitated by his trustworthiness.
Though power struggles and faith crisscross every aspect of living, John did not push his philosophies on me. As the giver of his story to the world, I do not push politics or religion. There are inescapable facts, such as the religion of my parents, which must be mentioned to establish the arc of my character as the storyteller and prodigal daughter.
As you read the pages of our lives, you join me on a journey of cherishing loved ones who are gone, yet live in who we become. John's unconditional love of my mother and all eight of the children they raised is the star that guides my path. I am a work in progress.
All heroes are flawed. John was not perfect. However, he shines in my world like a supernova. Long after he burst on the scene and transcended into that mystical place we call Heaven, his light continues on Earth. His kindness and empathy stand tall and indestructible, more real than a statue. John Wang Leong Chan was and will always be to me the best man who ever walked the Earth. The world needs more men to be sweet like John.
Who am I to say such a thing? Merely one of eight children who called him Dad. I was very young when I met John. While the youngest two are genetically related and the world calls them half, they are and always have been my full brother and sister, same as all the others. They were simply more fortunate to be able to call him Daddy without feeling like a traitor and an impostor. There was someone that six of us called Daddy before John. Sadly, I must remember that part of our story, too.
