Little Angel Of A Broken Heart

By: Jon Pemmakitti

I have the privilege and burden of always knowing that my father is dead, and the reason why.

His name was Jack. He played in a band. He liked cars. He was from Thailand. He named me after Jon Bon Jovi, even though Mom wanted to name me Anthony. He died of diabetes when I was too young to remember him.

For most of my life, that list was all I had.

Sooner, Rather Than Later

I think my mom realized it'd be best I knew why I didn't have a father sooner rather than later. With that came the responsibility, and the caution, not to tell me too much.

After Jack passed, Mom distanced herself from his family and never really looked back. Everything I knew about him came through her, carefully. Everything I knew about his parents fit in a sentence: Kiet was sort of the Thai equivalent of Cotton Hill, and Wanpen had a perm. (I love those mid-'90s Asian perms.)

The Script

So I learned the script. For years, whenever kids or their parents asked about my father, I ran through it. It probably seemed odd to adults when a 7-year-old casually told them he didn't know his dad because he died of diabetes. I could never remember which type.

I always saw a look of pity wash over their faces, followed by an apology. I'd tell them, "It's okay, it's not your fault."

I had the facts down. I didn't have much else.

The closest I came to feeling it was with "the aunties," as Mom called them. Whenever we passed by Southeast Asian aunties, they'd call me a "handsome boy" while Mom filled them in on the details about my father. I always felt a close connection with them, even if I couldn't have told you why.

I gravitated toward other Black and brown kids growing up. But the kids who looked like me had their fathers in their lives, and they could talk to their grandparents in at least a couple of words. I couldn't.

Further and Further

Growing up in Orange County, we were never very far from the Thai community. Mom tried to bring me closer to it, and every attempt was met with disinterest and apathy on my end.

The older I got, the further we got from any Thai community at all. My adolescence in San Antonio was mired in exclusion and stereotypes. Any mention of my ethnicity was reduced to the butt of a joke or misrepresented by the people around me. I eventually distanced myself from my ethnic identity in defense.

I was 17 when I started playing guitar. It had hung over my head my whole life: my dad was an amazing guitarist, so I should be too. Along the way, I learned about his strange and unexpected influences, and I took away a lesson I've held on to ever since:

Embrace yourself and your interests, and don't think about who will like it. Your time will always come. Don't dilute yourself for others.

I've applied Jack's posthumous lesson to my life since then. I spend my days creating music and writing things I know I'd like to consume. I put a lot of time and energy into surrounding myself with like-minded people who are willing to pass their wisdom and social awareness on to our younger peers.

Who Was Jack?

These days, I've found myself becoming more and more interested in my father and in the Asian American diaspora as a whole. I've spent this past year trying to build as many bridges as I can with any and all like-minded Asian Americans.

That once felt distance has since disappeared.Now I feel closer to my people, but more than anything, to my late father. When I talked to a friend about it, they reminded me that I'm not alone in this, either in what I've been through with my father or in the wider AAPI experience.

I've been told that I echo Jack in more ways than I'd expect. I talk like him. I dress like him. I make the same faces he did. Jack, too, had a way with words and a charisma that brought good people around him.

The more I hear, the more questions I have. Who was he, really? How much of him is in me? And some of what I'm learning is hard. Years after he died, I found out his death was considered a wrongful one.

"Little Angel of a Broken Heart" is the name of a song he wrote and recorded with his band around 1997. I know it wasn't written about me or for me, but it's always resonated with me, so I named this entry after it.

Join Me

I recognize what I've accomplished emotionally on my own. Still, I feel the need to know more about this ever-elusive figure that was Jack: who he was, and how he connects to who I am.

That's what this series is going to be about. I hope you'll join me on this journey.