Happy Red, White & Blue Day!!!!

Wishing you a firecrackin' and SAFE 4th of July!!!

Love,
Dan, Michelle, Danielle, Joseph, and Mary

Congratulations to the Awesome Threesome!

Congratulations to our dearest daughter Danielle on her graduation from middle school! The event was marked with bittersweet emotion that swelled and quelled with the tune of Pomp and Circumstance March No. 1, more commonly known as the Graduation March. Its orchestral notes tugged at our emotions causing them to rise and fall with each phrase. Tears of joy welled up in my eyes while cheers of joy came forth when Danielle was awarded a special medal for earning a 4.0 GPA all six semesters of middle school. Wasn't it only yesterday that I agonized over Danielle's first day of kindergarten? Eight years later and there we were, standing ever-so-proudly as our daughter made her way across the stage on the last day of middle school.

Danielle's cousin, Joshua, also graduated from middle school-- with honors! More impressive is the fact that Joshua, whose native language is english, did so in a spanish-immersion program. Today, Josh is completely fluent in spanish -- a skill that will surely prove advantageous in the future. His list of accomplishments includes three U.S. National titles in karate, and a burgeoning talent in photography and design. We are equally as proud of Joshua and feel extremely confident that even greater things are in store.

Last, but every bit as noteworthy, our dearest Joseph was given the "Friendliest Student" award during the third grade promotion ceremony. Imagine our joy upon learning that Joseph was presented this award. He may be small in stature, but his heart is grand. He's nine years old, but he is mature beyond his years.

Danielle was right to name him Joseph -- "after St. Joseph!"

As one chapter comes to a close, another begins filled with hope and promise. Inevitably, they will encounter numerous difficulties and challenges as they forge ahead into the future. They will be faced with situations that require certain sacrifice. Through it all, I hope and pray that they will remain steadfast in faith and their beliefs, never compromising their values, and always following their moral compass.

Lastly, I wish to share with them a definition of success that Oprah bequeathed to the graduating class of 2009 at Duke University:

"One of the best ways to enhance your own life is to enhance somebody else's and to stand proudly in your own shoes while you help others stand in theirs. How can I help somebody else move to higher ground? That is success."

Welcome ZWH!

May 25 started out like any other. We woke up, showered, dressed, and went about our day, completely unaware that my youngest sister, Grace, went into labor at 1:00 a.m. that morning. Then we got "The Call" announcing that Grace had just delivered her firstborn!

Zachary Warner Huber came into the world on 5/25/09 at 7:00 a.m., a 6 lb 7 oz Masterpiece. Baby Zachary, in the eyes of this aunt, is no less than perfect. A sweet child sent from above. With an angelic face and a full head of hair, he is sure to melt your heart. He is the 11th grandchild in the family, making my parents 11 times as proud.

Upon hearing the good news, Danielle exclaimed, "Oh my God!" as her eyes grew wide. You could almost see her skin crawl with excitement. Joseph, who is typically reserved, let out a jubilant scream. "Y-E-A-H!" he yelled while pumping his fist in the air. "ALRIGHT! IT'S A MIRACLE!" he added with equal vivacity. He had been hoping for another boy cousin. Mary, on the other hand, took a departure from her sunny disposition and sadly admitted, "I wanted it to be a girl." But it wasn't long before she, too, was caught up in the excitement.

My initial reaction was one of relief and praise to God. Relief that her labor lasted only 6 hours, 10 hours less than my labor 13 years ago. Relief that the painful ordeal has come to pass. Praise that she and the baby are safe and sound. Praise for the miracle of life! I felt motionless, incredulous that this day had finally come. Incredulous that my sister, the youngest of 7, the "baby" of the family, is now a mother. My mind flashed to a particular memory when Grace was just a little girl of 8. It was a lazy summer day and she asked if I would play Barbie dolls with her. At 13, I certainly felt "too old" to play with dolls; but I agreed, realizing that she was feeling bored and somewhat lonely at not having a playmate. Fast forward thirty years later and that same quiet, unassuming little girl has since grown up and blossomed into motherhood.

From the moment her baby is conceived, a woman begins the transformation into motherhood. She undergoes physiological, emotional, and (much to her husband's chagrin) hormonal, changes. Other lifestyle changes soon follow. Instead of a trendy tote bag, a cute diaper bag becomes her favorite accessory. And like American Express, she won't leave home without it. Whereas she once traveled to many lands in search of the perfect spot, her newest vacation destination will be Lala Land. Her worst enemy, sleep deprivation. In motherhood, the abstracts of life are redefined. Time is measured in increments of feeding time, nap time, bath time, and bed time. Success is determined by her ability to rise to the challenges of parenting. Faith, hope, and love, once intangibles, are now embodied in this tiny human being. Beauty is everything having to do with her baby. And joy is knowing that every fiber of her being is inextricably woven into this precious little bundle.

Welcome to The Club, Grace!

Welcome to The Family, ZWH!

Visiting an Old Friend

It was the week before Christmas. Outside, the night air was still and quiet as the winter chill made its presence known. Amid the hustle and bustle of Christmas shopping, I took time out to visit an old family friend. It had been months since I last visited and I wondered how she was doing.

We met nearly three decades ago, two years after our family immigrated to America. It was she who provided our family with shelter, warmth and security. Ever-faithful and loyal, she became a significant part of our lives throughout the years. She laid the foundation for our family’s new beginnings, enabling us to realize the American dream. Her unassuming presence was there during times of trial and tribulation, joy and triumph. Our dear friend was there to help celebrate each new milestone from graduations, to weddings, to the birth of each grandchild. Like a true friend, she had an open-door policy. We could stop by unannounced and be greeted with a warm welcome. We knew her routine well. We knew mundane details such as where her linens were stored or what items were stocked in her pantry. Hers was a place of refuge where familiarity breeds comfort. It was a home away from home.

Unfortunately, circumstances beyond our control forced us to part ways. She will always be our dear friend.

Visiting an Old Friend

Since that day, I have driven by our old house, that dear family friend, several times more. Save for a small wreath on the front door and a small sign posted on the fence, the house almost seems vacant. What a contrast to the days when this was home to our family. Back then, this house was bustling with life inside and out. On any given day, there were several cars parked outside, people coming and going, children running in and out, and a little mutt named Checkers (a.k.a. Prosty) wreaking havoc in the back lawn.

Parked across the street, I gazed at the big tree in front of the house. I recalled how my mother planted this tree as a sapling more than two decades ago. Upon my arrival, its leaves rustled as if to rejoice at the sight of a familiar face. It has been several years since I have been in this house, and many changes have taken place, but its erstwhile glory remains vivid in my memory. My thoughts meandered down memory lane. I thought about the thousands of times I drove up and down this very road, and the thousands of times I walked through the front door into a place that truly felt like home. I marveled at my mother’s uncanny ability to prepare a tasty snack or delectable dish on short notice whenever we visited unexpectedly. Strolling down memory lane, I could partake once more in countless meals our family shared together. I could hear the happy chatter of people during the many parties, family gatherings, and church group meetings that took place inside those walls. Once again, I could walk on the red-orange carpeting (a throw-back to the ‘70s, no doubt) that covered the floor until it was replaced with wood flooring years later. I remembered the small kitchen fire that scorched the cupboards above the stove, and the tireless work my mother and brother invested in resurfacing the cabinets. In my mind’s eye, I spied the collection of children’s bikes parked along the side of the house, and the ensuing bike races across the back patio, leaving tire skid marks in its wake. I could hear the grandchildren screaming and laughing as they raced around the house, inside and out, playing tag or hide-and-seek. I remembered the inflatable pool that Lolo set up in the backyard on hot summer days for his grandchildren to enjoy. I remembered staying up late, stooped over the dining table, cramming for a final exam. I remembered late nights curled up on the couch watching a movie with my brothers and sisters, and leisurely afternoons gathered ‘round the kitchen table savoring our favorite Filipino snacks.

Soon, I realized it was time to go. As I started the engine, I envisioned my father standing on the driveway on a warm summer night, donning a camiseta (undershirt) and an old sturdy pair of short pants. As was his custom, he came outside to see me off. As I slowly back out of the driveway, he starts waving both arms simultaneously like an air traffic controller, guiding me safely onto oncoming traffic. Until finally, he signals to let me know that the coast is clear, and I could safely enter Nieman Blvd to head on home. I open the window to yell goodbye as I drive away. As I often did, I looked in the rear view mirror only to see his silhouette surrounded by a haze of yellow street lights. Farther away, I could still see him waving until the road bends and we are both out of sight.

This house is special because it represents both our roots and our wings. It was 28 years ago when we put down new roots in San Jose right in this very home. Then, one by one, we sprouted wings and took flight to begin lives of our own. But no matter where our journey leads us, we will always have the memories of life in the Nieman house. As everyone knows, home is where the heart is. This house will always a have a home in our hearts.