Catze als Sprechenkopf

Find me at TiffTaff

2012-02-03T00:07:00.000-08:00

Hi everyone,

I'm working on another blog, TiffTaff.

I am super excited to share my vision of TiffTaff with you. I'll be back shortly to tell you how I got here--and where I hope we will go together.

Stay sassy,
Cat

My newest obsession: data science

2011-10-26T08:53:00.000-07:00

I have a new obsession these days: data science. And, apparently, while I may be a little behind the bandwagon, I'm not the only one completely fascinated by it.

When Google Chief Economist Hal Varian told the New York Times that the “sexy job” in the next decade is statisticians, he wasn’t kidding. Data scientists are becoming increasingly important now that we can track the bazillions of ways people interact with one another on mobile and the Web.

In fact, companies like Google, Facebook and LinkedIn seriously have teams of data scientists who analyze EVERY. BIT. OF. INFORMATION. that comes in. They interpret these massive amounts of data to learn about their users, and ultimately, to acquire and retain more users. (If you've ever wondered why they're wildly successful, this is one of the reasons.)

Here's a great example: LinkedIn’s Daniel Tunkelang was interviewed this week on Forbes.com for What is a Data Scientist? Tunkelang says “data scientists turn big data into big value, delivering products that delight users and insight that forms business decisions.” It’s this type of “big value” that leads to innovative products like the professional networking company’s “People You May Know” feature. (Facebook does it, too.)

Pretty cool, right? Know what's even more cool? This feature gives us a richer user experience and so we spend more time on the sites, searching those familiar names. Advertisers love that high engagement, and they pay big money for it.*

Part of the reason for my new obsession is because I joined a social and mobile analytics firm recently and it's totally changed the way I think of the online world. I mean, the trillions of actions we all make--from our Facebook posts to our tweets to Q&As on Quora to even those silly games we're playing on our phones (Angry Birds, I'm talking to you!)--are telling so many incredible stories about us as a whole. (Sometimes even history-making kinds of stories.)

And, I've learned that a lot of businesses are on information overload. Even if they have the infrastructure in place to collect the data, unless they have data scientists who are trained to analyze the data, it can be not only overwhelming but absolutely worthless. So, if you're in the social and mobile space, you have to ask yourself if you have the data science--the lens--needed to effectively interpret the data?

It’s how Google, Facebook, and LinkedIn stay competitive. And, it's what you need if you want to keep up, too.

*Disclaimer: This is just the tip of the iceberg. There are so many other factors involved. I'll definitely share what I learn in the coming months.

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Love is in the (red) hair!

2011-05-20T15:16:00.000-07:00

These pups make Cat one happy girl.

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So you want to be in television news?

2010-12-20T14:08:00.000-08:00

When I was a reporter, we had so many interns shadowing us. This is really what they sounded like.

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It's that time of year again!

2010-10-06T23:02:00.000-07:00

Click here!

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Make way for a 50-ton miracle

2010-04-04T01:16:00.000-07:00

You've probably already seen this story by now but, in case you haven't, I thought I'd share it with you: California surfer receives whale of an escort during marathon paddle.

Jodie Nelson had made a pledge to her best friend, who is battling breast cancer. Nelson, a 34-year-old surfer, promised to standup-paddle nearly 40 miles along the California coast to raise money for cancer charities, and to inspire her sick friend to keep fighting. But, as valiant as her intentions were, Nelson didn't get the support she'd hoped for.

Nelson raised only about $6,000 in advance of the paddle, disappoingtingly short of her target of $100,000 for the Keep a Breast Foundation and Boarding for Breast Cancer.

And, that might have been the end of it--if it hadn't been for "Larry." Shortly after the journey began, Larry, a 30-foot minke whale, joined Nelson on her journey, swimming alongside her for two hours as she paddled through calm waters; he even blew bubbles under Nelson's board. What makes this story more spectacular is, according to marine biologists, minke whales are extremely elusive and rarely seen off the Southern California coast.

The story was featured prominently on the Yahoo! homepage on Friday and it caught on quickly. By the time I donated to Nelson's effort early Friday morning, she'd raised nearly $50,000 through her online site. NBC Nightly News ran her story that evening and more people pulled out their wallets. As of this today, donations have skyrocketed to more than $120,000. Hopefully, they'll continue rolling in.

It's such a great story on so many levels; I think that's why so many people wanted to be a part of it, myself included. If you'd like to donate too, you can do so by visiting Nelson's Web site:
Keep a Breast Foundation - Paddle with Purpose.

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One step at a time

2010-03-08T09:52:00.000-08:00

Catherine Mylinh was not sure, with its twisty turns, steep inclines and slippery slopes, how she would make it through the 20-mile hike but she took a deep breath and did the one thing she did know how to do: place one foot in front of the other and keep moving forward. There were many times she wanted to turn around, give up. Once, she even slipped and fell. Slowly, though, she hoisted herself up, brushed herself off, and kept on going. Then suddenly she was at the finish line, staring at the majestic coast, the trail completed and left behind. Satisfied, she thought to herself, "Such is life, and life is grand."

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Do you know what you want?

2010-03-08T09:39:00.000-08:00

I had to buy eyeglasses on Saturday. I went in determined to purchase wire frames but left with some funky Oliver Peoples tortoise shells instead. Sometimes you think you know exactly what you want but you really don't have a clue. And it's not just with eyeglasses.

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Some favorite posts

2009-10-20T09:08:00.000-07:00

These are some of my favorite stories.
Just thought I'd revisit them. Enjoy!

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Be kind to English teachers

2009-09-24T23:18:00.000-07:00

I found one of my high school teachers on Facebook last summer.

I was in Mr. Brandt's Honors English class during my sophomore year. It was my favorite class because he encouraged a lot of debate among the students. I learned a lot about syntax, Eastern philosophy and how to diplomatically disagree with my peers.

But even though I found that class to be one of the most challenging and engaging of my high school career, I also thought Mr. Brandt was a big-time nerd. I mean, the guy wore a tie to school EVERY DAY. I was 15. I knew everything, and I knew a dork when I saw one.

It's funny the things you think you know when you're full of adolescent angst. Thankfully, a lot has changed since then. Today, after years of working as a professional journalist, I credit two of my high school English teachers, Mr. Brandt and Mr. Ferrero, with helping me fall in love with the written word.

So as you can imagine, it was a great delight for me to connect with Mr. Brandt on Facebook since we'd lost touch after graduation. Here's what I posted on his Wall this morning:

Mr. Brandt, you probably don't even remember this--when I was in your class so many years ago, you spotted a romance novel on my desk and gave me a hard time. It was one of those really explicit ones with the steamy covers. You know, Fabio with his hair blowing in the wind, wearing a fancy, pirate-like blouse, his chest exposed. He always had some damsel in his arms, her bosom popping out of her corset.

Anyway, you asked if my parents knew I was reading that stuff. In that obnoxious smart-alecky way, I said no, and that they probably wouldn't care. (I was a rebellious teenager, after all.) You didn’t skip a beat, and responded, unflappably, with, "Well, at least you're reading. Carry on."

I don't know why but that exchange has stayed with me all these years.

I may have known everything when I was 15 and I may not know much now as an adult, but I do know this: the 15-year-old Cat was wrong--Mr. Brandt is one of the coolest cats on campus. Much cooler than Fabio.

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Who knew ducks and socks could make you so sad?

2009-08-01T18:15:00.000-07:00

Three-Minute Fiction -- what an inspiring contest.

10 reasons you should hire a journalist

2009-03-17T11:35:00.000-07:00

A lot of my journalist friends are going through some tough times. Newspapers and television stations are losing millions in ad dollars as readers and viewers increasingly turn to the Internet for their information. The economy is further crippling the industry. There have been cutbacks and layoffs across the country. Some newspapers, like the Rocky Mountain News, are folding. Many television stations are seeing the same fate. After more than 40 years of covering Southeastern New Mexico, my first station, KBIM News 10 in Roswell, signed off for the last time on Dec. 12, 2008. As a result of all of this turmoil, so many of us are making the difficult decision to leave a business we so dearly love.

I have been on countless job interviews where the reaction is, "Wow! You were a television reporter?!?" Most people seem impressed with this, yet they often have a difficult time relating my journalism skills and experience to how it would benefit them in a more corporate setting. (Fortunately, I have also been able to meet a few great "non-news" bosses who've given me a chance.)

For those of you who are still looking for that perfect opportunity, Jill Geisler has an excellent article at Poynter Online. When you find that right fit, here are a few talking points to help you along. And for you managers looking for great people to join your team, why not hire a reporter? I promise, we won't let you down.

Ten Reasons You Should Hire a Journalist

Dear Potential Employer:

Please accept this letter of recommendation for the journalist applying for your job opening. I know this is unorthodox -- a generic reference letter. But permit me to explain. Thousands of men and women who made journalism their vocation have lost their jobs. For many, telling a community's stories through words and images is the only career they've known.

They didn't leave their jobs; their jobs left them. Many are still shell-shocked, wondering if potential employers in other fields will place any value on the things they do best.

That's why I write this letter. I don't pretend to know the individual who's applying to you, and certainly, every journalist is unique. But as someone who has spent decades hiring and firing, coaching and mentoring journalists, I know a bit about their skills and values and what they could mean to your organization.

I also know that journalists may not be comfortable appearing to brag about what they do well; self-esteem can get downsized pretty easily these days.

So permit me to make their case to you. Here are 10 reasons you should hire a journalist.

1. Journalists will improve the writing, photography or design in your organization.
When journalists volunteer for church, school or civic organizations, they are inevitably asked to work on communications projects. Their writing is clear and succinct; their photography and design skills make whatever they're working on look more polished and professional. They're sticklers about copy editing and will raise the quality of even your internal memos.

2. Journalists deliver on deadline.
Their work lives have been defined by deadlines. Blowing a deadline is a cardinal sin in the newsroom culture. Tell them when something is due and you'll get it -- or you'll get a bulletproof reason from a nonetheless-contrite employee.

3. Journalists are multitaskers.
In recent years, journalists have been required to do more with less. Reporters and photographers took up videography, editing and blogging. They file stories for print, broadcast and online, some while also tweeting. (If you don't know what tweeting is, ask during the interview. Don't worry. It does not involve stomach upset.)

4. Journalists are quick studies.
Imagine a job in which you have to learn things every day, then turn around and teach those things to others. That's exactly how I've described the challenge and absolute joy of journalism at student career fairs. That skill set demands that journalists take in and process information with extraordinary efficiency and clarity, a benefit in any line of work.

5. Journalists are critical thinkers.
They've been trained that "If your mother says she loves you, check it out." Journalists know that asking why and why not, looking at multiple perspectives, digging beneath the surface, challenging conventional wisdom, discerning patterns, finding context and thinking about "what's next" improves any story. Just as it improves job performance in most any field.

6. Journalists get answers faster than most.
Even in social situations, you'll find friends rely on their journalist buddies to gather information. Scout the restaurant. Get the background on the car I'm thinking of buying. Vet the new school superintendent. Help me find the best doctor for my condition. Journalists know how to do research -- fast.

7. Journalists know how to use the Web.
Your organization may or may not have embraced all of its online opportunities, but journalists know firsthand why the Internet matters. Sure, some news folks adopted an online mindset more slowly than others, but now many are well-equipped to help you execute online strategies -- blogging, creating video and audio, connecting through social networks. They've been brought up to speed in the past several years as their newsrooms expanded their horizons.

8. Journalists have a great work ethic.
If you've ever complained that your team has a 9-to-5 approach to the job, hire a journalist. Some may think they're crazy, but they've often followed stories, not schedules. They've dropped everything for breaking news. They've gotten up in the middle of the night to catch a perfect picture of the moon or listen to a source who could talk only in darkness. They took on the work of laid-off colleagues while still doing their own, for as long as they could. And they still have energy.

9. Journalists have a solid moral compass.
Imagine signing on to a job where you promise not to accept gifts that others could, must take pains to avoid real or perceived conflicts of interest, should keep your opinions to yourself, are expected to question authority while respecting the law and to recognize that your work carries the opportunity every day to do good or harm.

Journalists didn't just sign some statement saying they'll comply with the organization's policies, file it and forget it; they chose a profession that embraces a code of ethics and wrestles with its obligations daily. You might think they've fallen short over the years. But if you want to ask a great job interview question, ask journalists about some of the ethical minefields they've successfully walked and how they made it through while minimizing harm.

10. Journalists are loyal.
That's why they're hurting right now. The journalists you may hire have been faithful to their vocation, even when the going got more than tough. They've adapted, learned new skills, added duties, taken pay cuts and furloughs, mourned the loss of colleagues and coverage, and kept on doing work that mattered. What does that mean to you? Speaking as a management coach, I say it means this: hiring journalists presents you a terrific opportunity. Give them a job they believe in and they'll work like hell to help you succeed.

Sincerely,
Jill Geisler
Group Leader, Leadership and Management Programs
The Poynter Institute

You can find the original article here:

http://www.poynter.org/column.asp?id=34&aid=160112

Related blog: "News blues"

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Home for the holidays

2008-11-27T21:14:00.000-08:00

Cat, in the San Francisco Bay Area, with her little cousins

This is the first Thanksgiving that I have spent with my family in years.

For the past five years, I have been away, working as a reporter. Even when I was working in Fresno and it was within driving distance from home, I was rarely allowed to take holidays off.

There were just too many soup kitchens and homeless shelters, too many family feuds and fatal shootings to cover. And as I reported other peoples' lives, I was essentially missing out on my own. I missed all those holiday dinners and picture-perfect moments gathered around the Christmas tree or watching the countdown, laughing, loving, living.

That's why this year Thanksgiving means so much more to me. I finally understand what it's all about. Yes, I have a lot for which to be grateful.

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A Cat and her dog

2008-11-13T18:03:00.000-08:00

While surfing the Internet, I came across this article, "5 Ways Pets Improve Your Health." It reminded me of when I adopted my daschund-terrier mix, Roxy Nova, from the Central California SPCA. She's changed my life for the better, though I didn't know it at the time.

Roxy had an abandonment complex, submissive urination issues, flaky, dry skin; in short, she was a hot mess. Ha. We seemed a perfect fit. After all, what's that saying? Birds of a feather? (Note: Thankfully, my bladder is a little more behaved than Roxy's.)

I had her for two days before I decided I couldn't take on such a huge responsibility. That, and I broke out in shingles from all the stress. I had to take her back. She needed a chance to have a better home. This was best for the both of us, I tried to convince myself.

And she knew!

Roxy knew I was breaking up with her. She had this sad, pathetic look that whole day. She refused to make eye contact with me on the ride back to the pound. She whimpered when I handed her over to the nice lady behind the counter and yelped as they took her behind those closed doors, back to the kennel.

That terrible experience stuck with me for a couple days. In the end, I couldn't take the mounting guilt; I reclaimed my pup. We slowly began to rebuild our relationship.

That was nearly three years ago. We've been a team ever since.

Today, Roxy is excited when I walk through our front door. She follows me around the house. She's overcoming her anxiety issues. I've re-earned her trust.

And you know what? I feel pretty darn happy because of it. Healthy too. Shingles be damned.

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The world is my oyster... sort of

2008-10-23T19:44:00.000-07:00

-by Catherine Mylinh
Oct. 23, 2008

Steve took me out to dinner last night. He was in the mood for Thai. I wasn't really feeling it but reluctantly agreed to come along. It'd been a long week and I needed the break.

We ordered seafood tom kha soup, papaya salad and a garlic fish dish with brown rice.

The soup arrived shortly after the salad. As I slurped away, I noticed a lovely mussel glimmering in the coconut broth. It was calling my name.

I quickly scooped it up before Steve could get to it, used my chopsticks to pry it out of its shell and began to devour it. Then all of a sudden, CRUNCH! I'd bitten into something so hard it nearly took my tooth out.

I spat it out and it made a "ding" sound upon hitting the plate. Steve and I both looked at it. It was kind of... well... shiny.

We picked it up, wiped it off and were delightfully surprised. It was a pearl!

I'd found a pearl in my soup!

People are telling me this is a good omen, like somehow I am lucky. We'll have to wait and see.

In the meantime I'm already pestering Steve about taking me out for Thai food more often. We're going to be ordering a lot of Tom Kha soup. After all, what am I supposed to do with just one pearl? Mama needs a new pair of earrings!

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Calling all mavericks

2008-10-23T19:31:00.000-07:00

I just can't stop laughing over this.
"Todd" and the moose were a nice touch.

Comedy aside, your vote counts. Rock the Vote this Nov. 4, 2008.

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Say "cheese"

2008-10-02T18:34:00.000-07:00

-by Catherine Mylinh
Oct. 2, 2008

I need to take more pictures because life is too beautiful not to capture it and save it for eternity. Especially my life. So say "cheese"!!

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The bag lady

2008-08-25T19:38:00.000-07:00

by Catherine Mylinh
Aug. 25, 2008

The other night I stayed up late watching the 2008 Olympics. I had with me a bag of chips as I sat on the couch, inspired by all those amazing athletes in Beijing. (Don't think I don't recognize the irony of stuffing my face with crispy carbs while ogling sinewy hard bodies, but that is reserved for another post.)

Back to the subject: I fell asleep watching some diving competition and woke up a short time later. Tired and groggy, I hastily crumpled up my bag of chips and clumsily clipped it closed.

I stumbled into the bedroom to go to bed but all of a sudden I couldn't sleep. I lay awake for a half hour, thinking about that stupid bag of chips. I couldn't help but feel bothered that I had haphazardly sealed it. I debated whether I should get up to fix it, as if that paper sack of potato chips was a metaphor for my life. In the end, my Type-A obsessiveness got the best of me:

"Do you want to be the kind of person who goes around doing things half-assed? Are you someone who accepts 'good enough'? Is sloppy okay for you?"

So there I was, at 1:30 a.m., walking back into the living room to fix that bag of chips. I unclipped it, carefully folded it down and re-clipped it. Then it was really time for bed. And, after wasting a half hour of my life - a half hour I will never get back, mind you - contemplating this trivial task as a symbol of my integrity and work ethic, I was able to finally drift back to sleep.

I suppose this gives a whole new meaning to the term 'bag lady.'

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Achieving your childhood dreams

2008-08-02T09:19:00.000-07:00

Catherine Mylinh at KNTV NBC11 Bay Area, San Francisco

by Catherine Mylinh
Aug. 2, 2008

When I was eight, I set up a snow cone stand to raise money for plane tickets to Boston. I had it planned: I was going to track down Jordan Knight (yes, Jordan Knight of New Kids on the Block fame) and convince him to marry me. It never did happen.

Fast forward 15 years, though, and I am face to face with the pop star in the makeup room at the NBC station in Fresno, Calif. If the adult Cat could travel back in time and tell the eight-year-old Cat that she was going to one day meet Jordan Knight, the younger Cat would have probably squealed hysterically. And then fainted.

It was such a cool moment. Not because I still had a crush on Knight, but because I'd fulfilled a childhood dream.

When I was eight, I also knew I wanted to be a reporter. I've done that too. But that wasn't it. I wanted to be working as a broadcaster in my home market, San Francisco, the sixth largest market in the country. This summer, I was able to fulfill that dream as well.

So here's to you and achieving your childhood dreams. May you be as fortunate as I have been.

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Time management

2008-07-25T12:06:00.000-07:00

by Catherine Mylinh
July 25, 2008

Randy Pausch died this morning.
He was 47.

The Carnegie Mellon University professor had been battling pancreatic cancer for the last year. You may have seen his "Last Lecture" on YouTube. You may recognize him from the ABC News special on his life and career. You may have received my "spam" e-mail earlier this year encouraging you to read about Pausch.

I don't have much to write today other than to say I revisit these videos from time to time. I do it to remind myself about karma - how I ought to be living, what I should be grateful for, how I shouldn't waste precious time fretting over silly situations and insecurities, how time is precious. I'm not perfect. Sometimes I fail. But I'm trying. Every day.

I hope you think about the things this man had to say. I hope you get as much from his words as I, and millions of other people, continue to. Pausch often said that it is not so much the man, but the message, he hopes people will remember. I think he's getting his wish.

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Richmond signs off, reporter reflects

2008-05-30T12:20:00.000-07:00

-by Catherine Mylinh
May 30, 2008

If I was having pangs of regret over my decision to leave the broadcasting industry, all doubt was erased last week.

Longtime KTVU anchor Dennis Richmond retired after 40 years of delivering local and national headlines to San Francisco Bay Area residents. I grew up watching and idolizing the iconic journalist. He is the quintessential newsman: he's got all the smarts and wit to know a good story when he sees one, but without the frivolous bells and whistles and matching ties and hankies and insipid banter local news is so racked with these days.

Richmond gave you the facts and he gave it to you straight. There was nary a glimmer in his eye, not the faintest crack of a slight smile when he told you about the fundraiser for homeless children. He didn't artificially emote when he gave you updates on the fatal highway shooting. Richmond told you the news exactly as it happened. He let you decide where you would stand on the issues. I will always appreciate that.

But after nearly four decades of telling it like it is, Richmond announced his retirement early this year. He signed off for one last time on Wednesday, May 21, 2008.

I was back in the Bay Area just in time for Richmond's last newscast. I knew I wanted to catch this final goodbye. I also knew I had dinner plans that night. What's a girl to do?

Enter TiVo. And YouTube. And a host of other online sites that captured the poignant moment.

I caught the last hoorah on my TiVo, zipping through commercials and the blood and guts at the top of the hour. I logged on to YouTube, filtered out all the other noise and watched the handful of segments that interested me in this man's career. It is ironic that I now get my information from someplace other than the television, considering I spent the better part of my adulthood working in the television news industry.

And then it hit me. I am not alone. This generation receives its information in e-mails, on iPhones. People are not waiting around for the evening newscast to find out what's going on with the world.

Richmond's sign-off, in many ways, signals the end of an era, both for me and the industry. He is the last of his kind. The all-knowing, authoritative voice of God that boomed into your living room at 6 p.m. sharp. Overseas disasters, soaring fuel prices, a plummeting economy--my parents and their parents depended on these men and women to understand the world. Today, I have Google, ready at the click of a mouse whenever and wherever I want or need it.

I am grateful I worked briefly with Richmond in the early years of my broadcast career. While I was an intern at KTVU, Richmond treated me with respect. He was extremely knowledgeable, approachable and caring. He wanted young people to succeed. He gave me tips on how to do it right. The way he'd done it right for four decades.

True journalism, the kind Richmond delivered, may get buried in the hustle and bustle of high tech as the Internet continues to revolutionize information flow and, hence, the news industry. But, to this perpetual reporter and storyteller at heart, true journalism, the kind Richmond delivered, will never be forgotten. I will always have YouTube to remind me.

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News blues

2008-05-27T00:34:00.000-07:00

Bud Elliott and Catherine Mylinh
KSEE NBC - Fresno, Calif.
September 2006

News blues
by Catherine Mylinh
May 12, 2007

It's 8:40 on a Saturday night. I am, once again, sitting in the newsroom. My eyes are red and aching from reading all the wires and news flashes that have been coming down since the ambush in Iraq. Several U.S. soldiers were killed this morning, several more are now missing.

In between reading the doom and gloom that is my profession, I am surfing the Web. I am looking at my friends' photo albums. Pictures of them with their wine glasses raised, cheeks stretched and pink from laughing too hard. Pictures of them on vacation, sunburned and happy. Snapshots of the moments we live and die for. And I lament.

It is, after all, 8:40 on a Saturday night and I am sitting in the newsroom.

When I was eight years old I was sure I wanted to be a reporter. I wanted to talk to people. I wanted to write stories about their lives, be the first to know something important and to relay it to the rest of the world. It's true what they say: be careful what you wish for.

It is, after all, 8:40 on a Saturday night and I am sitting in the newsroom.

I am going through a quarter-life crisis. It is a little late in coming but make no mistake about it, it is here. I love my job. The eight-year-old in me, the one who's chasing down a story and pounding on the keyboard, trying to gracefully make deadlines, is thrilled. The 20-something Cat is torn.

I am working long hours. Weekends, holidays, you name it. I cannot take two weeks off at a time because news never sleeps. Some months I can't take time off at all. For the last five years, I have given up everything to be where I am now. I have packed up my bags, moved to wherever I could find work, said goodbye to those I love too often.

Is it worth it?

My family is having dinner tomorrow night for Mother's Day. I won't be there. My boyfriend is throwing a housewarming party tomorrow afternoon. I can't be there.

Tomorrow it will be 8:40 on a Sunday night and I will be in the newsroom.

I love my job tremendously. I feel very fortunate to be working in this fiercely competitive business. I feel blessed to be a mere three-hour drive from my real home. But I no longer own my own life. At what point do you weigh the scales and make a decision?

My biggest fear is I will wake up one day, in my 40s, alone. I'll have a big house and a kick-ass career but I won't have anyone to share it with. I am too far from all the people I love. And when I do get to see them, it is for snippets at a time because they all have 'normal' schedules and 'normal' hours. I am missing out on all those moments now. All the Thanksgiving dinners and weddings and baby showers and birthday parties and Christmas recitals and lazy Sundays. All the frolics on the beach and dancing until dawn. All those moments that will become inside jokes you all will laugh about for years to come. I am missing out on all of that.

It is, after all, 8:40 on a Saturday night and I am sitting in the newsroom.

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The story of Hau and Kim

2008-05-25T22:18:00.000-07:00

Hau and Kim at Yosemite National Park
circa 1983

The story of Hau and Kim
by Catherine Mylinh
October 1, 2006

One of my earliest memories is sitting in the backseat of an early 1970s Chevrolet Nova with my younger brother, Peter. It was a junky piece of metal, the white paint chipping off, the upholstery, a gaudy bright blue. My parents were in the front. All around us the flood waters were rising during a particularly bad storm. Peter and I were terrified.

"Everything's going to be okay," my dad said.
And it was.

It was the early 1980s and we were living in New Orleans. A lot of Vietnamese refugees immigrated to the Bayou State after the fall of Saigon because there's a fantastic shrimp industry there and that's what they knew to do. However, my father, Hau, and my mother, Kim, knew nothing about crustacean; they had been raised in the city back home and considered themselves young, cool, educated hipsters. We'd been in the country for about two years and were living in Louisiana with my grandparents, who'd arrived to the states first. One day, after much thought, my dad decided there were better opportunities in California. And, like any typical Asian family, my grandparents agreed to follow us out there as soon as we'd settled.

So west we went.

When we arrived in California, we lived in Sunnyvale, south of San Francisco. My parents scraped what little money they had saved and rented a garage that had been converted into a bedroom. We also rented a room from a nice lady. She had two grown children: a son was who away at school, and a daughter who played tennis. She was rarely home because she had a rich boyfriend who took her on expensive cruises. We had free range of the family room, one bathroom and the kitchen.

My mother and father would take turns looking after Peter and me, as the other went job hunting. "They're making computers out here. That's where the money is!" my father would always excitedly claim in Vietnamese.

But those first few years were a struggle. Both my parents had fled war-torn Vietnam with nothing but a few photographs of their wedding day and the clothes on their backs. They had decided to stay after the Americans pulled out, optimistic South Vietnamese forces would win the civil war. After the Viet Cong entered Saigon, they knew it was not the same country.

My parents rarely speak about the night they left their land. What little I've been able to glean paints a horrifying picture. They left in the middle of the night, paying a fisherman to take them out to sea. Hundreds of boats carrying thousands of refugees fled for the Philippines, China, Indonesia. My grandparents told me Thai pirates came abroad their ship, robbed them, burned their belongings and threw the men in the ocean.

I tell my coworkers I once lived in a cardboard box and they laugh. It's true. My parents' boat took them to Malaysia, where I was born. We lived in a refugee camp made of large cardboard boxes, held together by electrical tape and string. I have the pictures to prove it. We stayed nearly a year before our papers were approved and we were on our way to the U-S of A.

Like I said, those first few years were a struggle. My parents have never believed in welfare, saying, "If you can walk, you can work." In Louisiana, my father held several jobs while struggling to learn English. My mother did the same. I remember my dad coming home early in the morning with candy for Peter and me. (One of his jobs was as an overnight cashier at a 7-11. He quit after some men robbed him at gunpoint one night.)

But in California things were different. With their broken English, my parents were able to secure jobs as technicians with blue chip companies in Silicon Valley.

We moved out of that garage after about six months and got ourselves a little apartment in Santa Clara. And like they promised, my grandparents made the trek out west and joined us. They took care of us kids while my parents went to work. And still, even though they could have chosen not to, my parents both held two jobs each. I saw my mother for only a few hours a day before she'd leave for her swing-shift. "We're going to buy a house soon and you can have your own bedroom," she'd promise me every afternoon before she headed out the door.

She was right. Within eight years of arriving in this country, my parents were able to purchase an 1,800 square-foot piece of the American dream. They bought our home before it was even built. On Saturdays, they would drive Peter and me out to the dirt lot so we could watch first the foundation being laid, then the wood frame being erected, then the insulation being weaved in. I didn't realize it at the time but the slow construction of this home would be the symbol of my parents' freedom.

Today, my parents are American citizens. They own their own home. They own their own business. And still, in true fashion, they hold conventional, 9-to-5 jobs. My dad is now an engineer at the company he's been with for years. My mother continues to work in high tech. They've put me through college and are doing the same for my brother. They're looking forward to retirement.

My parents' story is the one I love to tell. When I left for that little town in the desert for my first reporting gig, I was a long way from home, terrified, in a strange place. But I would think of what my parents went through: how they came to this country without a penny to their names, where they did not even know the language; how they have thrived.

And I think back to one of my earliest memories: an old Chevy, rising flood waters, a Vietnamese immigrant couple and their two young children in the backseat.

I hear my dad, loud and clear, "Everything's going to be okay." And it is.

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