This gig saw the turning point in Bill's adult life. Two months before his 40th
birthday, he was recruited by a company to work on its next generation Internet
traffic analyzer while they were being bought out by an SF-based firm. He finished
his tasks in the first year but it took HQ much longer to figure out what to do
with their newly acquired asset.
Meanwhile, Bill got lucky. He discovered a new frontier where no management
decision was needed: his own health. When he was small, he was always healthy,
even when he couldn't do one single pull-up. When he was young, there were
more things to do and his body played along, not beautifully but passably. What
he found early middle age was that the body was a goldmine and the digging
was almost entirely up to himself. It was nothing less than a revelation. He soon
lost a quarter of body weight and dramatically restyled his existence.
The final decision from high above, not uncommon in such cases, was to ax the
product. Bill refused to switch to another group, as the firm offered. He had a
brush with the Italian boss of that group because he was sour that morning
and the poor guy took his chair in his absence. Moreover, he did not want to
code in C++, the programming language that he disdained as a bunch of bandages
over C. Two decades in the game and unaware to himself, he had become a snobbish
prima donna.
Bill also planned to hold onto his knowledge of a network processor chip and
work in related projects, the same old idea of trying to be the master of his
own fate. It was hard, though. He had to compete with a whole generation of
Indian developers who seemed to know the chip.
Laid off with a package, the first thing he did was to pay off in one lump sum
the $240k mortgage left on his home, seven years after purchase. He had never
spent that much on anything before. He could have bought another house, as two
of his friends would have done, and started to learn the trade of a landlord.
But he was too lazy, risk-averse, and lack of drive. The way he saw it, from now
on, as long as he paid property tax, nobody could drive him out of it.
Moreover, paying off the mortgage appealed to his pride as the main bread
winner. That vanity came in part thanks to his wife, Amy, who seemed to be
obsessed simultaneously with the two self-defeating desires of a high-income
partner and beating him in earning. Thanks to the second fixation, in their
professional careers, she sometimes did beat him. But the satisfaction would be
short-lived as almost instantly she would start to grudge him for making less.
That state would last until Bill caught up, which in turn would make her bitter
for the obvious unfairness of a world ruled by men. A typical chauvinistic Chinese
male, Bill took it hard, seeing his wife's growing earning power as a threat to
his dignity and even manhood. Now he could at least tell himself that he did his
job as man of the house.
His house, a modest four-bedroom multi-family home, sat close to the end of a
cul-de-sac adjoining a park. It was older than Bill and located in a good school
district, and they bought it for $400k when the market was low. They could have
got it for even less but couldn't wait to get out of the tiny $2400-a-month
apartment in north San Jose. It had been a rental property before being
foreclosed for more than a year and compared with some of his friends'
McMansions, it looked like an abandoned shack. As a result, they hardly invited
anyone except old Chinese friends and Bill seriously believed that he lost a few
of them because of his humble residence, for better or worse.
Three birch trees, in a cluster and obviously of different ages, guarded the
front yard. The Irish owner of the place before it was rented out, Bill was
told, had three kids and it was their tradition to plant a tree for every child
born. Unlike the popular and indifferent evergreens in the neighborhood, the
willowy birches sense and answer the seasons. They would suddenly sprout
new branches in April, shade the roof for the summer, and shed leaves late
fall before braving through the rainy winter.
Fausto Garcia, Bill's neighbor, was a skilled laborer from Mexico and his wife
ran a daycare in their own backyard. He was about five years older, 5'7",
handsome and strongly built. He worked for a construction company and took care
of his less handy neighbors in spare time. His jobs were menial but off work he
was always well-dressed and presentable. He and his 16-year-old son, Carlos,
helped Bill move into his first house.
Given the condition of the place, rennovations had to start right away. The
following years, home-ownership was an education by necessity. Bill planned,
measured, calculated, and purchased and shipped the tools and materials. As a
result, he acquired a new block of vocabulary and never felt intimidated in a
Home Depot. He tore away the old carpets, nailed a layer of plywood on the
concrete slab, and laid a bamboo floor for every room. After that, he had the
distinct pleasure of scrubbing the floors and would never cede it to a robot.
To Bill, physical work keeps humans from rusting and scrubbing on all fours for
15 mins took care of the man more than the floor.
Unlike many of his educated friends and contrary to Confucian teachings, Bill
did not shirk or make light of physical labor. From very young, he was nurtured
by the love and kindness from his peasant grand parents, uncles and aunts, and
the fruits of their labor in the field, on the roads, or in the kitchen. When big
enough, he would proudly join them to work the land. Till this day, he kept in a
wallet the picture of his uncle who made a living as an unskilled construction
hand when he died. They were his people.
He did some painting and moulding but for the rest of the work hired Fausto.
Together, they paved and decked the backyard, installed a new kitchen and a
bathroom, set up a water-softener, and replaced all the windows, doors, and
sliding doors. Fausto and his friends--he had tons of friends and relatives in
the area--cleaned and painted the roof, hang the ceiling and installed shelves
in the garage, and did most of the dirty work of smoothing and painting the
interior walls.
Big projects aside, Fausto was the go-to person for any house-related problems.
He helped before being asked. Bill would not know to clean the gutter when the
rainy season came until one day Fausto noticed a waterfall pouring down the
front of the garage. He probably would never know to drain the 15-year old GE
water heater had Fausto not shown him the calcium-rich liquid out of the pipe.
Over the years, the two had become friends. The Wang's were invited to the Garcia
home and enjoyed the festivity with their big extended Spanish-speaking family.
Tim went to the Gacia daycare during school breaks. The Mexican couple spoke
limited English but out of honesty and goodwill. Whenever the two men met on the
streets, they would shake hands and chat.
Both cared about longevity and quality of life as they saw close friends and
relatives pass away in ill health in recent years. Unfortunately, only Bill was
blessed so far and was able to execute the common knowledge of diet and
exericse. He used to marvel at his Mexicano friend's strength and admire his
physique. In seven years, however, the tables were turned. Fausto went out of
shape gradually as a result of age and bad diet. He grew a pouch and had high
blood pressure. Both knew where the problem was but, as Bill started to
understand, people's priorities were skewed and it was hard to keep the right
picture in sight all the time.
Bill spent the next couple of months running, job-hunting, and reading in the
library. The job market was hot and by the end of July, he had landed a couple
of offers. He was still eager to work.
