I sat down to write something thoughtful. Maybe even profound. But somehow Tan wandered into the text like he owned the place, and suddenly, here we are – he’s starring in a post he was never invited to. Typical Tan.
If you ask Tan what he wanted most from marriage, he’ll say unconditional love. At first, I thought, “Gag me. Doesn’t everybody?” It sounded Hallmark-level cliché. But now? I get it. He’s not an easy man to love.
Tan’s an Asian man born and raised in Malaysia. He’s also a physician, which, let’s be honest, is a double whammy when it comes to intensity. Cultural differences? Check. Workaholic tendencies? Double check. Affection levels? Somewhere near Antarctica.
I once told him that what I wanted out of marriage was to feel like the most important person when walking into a room full of people. He was successful at that. Attending a medical supper, he power-walked 20 steps ahead of me from the car to the building. By the time I stepped through the door, he was elbows deep in prime rib and bacon wrapped shrimp, socializing like he’d arrived solo. Apparently, when I said I didn’t want to feel like the “forgotten plus one,” he heard, “please set the tone for my evening as background furniture.”
If there’s one thing I need in a partner is someone who can make me laugh – someone with a good sense of humor. Most of the time, Tan accomplishes that unintentionally. He just speaks. I know it’s a cultural thing because I hear our Asian friends do it too, but he makes everything plural.
Furniture becomes “furnitures,” fruit turns into “fruits.” He puts an “s” on words just for fun. His pronunciation of “bullshit” comes out sounding like “boo-shit,” and a good friend nearly laughs her butt off every time she hears it.
He once told me to go sit in the “shed” to cool off. Took me a while to realize he meant “shade.” He came in from walking Gracie, saying she’d been in the “tissels.” What are those?” I asked. He replied in a slightly louder tone, “TISSELS!” “Ahh, thistles,” I said, trying to hide my obvious laughter. “I’ll get the dog comb.”
He can also laugh at himself. There was the time he returned from Clear Lake’s new pickleball courts swearing one of the courts was slanted. “Is it the court,” he asked, “or just my eyes?” That got a good laugh out of everyone.
Tan’s glass is generally half full. “Every day is a good day,” he used to say – although I don’t hear it as often lately. Retirement is creeping in. He’s 69 now. And while I can’t picture him not being in medicine, he deserves to slow down and enjoy life.
How he got here is a story of its own – a quite inspirational one.
Tan grew up in Malaysia, Jahor Bahru to be exact. His family had very little. He recounts getting spit on by other kids because his clothes were dirty. The leaky roof and daily sightings of cockroaches were part of the norm. 2 adults and 7 kids lived in the humble shack they called home.
Their diet was heavy on rice and bread. He became a whiz at climbing trees, swiping fruit from the neighbor like a tropical ninja. And he knew what time to go over to a friend’s house- dinner time. Because on occasion, he’d get lucky and be asked to stay and join them.
Today, inside Tan’s medical office, there’s a picture of a small abode with a thatched roof over part of it, and lots of green tropical foliage growing around it. When I asked him where that was, he said it was the house he grew up in. He looks at it every day to remind him of where he came from.
How did Tan come to America? That’s a story I’m proud to tell.
Tan’s “American brother”, Ken, a Peace Corps volunteer teaching in Johor Bahru, saw something in this street-smart kid that went beyond book smarts. He called his mother in Garden City, MN and asked, “If I put this boy on a plane, can he come live with you?” Her answer? “Send him.” No hesitation. If Ken believed in him, that was enough.
Tan’s biological family didn’t have much, but they scraped together what they did have to buy him a new suit. What their family did have was pride, and they didn’t want Thoo Huat arriving in America looking like he was poor.
Tan’s biological mother, whom he was very close to, had sadly passed away. He and his father never had much of a relationship. Tan felt regarded as “the black sheep in the family,” and in his own rebellious way, decided to live up to that title.
On the plane ride headed to a country where he didn’t know a single soul, Tan reminded himself that even though he was scared, he still felt like the luckiest kid in the world. He was going to America, the land of opportunity, where he could earn an education few back home could even imagine.
He finished high school in Mankato and went on to earn a degree at MSU as a Lab Technician. His fellow employees and professors asked why he wasn’t applying to med school since it was obviously his passion. His answer was heartbreaking in its honestly: “I can’t afford to.” Still, he refused to give up and he came up with a plan. He asked everyone he knew if they’d help sponsor him, promising to pay them back. A promise he later kept.
He recalls one nurse offering to give him $25 out of every paycheck. To Tan, that meant the world. While it wasn’t a lot, she was able to offer him what she could afford. He worked his way through medical school while juggling jobs, promising a professor he’d quit working if his grades suffered, but they never did. He pushed through every obstacle, determined to honor the faith others had placed in him.
I believe it was hearing him tell me this story, that I fell.
Tan’s American mom is now 101 and Tan still makes time to visit his American family regularly. He’s as close to them as he is to his biological siblings, maybe even more so. His hugs, once nonexistent, now come standard with hellos and goodbyes. I like to think I helped with that. Maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks.
Tan drives me crazy. And I return the favor with gusto. Somehow, we needed each other in ways we didn’t even realize in the beginning. We’re proof opposites attract…then irritate the hell out of each other to the point of personal growth. Our differences are our greatest teaching tools.
Pour yourself a glass of Merlot, Tan’s fav and raise your hand high: “To Dr. Tan, the boy who shimmied up coconut trees and ended up here in crocs sipping wine. I tell his story not just because it’s wild and wonderful, but because I want you to see the side of him that’s easy to miss: the heart behind the stethoscope.
To Tan’s cocky confidence, his infinite patience, his grammatically questionable nouns, and his culturally unique form of love. He may not always walk beside me, but he does stick with me. To Thoo Tan – the most tolerable intolerable man I know. Cheers!”
