CHAPTER 164

2026-07-05

One reason our family of three travelled to Normandy was to commemorate the Allied invasion during the Second World War and the subsequent counteroffensive against the Axis powers. Another reason was that my younger son has long been fascinated by both the Second World War and Germany.

Our family eagerly travelled through northern France and Normandy to mark the 70th anniversary of the Allied landings that reopened the European continent and launched the campaign against the Axis powers. One of the main motivations for the trip was my younger son's deep interest in World War II and Germany.

From early childhood, whenever my younger son became interested in something, he immersed himself in it completely. His interests were never casual—they became all-consuming. This tendency seemed to be part of his inborn temperament.

The most representative example was his fascination with windshield wipers. From about the age of three or four, whenever we went out as a family, I would be driving while he sat directly behind me. Whenever he saw the windshield wipers sweeping away the rain, he would excitedly exclaim in Chinese, "Windshield wipers!" (We mainly spoke Cantonese at home.) He never seemed to tire of it.

My wife and I would exchange knowing glances and jokingly call it the "windshield wiper phenomenon." Each obsession usually lasted about a season before giving way to a new one.

His fascination with World War II began because, every year around D-Day, Remembrance Day, and the anniversaries of the First and Second World Wars, television stations routinely broadcast documentaries, films, and news programmes about those events. He became especially interested in Canada's military contribution and felt both pride and admiration for Canadian soldiers.

Gradually, his attention shifted from windshield wipers to spotting vehicles bearing veteran licence plates on the road. This time, instead of speaking Chinese, he would excitedly call out in English, "Veteran!"

His love of history may also have been inborn. Even in elementary school, when sitting in front of the television, he would deliberately choose to watch old black-and-white films. He had a nostalgic taste far beyond his years and never found them slow or boring.

Another quality that attracted him from an early age was discipline. By nature he was shy and dreaded situations in which he had to make decisions or respond in front of a crowd. Was this an inborn personality trait? Was it influenced by growing up with an older brother who had autism? Or was it the result of both? I cannot say for certain.

One year, during Thanksgiving, his elementary school received a donated turkey to be raffled among all the students. To everyone's surprise, my younger son won the draw. When his name was announced and he was invited onto the stage to receive his prize voucher, he was so terrified that he refused to go up, no matter how much he was encouraged.

The school handled the matter fairly and notified the parents. I personally went to the turkey shop and redeemed the voucher for a seven-pound whole turkey. Fortunately, the prize did not go to waste, and our family enjoyed turkey meals for nearly two weeks.

Over time, his pride in the Canadian military gradually evolved into an admiration for what he perceived as the defining qualities of the German people: focus, loyalty, diligence, self-discipline, seriousness, and meticulous attention to detail. In many ways, this was a form of psychological projection that helped shape and strengthen his own character.

This admiration later inspired him to begin teaching himself German when he entered Grade 11 in high school. At university, he completed every German language course the institution offered and voluntarily sat for an officially recognized German language proficiency examination.

This preference eventually led him, at the age of thirteen in 2005, to ask on his own initiative to join a disciplined youth organization—the local Scottish Highland Army Cadets. He enrolled in early September of that year. By the end of the month, I underwent surgery to remove part of my liver because of liver cancer. He remained with the cadets until he turned nineteen in 2011. One year later, I underwent a liver transplant.

For him, a code of conduct governed by discipline actually brought freedom. It relieved him of the constant burden of deciding how he should behave in every situation. He once explained that senior cadets were expected to correct and even reprimand junior cadets when necessary. This was not personal; it was simply part of the system.

As long as cadets remembered the regulations and followed the rules, they always knew how they were expected to act.

For my younger son, who from childhood had often chosen to stand quietly at the side rather than be the centre of attention, the cadet corps became an external framework that supported him like a walking aid. At the same time, it provided an environment and countless opportunities for him to continue growing socially.

In June 2014, just before his twenty-second birthday and three years after leaving the cadets, he finally set foot in Normandy. There, he paid tribute to the young Canadian soldiers who had sacrificed their lives for their country and for peace. For him, it brought that long journey to a meaningful conclusion.