today marks the 26th anniversary of the fall (or liberation, depending on your point of view) of Saigon.

i was a day short of six months old at the time, so i, natch, don't remember it, and still know little about it. during my freshman year of college, i roomed with a guy who's family had fled Saigon in the days before the North Vietnamese Army entered the city. he was only a year old at the time and doesn't remember it either, but his parents do, and they've told him the story over and over. it was an extremely traumatic event for his parents, and they'd managed to implant in their son their intense reverence for the event that brought them to the United States, and their sorrow and regret at the same event that caused them to leave their home and family behind. my roommate didn't talk about it unless asked. even then, he said little, and his voice was tinged with sadness. it was astonishing to see the depth of emotion he felt for an event that he was too young to remember, that he knows only through the first-hand account of his parents. it was also astonishing to see the pride and patriotism he and his family felt towards this country, especially astonishing in contrast to my lack of patriotic tendencies.