Meet Don

“Ugghh.” Another family road trip. I was 8 years old, crammed into the middle of the back seat with my two older brothers, their elbows jamming into my ribs when my parents weren’t looking.  I was already the nerd of the family and not looking forward to the stuffy car and hundreds of miles of highway in front of us.

My brothers were ecstatic. We were off to the Rocky Mountain National Park. I could never really understand their excitement for camping or climbing, it’s not like we lived in the great outdoors, our apartment was downtown in Oklahoma City’s, Little Saigon.

But what we all shared was an indomitable spirit. My parents had faced unimaginable hardships as refugees of the Vietnam War. The earliest stories I heard of survival came from my father, sharing his years of imprisonment in a POW camp and his harrowing escape by boat from Vietnam. I understood the importance of embracing life to the fullest early on, but this didn’t include playing “spot the license plate game” for hours on end or being dragged along a hiking trail.

The engine hummed as our car wound its way through the majestic mountains.  As we reached a scenic overlook, I leaned over my brother and stared up at the towering peaks that seemed to touch the sky. Something stirred inside me. An excitement grew.

We piled out of the car. I ran to the edge of the pavement and took in the breathtaking view of the surrounding mountain ranges. A slight breeze ruffled my hair and I stood mesmerized by the sheer grandeur of it all. It was as if those mountains called out to me.

I felt this overwhelming desire to test my own limits, feel the thrill of standing atop those peaks and achieve the seemingly impossible. My family’s resilience instilled a fire within me to conquer my own challenges, and I knew in that moment, no matter how hard it would be, I wanted to become a mountain climber.