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My Father Gave Me A Name

My father was once a soldier during the years of the 1979 Sino-Vietnamese Border War. His job rarely required him to trek through forests with a rifle; instead, he was the warehouse keeper — the one who distributed uniforms and weapons to the unit. It sounded simple, but inside that weapons depot, my father witnessed countless life-and-death stories of the soldiers.

In his unit, there was a commanding officer named Thỏa — a man known for his talent, decisiveness, and the respect he earned from his comrades. My father admired him deeply. When I was born, he didn’t hesitate:

— “My son will be named Thỏa. I hope he’ll be as courageous and capable as that commander once was.”

And so, I became Thỏa.

That name has followed me my whole life. But life rarely goes the way we want. Many people said, “The name ‘Thỏa’ is tiring to say — my mouth twists every time I try to pronounce it.” So the villagers shortened it for convenience: from Thỏa to Thỏ (“Rabbit”), then creatively upgraded it to the nickname “Three-Eared Rabbit.” I found it both funny and helpless, thinking, “I wonder if one day someone will call me Grilled Rabbit or Stir-fried Rabbit.”

It didn’t stop there. When I took an English class, the teacher told every student to choose a Western name. She thought for a moment and declared:

— “‘Thỏa’ means ‘satisfied’ in English… so you will be Satisfy!”

From that day on, the whole class cheerfully called me Mr. Satisfy. It sounded grand, but every time the teacher giggled and introduced, “This is Mr. Satisfy,” I felt more like a brand slogan than a real person.

Yet, looking back, I feel proud. The name Thỏa that my father gave me is not just a way to call me — it is a story of an entire generation, of people who lived through bombs and bullets, who placed their hopes and admiration into the future. No matter if others call me Rabbit, Three-Eared Rabbit, or Mr. Satisfy, deep down I always know:

I carry a name born from my father’s memories and pride.