I have just found out 10 minutes ago (via the internet) that a dear friend of mine passed away yesterday. At this point, its really hard for me to describe what I'm feeling; other than an overwhelming need to write something for him at this minute, all my other emotions seem to be a blur. When I was in college, Glenn Harmonson used to host Christian missionaries at his house and it was through one of them that I first became acquainted with him. But I didn't get to know him that well until one day after a teacher's assistant humiliated me in front of my classmates. In a rage and needing someone to talk to, I pulled into Mr. Harmonson's driveway unannounced. Mr. H stopped what he was doing and listened to me go off. I think he asked me something about how Jesus would respond or if I thought my teacher's assistant “knew the lord” or something to that effect. I think I said, “I hope she doesn't, 'cause if she burns, it'll be just fine with me!” I was furious and back in those days my temper was nothing mess with (Still isn't, according to some people but I'm working on it). I don't remember what Mr. H. said to talk me down, only that he was able to do so and I came out of there with a lot of respect for him. 3 weeks later, the teacher's assistant said she noticed that I tried really hard in the class and she apologized for having me pegged wrong. After college, when I was still learning how to have a job and not spend all the money I made, I ended up in credit card debt more times than I remember. Mr. H. would loan me money interest-free and never complain even though it sometimes took months for me to pay him back. Whenever I said “thank you”, he'd say “I'm glad to do it.”. . . and he never sounded the least bit disingenuous. I always made it a point to pay back what I owed. But the last time I ever borrowed money from him – it was a few hundred dollars – I wasn't sure if I remembered to pay him back. I asked him about it; he said he'd get back to me. He never brought it up again - I'm almost certain it was money I still owed him. When I first started getting into cooking, Mr. and Mrs. H. used to be my guinea pigs for new recipes. I was a pretty good cook even then as I was able to earn their approval about 80% of the time. I'd know that Glenn liked what I cooked if he said, “You done good.” Dessert was their job and Mr. H. taught me that there was no such thing as too much vanilla ice cream and caramel topping; they'd buy the stuff 5 gallons at a time. Truly there was no better place to be in Long Beach than dessert time at the Harmonsons'. Some of you who knew Mr. H. closely may also know he had a knack for sharing corny jokes. I mean the CORNIEST. These were often jokes he made up on the spot just to get a rise out of me. They were so bad I had to beg him to stop and that's when he'd start laughing. Typical example: [I bring some fish over to his house to cook] Mr. H.: So what kind of fish are these? Me: Tilapia. Mr. H: Well, you know why you have to be careful when you eat them don't you? Me: Um. . .why? Mr. H: 'Cause you wouldn't want them to fall on your Lap-i-a! [I ask that he solemnly swear to never to tell another joke. He laughs and for some weird reason I start laughing too.]
It got to the point that eventually if I heard bad jokes elsewhere, I'd “save them” for Mr. H. the next time I'd see him. Sure wish I could tell him some right now; China has 60 million people and trust me, everyone here can share a corny joke.
Mr. H, I still can't believe this is really it. You done good. Goodbye. | 
