Not-So-Subtle Matchmaking
The event’s organizers and many of the Vietnamese American parents who bring their 20-something children to the community’s annual Family Night party will insist that matchmaking is not their main intent.
But the fervent hope that their children will meet a prospective mate is the event’s worst-kept secret.
Just outside the ballroom doors at the Hilton in suburban Washington on a recent Saturday night, two brides beamed from museum-size portraits displayed on easels. Business cards advertising flowers, gifts and accessories from Darlene’s Bridal littered the banquet tables. The after-dinner entertainment featured a fashion parade of young women wearing red silk tunics, embroidered satin overcoats and pastel dresses--all suitable attire for a traditional Vietnamese wedding.
“I came to meet my friends,” said Tho Nguyen, 58, sitting at a table with a friend and their sons and daughters.
“Come on, he’s here for the same reason I’m here,” said the friend, Canh Luu. He leaned in conspiratorially and shared his greatest wish.
“I want my children, my sons, my daughter, to have a chance to meet other Vietnamese,” Luu said. “If they marry, I want them to marry Vietnamese. I love Vietnam. I left my country 25 years ago, but I want my children to go back to their roots.
“I don’t want to speak English with my daughters-in-law. I want to speak Vietnamese. It’s ridiculous . . . but I am a 62-year-old man.”
One son, Tommy Luu, was well aware of his father’s plans. He didn’t mind, though. “This is better than Galaxy,” he said, referring to a popular nightclub.
Most of the older adults present share similar family backgrounds and have established middle-class lives here. They were pilots, military officers, professors and other members of the educated elite in South Vietnam who escaped to the United States in 1975 when their country fell to the Communists. The Washington region became home to the largest concentration of Vietnamese immigrants on the East Coast, with more than 50,000.
Family Night, which draws more than 500 people, began in 1993, when the first generation of Vietnamese born in the United States was finishing high school, heading to college or starting careers.
Founder Quyen Tran said his main intention is for young people and their parents to enjoy an outing together when the children are home for the holidays.
Tran said he knows of only 10 weddings that have resulted from Family Night. If successful matchmaking occurs, “that would be nice, but that would not be the main purpose,” said Tran, 62, a former professor who now works for the World Bank. “Vietnamese people over here, they don’t want parents to impose on them. They don’t want people to interfere in their choice of spouses.”
At Family Night, parents are encouraged to sit on one side. Their children, who make up two-thirds of the crowd, are on the other side, assigned random seats alongside people they don’t know. Throughout the night, parents will sometimes check on their children and introduce them to family friends and their children.
At most Vietnamese banquets, food is the star of the show, with up to 10 elaborate courses. This party featured regular American hotel fare, baked salmon and green beans, encouraging people to focus less on eating and more on mingling.
“Everything’s done on purpose,” said Linh Pham, 29, a veteran of several Family Nights. “There’s a reason behind everything.” Pham, who already has a Vietnamese American boyfriend, spent the evening nudging her single friends.
“This is a more secure environment,” said Pham, a project manager for a telecommunications company. “You know everybody’s relatives. You’re going to meet someone. That’s the purpose.”
At Pham’s table, Huy Nguyen sat quietly eating dinner. He was here at his father’s wishes. “He’s been trying to hook me up ever since college,” said Nguyen, 25, a computer programming consultant. “It’ll come in time, I tell my parents. I don’t like to pressure myself.”
Nearby, Uy Hoang also maintained an intense concentration on his food. But by 9:30 p.m., his mother and aunt had introduced him to two young women. “They’re not subtle,” said Hoang’s cousin, Michelle Le, 22.
“You just kind of say hi, and it’s kind of awkward,” said Hoang, 23, dressed in a pressed shirt and silk tie.
Several tables away, Hoang’s mother looked over at her son occasionally. She wasn’t too thrilled with what she saw. “He’s sitting next to his cousin,” she lamented. “He’s defeating the purpose.”
Uy, the oldest of her five children, so far has dated only non-Vietnamese women, said Minh-Vu Hoang, 49.
She has lived in Washington since 1969 and said she has nothing against non-Vietnamese women. But oh, what she wouldn’t give for a Vietnamese daughter-in-law, someone who would understand their homeland’s heritage and traditions.
About 11 p.m., the center of the ballroom was cleared for dancing.
Uy Hoang had moved one table closer to the dance floor. A young woman was beside him.
His mother looked over and threw up her hands: “He’s sitting with his sister now.”
