On a summer night in 1978 my father and I escaped from communist Vietnam. That journey left a permanent mark on my childhood and on the bond we shared. My father was the only parent I had during my formative years. Our relationship was close, but it was no-nonsense and one-directional. When I held my daughter for the first time, I knew I wanted my kids to look up to me the way I looked up to my father. At the same time, I also knew I wanted to be a different kind of dad.