For My Mom
Something I completely take for granted sometimes is that I'm kind of a first-generation American. It gets a little blurred because my father's family has been here for decades; he's second-generation effectively making me third on his side. But my mom traveled literally to the opposite side of the planet to start a family with my dad leaving her old life back on the Korean peninsula in 1985; a year later, I come on to the scene.
My mother was born in a Seoul that was three years past the first proxy war between the United States and the Soviet Union. The country remained (and remains) split right at the 38th Parallel with the South Korean capital less than forty miles from the demilitarized zone; the city had changed hands four times over the course of the Korean War. So my mom was born into that with her father ditching her and her mom for another woman in the confusion of a country still on the mend.
What that essentially meant is that my mom had to fend for herself in the streets of a reconstruction Seoul while my maternal grandmother worked all day to keep the lights on and put food on the table. That means my mother grew up fast and grew up pretty damn tough; I love Korean culture but it can be, uh, judgmental at times though fortunately my mom wasn't the type to take any shit.
Right after high school, my mom started working on an American military base (Remember that detail about Seoul being so close to the DMZ?). There's always been this stigma about GIs in Korea so my mom was naturally wary of American servicemen but there was something about my dad. Their first date was seeing Conan the Barbarian and if I ever cross paths with Arnold Schwarzenegger, I'd have to thank him for my existence. He'd probably think I'm another illegitimate kid.
I don't think there was ever any serious consideration about my parents staying in Korea. My father's second deployment in the country was up and he was looking to go into the Department of Defense while staying in the reserves. So they went back to the DC area with my father working out of the Pentagon while my mom and grandparents who lived nearby in Falls Church took care of me.
When she first got here, my mom could barely speak any English and she was in a completely different part of the world without any of her friends and family here to help with that transition. That's rough, that's lonely, but she was no stranger to taking care of herself. What I understand now is that my mom wasn't just learning how to be a mother with me but how to be an American mother; she was learning about all this culture vicariously through me. That was probably the biggest source of friction between the two of us but it was never really a contentious relationship. She was always baffled how terrible I was at math and that I didn't like kimchi though.
One of the biggest change-ups for her was adjusting to American cuisine but she would still cook Korean food regularly. The largest staples in Korean cuisine are soy sauce and kimchi; fermented cabbage. Both of those things take a lot of time to produce with kimchi fermenting under ground for months and some soy sauces aged for decades to maximum potency. Every winter my mom would ferment kimchi and to carry that analogy further, I think she always had her eye on the long game in most walks of life especially in terms of planning for her kids. I think that's why she stressed the importance of my learning of chess to help carry that sense of long-term planning through a strategy game. Admittedly, I usually only plan three moves ahead at a given time; any longer tactics usually are disrupted by unexpected opposition. How fucking rebellious of me.
My mom got sick towards the end of elementary school; the cruel irony of wanting to build a life for her kids where they wouldn't have to fend for themselves like her but we kind of had to anyway. And yet, no matter how hard it got she never really gave up and she never got particularly bitter about the whole thing. You ever see someone play victim with the justification that they're going through some shit or that the universe owes them, maybe keep some distance from that hopelessly selfish worldview. My mom was just the opposite, fighting for her life not jaded by the hand she had been dealt but to play it out as well as she could. There's a lot of strength and hope in that. And I hope some of that rubbed off on me.
Let me close this one out with an anecdote:
I've said on here before that I learned how to fight in the Korean style of Tae Kwon Do at my mother's encouragement and while I've said that I was actually a pretty decent fighter I never said I won any tournaments because I never did. So let's talk about the time I got second place.
The reality about martial arts tournaments is even though all those fights are "light contact", you're still taking roundhouse kicks to the face and body blows to the ribs. On the mat, I move light and try not to plant my feet but that doesn't mean I don't get hit. But, hey, I make it to the final round in this weird version of Bloodsport Junior. Kids grow up with parents cheering them on at soccer games and dance recitals. I grew up with my mom in the front row cheering me on as I fought other kids like Little League Street Fighter II. That's weird now that I'm thinking about it.
Anyway, I'm up against someone that's got me outclassed on speed and reach. Just like in tennis or volleyball, the winner has to hit a certain margin over their opponent to win the match so I'm making enough points to keep the fight going but I'm taking some punishment to do it and I'm constantly trailing behind this guy. Light contact be damned, I've visibly lost a bit of blood in this hopeless effort to keep up. After what seems like a pugilist's eternity, I finally lose.
I stumble to the sidelines, bruised with traces of blood still at the corners of my mouth and nose, and sit down next to my mom collapsing in a sweaty, exhausted heap. My mom came over a mix of pride and bemusement on her face and put her arm around my shoulders.
"You did good but he was just so fast and tall." she smiled. "But I'm glad you didn't give up."
I leaned back in that way I've done many times since with that war-weary smirk and sigh.
"Well, you never really taught me how." I replied after a moment, wiping away a trickle of blood from my nose.
My mom didn't say anything in response but I could tell in that moment she was proud as she ruffled my hair. After I got cleaned up in the locker rooms, she took me to an ice cream parlor across the dojo and got me an Oreo milkshake. Busted lip doesn't hurt so bad when you're treating it with frozen cookies and cream.
Happy Mother's Day.
My mother was born in a Seoul that was three years past the first proxy war between the United States and the Soviet Union. The country remained (and remains) split right at the 38th Parallel with the South Korean capital less than forty miles from the demilitarized zone; the city had changed hands four times over the course of the Korean War. So my mom was born into that with her father ditching her and her mom for another woman in the confusion of a country still on the mend.
 |
| My mom in high school...I think. I wasn't there, man. |
Right after high school, my mom started working on an American military base (Remember that detail about Seoul being so close to the DMZ?). There's always been this stigma about GIs in Korea so my mom was naturally wary of American servicemen but there was something about my dad. Their first date was seeing Conan the Barbarian and if I ever cross paths with Arnold Schwarzenegger, I'd have to thank him for my existence. He'd probably think I'm another illegitimate kid.
I don't think there was ever any serious consideration about my parents staying in Korea. My father's second deployment in the country was up and he was looking to go into the Department of Defense while staying in the reserves. So they went back to the DC area with my father working out of the Pentagon while my mom and grandparents who lived nearby in Falls Church took care of me.
When she first got here, my mom could barely speak any English and she was in a completely different part of the world without any of her friends and family here to help with that transition. That's rough, that's lonely, but she was no stranger to taking care of herself. What I understand now is that my mom wasn't just learning how to be a mother with me but how to be an American mother; she was learning about all this culture vicariously through me. That was probably the biggest source of friction between the two of us but it was never really a contentious relationship. She was always baffled how terrible I was at math and that I didn't like kimchi though.
One of the biggest change-ups for her was adjusting to American cuisine but she would still cook Korean food regularly. The largest staples in Korean cuisine are soy sauce and kimchi; fermented cabbage. Both of those things take a lot of time to produce with kimchi fermenting under ground for months and some soy sauces aged for decades to maximum potency. Every winter my mom would ferment kimchi and to carry that analogy further, I think she always had her eye on the long game in most walks of life especially in terms of planning for her kids. I think that's why she stressed the importance of my learning of chess to help carry that sense of long-term planning through a strategy game. Admittedly, I usually only plan three moves ahead at a given time; any longer tactics usually are disrupted by unexpected opposition. How fucking rebellious of me.
 |
| Rebel, Rebel |
Let me close this one out with an anecdote:
I've said on here before that I learned how to fight in the Korean style of Tae Kwon Do at my mother's encouragement and while I've said that I was actually a pretty decent fighter I never said I won any tournaments because I never did. So let's talk about the time I got second place.
The reality about martial arts tournaments is even though all those fights are "light contact", you're still taking roundhouse kicks to the face and body blows to the ribs. On the mat, I move light and try not to plant my feet but that doesn't mean I don't get hit. But, hey, I make it to the final round in this weird version of Bloodsport Junior. Kids grow up with parents cheering them on at soccer games and dance recitals. I grew up with my mom in the front row cheering me on as I fought other kids like Little League Street Fighter II. That's weird now that I'm thinking about it.
Anyway, I'm up against someone that's got me outclassed on speed and reach. Just like in tennis or volleyball, the winner has to hit a certain margin over their opponent to win the match so I'm making enough points to keep the fight going but I'm taking some punishment to do it and I'm constantly trailing behind this guy. Light contact be damned, I've visibly lost a bit of blood in this hopeless effort to keep up. After what seems like a pugilist's eternity, I finally lose.
I stumble to the sidelines, bruised with traces of blood still at the corners of my mouth and nose, and sit down next to my mom collapsing in a sweaty, exhausted heap. My mom came over a mix of pride and bemusement on her face and put her arm around my shoulders.
"You did good but he was just so fast and tall." she smiled. "But I'm glad you didn't give up."
I leaned back in that way I've done many times since with that war-weary smirk and sigh.
"Well, you never really taught me how." I replied after a moment, wiping away a trickle of blood from my nose.
My mom didn't say anything in response but I could tell in that moment she was proud as she ruffled my hair. After I got cleaned up in the locker rooms, she took me to an ice cream parlor across the dojo and got me an Oreo milkshake. Busted lip doesn't hurt so bad when you're treating it with frozen cookies and cream.
Happy Mother's Day.
