Korean  Stories from 2000
English language version by Chris A. Foreman

Toilet Stories    return to top

Playing in Church    return to top

As a candidate for the Peace Corps in Korea, I learned a variety of techniques to teach the English language to Korean people. My favorite method of teaching pronunciation was something called a minimal pair . To teach a minimal pair you must first identify two words that are identical in pronunciation except for one phoneme. For example, the English words boy and toy are a minimal pair, because there is a minimum of difference; only the initial B/T sound is different

Minimal pairs are most useful in teaching English pronunciation when they draw a distinction between phonemes that are troublesome to Korean speakers. For example, most Koreans have a problem distinguishing between the Z sound and the J sound. An American friend of mine was bewildered when his Korean wife wanted him to visit the Jew . He didn t know that she had a Jewish friends. After she went on to talk about animals, he understood that she wanted to visit the Zoo . The words Jew and Zoo constitute a minimal pair. (Incidentally, Korean also has interesting minimal pairs. I still can t distinguish between sadah and ssadah . )

The trickiest of all sounds to the Korean ear is the dreaded L/R. These sounds are called liquid because when produced, the tongue is liquid - somewhere between the teeth and palate. The problem is that Korean has one liquid sound (). while English has two (L and R). That s why the Korean surname E can be written in English as Lee , Rhee or Yi . When learning this troublesome English sound, I suggest that a Korean first learn to hear the difference. For example, a native speaker can say the words lip and rip . The listener can hold up one finger if they hear lip and two fingers if t hey hear rip . A person must hear the difference, before he can pronounce the difference.

I spent two years at Je Cheon teaching Middle School students how to distinguish between L and R . On the blackboard, I would draw a picture of bug and a bowl of rice. I would point to one and say lice and the other and say rice . The students would then try to hear the difference and then pronounce the difference. I would joke with them, asking if they wanted rice for lunch or lice for lunch.

The L/R confusion was with me to the end of my days in Korea. Just before returning to America, I was married at a small church in Seoul. The presiding pastor was Korean and during the entire ceremony, he spoke only a few words of English. As I was standing at the side of the woman that I would love forever, the pastor bowed his head solemnly and said, Let us play . I smiled and made a mental note: some day I m going to use his words in a story .

Is it the culture, the church or the person?    return to top

In 1998, my wife and I began attending a church called The Salvation Army Church San Francisco Korean Corps . We enjoy ourselves and like the people. The church is lead by a uniformed husband and wife team, both called sa gwan . The first time I heard one referred to as sa gwan nim , I heard it as sa gwa nim . I whispered to my wife why is he addressed as The Big Apple? Is that a Salvation Army title? Anyway, the husband officer adopted the American name of Fred .

Now, I am a native-born American. And although I am familiar with Korean people and culture, some subtleties of the Korean way are beyond my understanding. Also, I was raised attending church, but it wasn t the Salvation Army flavor. I recognize the core of Christianity, but the uniforms, order of service, and doctrinal emphasis were all new to me. In addition, Officer Fred was new to me. After attending a few Sunday services, I had the following discussion with my wife in the car on the way home:

Husband driving: So, how did you like the Korean food after the service?

Wife turning from the window: I liked it, especially the sweet potatoes.

Husband joking: Do you think that the after-church meal is Salvation Army doctrine?

Wife laughing: No silly, it s part of the Korean culture of the church. As strangers in a strange land, we seek every opportunity to eat our comfort food together.

Husband: OK. How about this? Our old Baptist church didn t have any flags up front, but this church has three: An American flag, a Korean flag, an a church flag.

Wife: I think that is Salvation Army tradition, but I m not sure. It might be just a Korean thing But let me ask you this. I liked the way our old church gave announcements at the end of service. Why does Fred break the spiritual mood and read announcements at the beginning?

Husband: I m not sure. Maybe it s Korean, maybe it s the church, or maybe it s just Fred. What about this? When there are new people in the pews, Fred introduces each one, each stands up and everybody claps for them? We never did that in the old church.

Wife: That s easy. Korean culture, no doubt about it.

Husband: You know, if I were Korean and raised a Salvationist, then I could say this is a Fred thing . Or if Fred were my long time friend and I was a Salvationist, then I could isolate this as a Korean thing. Or if I were Korean and knew Fred really well, then I say that s just a Salvation Army thing .

Wife: Sometimes, it s hard to tell what s going on. Is it Korean? Is it Salvation Army? Or is it Fred?

Husband not paying attention to the road: You know sometimes I think that we over-analyze things. I really like this church. Let s feel at home, figure out how to serve, and just relax.

Wife with wide eyes: How can I relax. You just went through that stop sign!

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Communicating in Konglish    return to top

I joke that I can understand two languages, English and Konglish . For those of you who don t know, Konglish is English as mis-spoken by Koreans. I was introduced to Konglish by a student of mine who said Book one give me . He spoke all the words correctly, but he spoke them in Korean order instead of English order. (It should be Give me one book ) Another example of out-of-order Konglish occurred when another student told me that she was proud of two my sisters . (It should be my two sisters )

Konglish creeps into many corners of conversation. Once I was listening to a college student read from his book report about mythology. He began to read, Jee-oose was the father of many gods . My eyes got big and I listened some more. He talked about myth and pagan stories. I thought how in the world could he talk about Jesus that way? After several minutes of slow burn, I interrupted his reading and said What do you mean that Jesus was an ancient myth? He didn t understand my question. He saw that I was upset and showed me the paper he was speaking from. And there it was Zeus was the father of many gods . I smiled and handed the paper back. I said to him the word is pronounced Zeus with a Z .

In an English literature class we were discussing favorite American authors. One girl said her favorite author was Pebuh . I asked her to repeat the name and she said Pebuh again, only in a louder voice. I thought real hard and couldn t think of any author that matched those sounds. So she wrote it down and I realized that she was speaking of Pearl Buck , a really hard author to pronounce in Korean.

There are some rare words that don t make sense in either pure Korean or pure English. For example, only a person fluent in Konglish could appreciate the word on my vanity license plate: ROOM 9 .

Of course there is an opposite of Konglish called Ko Jang Mal . This is Korean as mis-spoken by Americans. Did I tell you that one time I called my Korean school principle Seng son nim ?

So old but yet so new    return to top

I expected that my visit to Korea would be something like my visit to Europe. I intended to meet interesting people, enjoy an exotic culture, and view historical monuments. The first two goals were easy to achieve. I met the Korean people and found them to be a kind and generous people. I ate Korean food and learned a little of the language. I can tell you that Korean culture is as rich as any on earth. But sadly, most monuments to Korean heritage have vanished.

I thought about this on a recent visit to Stanford. As I sat in Memorial Church, I wondered This building is only 110 years old. How many building in Korea are as old as this one? I guessed that the answer is just a few in all of South and North Korea.

Then I thought: If you live in Egypt, you have pyramids which are 5000 years old, if you live in Rome you have the coliseum which is 2000 years old; If you live in London you have the tower which is 1000 years old. Even if you live in Washington D.C. you have a capitol building which is 200 years old. What do Koreans have? All I remembered of historical importance were gates around Seoul, a few large Buddhas and a some scattered stone monuments. Everything else in the country seemed to be of recent construction.

What could be the reason for this dearth of physical heritage? I considered two things. First, I pondered traditional construction in Korea. One hundred years ago, common (sang nome) homes were made of mud and straw, while noble (yang ban) homes were made of wood and stone. In Korea there was never the equivalent of the European castle or the Christian cathedral. Korean life centered on the village and Koreans built families rather than monuments. It s odd to think that all the great-grandparents of families living in Seoul dwelled in small huts built of mud and straw. Would the people of 1900 even recognize the people of 2000?

Second, I considered the first half of the 20th century; the Japanese occupation of Korea which took much and gave little, but especially the Korean war. Pity poor Seoul, first a battlefield for attacking North Koreans, then for attacking Americans, then for counterattacking Chinese, and finally for conquering ROK and American troops. Not much mud, straw, stone and wood could survive the destruction of this war.

Maybe you can t visit Korea and sit in a building that is as old as Memorial Church. This is what makes Korea is a land of paradox: an ancient people living in a modern house.

Pangapsumnida Time    return to top

Just last Sunday I was sitting next to my wife in our favorite church pew. There is a special time just after the service begins when we greet one another. I look over at my wife and say It must be panggapsumnida time . Panggapsumnida means Welcome . One of the hands that I always shake belongs to Elder Kim. He doesn t speak much English and the only words that we exchange are Panggapsumnida .

A light has gone from our church. Last Thursday Elder Kim passed away. He was a few weeks short of his eightieth birthday and a stroke took him to meet his maker. Elder Kim was a pillar in the church. He was a founding member and with his wife served many unselfish years.

Today was Sunday again. There was sadness among church members. The seat was empty where Elder Kim once sat. His four children were present with many of his grandchildren. I didn t know Elder Kim very well. Illness had effected his health and it was not easy for his to speak. But I know this: His eyes always lit up when he saw his two-year-old grand daughter, Sidney. He would bend his knees slightly, stretch out his arms and the little girl would run to him. I cannot judge the success of Elder Kim s life, but I can see his life through the legacy of his children and grandchildren. And in seeing his family, he was a successful man indeed.

The sorrow in our church was real today, but mixed with sorrow was hope; a hope that lives in the hearts of Christians. I have this sneaky feeling that there will come another Panggapsumnida time . Perhaps when I die and land at the gates of heaven I will meet Elder Kim again. I bet that he will stretch out his hand to me and welcome me with Panggapsumnida .

Following our hearts    return to top

Twenty-six years ago I followed my heart. The events from those days seem to be from a distant planet.

Following our hearts, we both lost our jobs. I was a 23-year old Peace Corps Volunteer teaching in middle school. Miss Kim was 22 years old and in her first year of teaching at a neighboring school. At first, I invited her to study English with me in a tea room. The pretense of English lessons only lasted a few days. Study was soon replaced with flirting, talking and laughing. As I look back, I marvel at how the two of us could enjoy so many hours in such a little tea room. Word got back to her school that Miss Kim was dating an American. Her principal forced her to sign a letter of resignation. Miss Kim returned to Seoul. I requested that the Peace Corps find me a position in Seoul so that I could join her. But this was not possible and I too left my job and moved to Seoul.

Following our hearts, we went against the advice of everyone we knew. Miss Kim s eleven college friends told her not to marry this big nose American guy . Her mother and sisters were shocked at first, but finally accepting. My buddies in the Peace Corps warned against the marriage. When we went to the American Embassy to apply for a license, we had to endure a lecture telling us that American boys should not marry Korean girls. We came from different cultures and only knew each other for three months. The odds were stacked against success in our marriage.

Following our hearts, we were married in a small Seoul church on March 23rd, 1974. Twenty-six later, her wedding gown and my gray suit still hang side-by-side in our attic. Our two sons are out in the world and pursuing their dreams.

Do I have some regrets in life? Certainly. Have there been disappointments? Too many to name. But I m glad that long ago I lost my job, ignored the advice of friends and followed my heart.

Tonight my wife is away from home working at college. I see a full March moon outside my office window. As I write these old memories, I recall this poem of CHUNG CHUL and dedicate it to my Miss Kim:

I'd like to carve a moon
    Out of my heart
    And hang it ninety thousand miles
    High in the sky
   

    So it would shine on the place
    Where my love is tonight.

Urban Legends    return to top

Urban legends are contemporary myths. They are stories about modern people that sound reasonable, but actually never occurred. There is one popular urban myth about someone flushing alligators down the toilet and then later discovering that a family of alligators live in the sewer. There is another urban myth about someone trying to dry out a wet cat in their microwave oven. As Peace Corps volunteers in Korea, we had our own collection of urban legends.

One legend was about the famous pyunso pig. As a brand new volunteer, I was warned not to live in a country village. We were told that hungry pigs live in the basements of outhouses. Someone told this story in all seriousness: Once a certain female volunteer lived in a small Korean village. One morning she visited her backyard outhouse. In the middle of her business she heard some pig noises coming from below. Suddenly, a hungry pig nipped her in the rear end. The poor girl screamed and ran from the outhouse. She didn t stop running until she was back in America. This story scared many volunteers from living is small towns, but I know that there is some truth in the story. When I lived in the small village of Mu Kuk, I heard the squeal of the famous pyunso pigs.

Another legend was about a gullible Peace Corps volunteer who lived in Pusan. Here s the story: On the first day at his new school a young American teacher wanted to meet his new principal. A teacher gave the name of his principal, U Wan Ju son seng nim, and the street that he lived on. The teacher told him not to worry, because the name U Wan Ju would be written on the door with big letters. So the young American went out looking for the principal s house. The next morning at school, the teacher asked his American friend about the visit to the principal s house. The young teacher never made the courtesy call. He said he walked up and down the street but couldn t locate the name U Wan Ju. He added casually that everyone on the street must be related to each other. He said that he saw the same name over and over again on every house. The teacher was surprised. What was the name? The American wrote it down. He pulled out a piece of paper. He said that everyone on the street was called Ke Jo Shim son seng nim .

There is another urban legend about dogs. One of the first words that I learned in Korea was posentang . I was warned to be careful when I ate to a restaurant. I was told to check my beef and pork carefully. If the meat was real dark, then it might be ke kogi. I was careful for a few months. Then I learned that posentang was indeed a delicacy and was very expensive. Finally I realized that a restaurateur would have to be crazy to accidentally or intentionally substitute dog meat for beef. But I was guilty of passing the legend on. When I went to a Korean restaurant with a newly-arrived American I poked at the meat with a knife and make sounds like mong , mong .

Scary Stories    return to top

Everyone likes a scary story. On the drive home from a baseball game I listened to three teen-agers try to scare each other. The first story was told by a giggly Amerikorean girl. It was about ghosts and corpses. The second story was told by her sister. This story was about aliens who possessed the bodies of school teachers. I wasn t impressed by either story. But the third story made me laugh and laugh. This story was told in English, except for the very last quote which was spoken in Korean.

Many years ago a famine gripped the Korean countryside. The famine was so great that many people died and were buried in the cemetery. During the cold winter a mother left her small thatched hut in the middle of night. Her young son watched her walk out into the snow and then return before dawn. The son saw something red around his mother s mouth, but he went back to sleep. The next night he saw his mother leave the hut again and again she returned with her mouth dripping red. The son was curious about what his mother was doing in the middle of the night. On the third night he kept his small jacket next to him. At midnight the mother left the hut. The young son waited a minute and then began to follow her. The moon was full and with a blanket of new snow he was able to follow her path into the darkness. In a small clearing, the young man saw his mother kneel down in the snow. In a frenzy she was digging into the frozen ground with her bare hands. She ripped into a wooden box. She pulled something red into her hungry mouth. Slowly the son crept up behind her. She turned to him, her mouth dripping red, and said Kim Chi mogu le?

Now, I found this story very funny. The reason it was funny was because the punch line was so unexpected. I expected horror, but instead I got humor. However, humor is very hard to pass between cultures. My wife told this story to her college class but nobody understood it. It takes somebody with cultural awareness to know first of all what kim chee is and secondly to know that in former times kimchee was buried in the ground. The class did not understand the humor because it did not understand the society that produced it. Maybe that s why most English-speaking Koreans read all the American newspaper except for the funny pages.

Not a Forgotten War    return to top

The ad in the newspaper was selling video tapes. Their were 7 of them for $20. The subject of the videos was the forgotten war . For those of you who don t know, the term forgotten war in American vocabulary refers to the Korean War . It seems that every American war of the 20th century has a nickname. World War I was first called the Great War and The war to end all wars . World War II has been termed the Good War . The war in Viet Nam is referred to as America s longest war or the only war America lost .

The war in Korea is called the forgotten war because most Americans don t have a clear memory of it. World War II looms like a distant mountain, still huge 45 years after its end. This war was global and involved total mobilization. Against Hitler and Tojo, our very existence was at stake. There were clear good guys and clear bad guys and the good guys won. Popular culture with its movies and novels have kept the war alive in the American consciousness. The war in Viet Nam is like nearby hill, not as large as World War II, but still fresh in the memories of veterans, politicians and anti-war protestors. America lost this war and the nation was split in opinion. The pain is still present. The Viet Nam war memorial in Washington D.C. remains of the most visited site in the Capitol.

Tucked between the distant mountain and the nearby hill, the Korean War is hidden from most Americans. If you talk about the Korean War to Americans, the most common vision is one of a M.A.S.H. unit. We think of Hawkeye Pierce and Hotlips Houllahan. In our eyes, the Korean war is a made for TV situation comedy.

During this year of 2000, the Korean War will creep back into American consciousness. 2000 is a year of anniversaries. First, on June 25th will come the 50th anniversary of the North s attack on the South. Then will come pictures of Korean refugees fleeing south. Next we will see pictures of the Pusan perimeter. In September we will relive General Macarthur s landing at Incon. Finally, before Christmas we will see the Chinese crossing the Yalu River into the war. These events are familiar to me because I have lived in Korea and am married to a Korean, but to many Americans the marking of these anniversary dates will be their first education of the Korean War.

The war is certainly not forgotten on the Korean peninsula. After 50 years the 38th parallel is still the most tightly defended border in the world. The South continues to live in fear, but the fear of military invasion is giving way to fear of a people invasion as desperate North Koreans stream South. The North lives in fear of leaving its dark safe hole and emerging into daylight. In a few months, the leaders of the two Koreas will meet for the first time. Let us all pray that this meeting will mark the beginning of the end for a divided peninsula. The war that America treat as forgotten history, will not be history in Korea until all sam challi bando people are united and prosperous.

The Olympic Cheer Test    return to top

When does a hankuk saram become a mekuk saram? This is a question of deep philosophical significance. Do you become an American at citizenship? I don t think so. Do you become an American after twenty years in America? Probably not. I know a lady who has been in America since 1960. She still eats kimchee everyday and speaks very little English. Is a person with 100% Korean blood always a Korean? Not necessarily. I know some full-blooded Korean kids who don t have a clue about Korean language or culture. So how can one tell when a person is Korean or American? I have a thought test to evaluate whether you --the reader-- are a Korean or an American. I call it the Olympic cheer test .

For this story to make sense, you need to know a little about my family. I am a second generation American. My parents were born in the U.S., but all four of my grandparents were born in Poland. They came to the new world about 1915. My wife was born in Korea and came to America in 1974. She became an American citizen in 1979. Our older son was born in America is 1975 and our younger son was born in 1977.

During the summer of 1992 all four of us were watching the Barcelona Olympics on TV. Specifically we were watching the marathon. (For purposes of the thought test, you can seat yourself next to us). The last mile of this race was really exciting. Three competitors were running neck and neck. The lead runner was an American. In second place was a Polish guy. Close behind was a Korean runner named Hwang Young-Cho. My wife wasn t paying close attention, but when she heard the name Hwang Young-Cho her ears perked up. She had never heard his name before and didn t know much about the marathon, but when she saw Korean flags waving she started cheering excitedly Go. Go. Go. When Hwang pulled out ahead she was jumping up and down. Run. Run. Run. Suddenly, the American ran ahead again. My two sons began cheering Go. Go. Go. My wife s face got red. She yelled you re Korean. Don t cheer for him . They said we re not Korean . I offered a compromise Let s all cheer for the Polish guy. The three of them stared at me so I kept quiet. After another minute of shouting at the TV, Hwang Young-Cho passed the finish line first. Ecstasy possessed her body. I couldn t believe how passionate my wife could be about sports. (Understand. This is a woman who won t even touch the sports section of a newspaper). What explains this? After all, she is an American citizen.

How did you do on the thought test? Were you on the side of my sons, cheering for the American runner? Ha! If you are reading this Han Kul, you were jumping up and down along with my Korean wife. When will be transformed into a 100% American? When you cheer for the American in the Olympic test.

Wisdom in an Airplane seat    return to top

As I boarded the flight for Portland, my mind was not on travel. I was still thinking about my Korean friend. We had talked the evening before and I couldn t shake the conversation. My friend is a doctor who has been working for years at UCSF. Like many Koreans, Dr. Kim is a work-a-holic . His wife worries about his health because he works so hard helping other people. His wife also worried about her own mother. The mother had been sick for years. Several times Mrs. Kim traveled up to Portland to be at her deathbed. The mother-in-law always seemed to get better.

Dr. Kim told me this sad story: I feel so bad and I don t know what to do. I think that my wife forgives me, but how can I forgive myself? My wife s mother died last month and I wasn t there for her when she got the phone call. I was in Hawaii at a medical convention having a good time. I knew that my mother-in-law was sick, but she always seemed to recover. I asked my wife if I should go to Hawaii. She knew that I needed some relaxation and she agreed that a vacation would do me some good. Just after the plane landed in Honolulu, my wife contacted me at the convention hotel. She told me that her mother had just passed away. I asked her what I should do. She told me to stay in Honolulu for the meetings and just fly on to Portland for the funeral. When I finally got to Portland and the funeral, I felt like I had betrayed my wife. Her whole family was there and they asked me where I had been. I felt embarrassed to tell them that I was in Hawaii. I have felt bad ever since. I could just kick myself! I should not have traveled to Hawaii. I should have stayed with my wife!

I tried to counsel him It s not your fault. You didn t know she was going to die. You needed the vacation. Sometimes you have to look after yourself . I was at a loss for words.

Dr. Kim s story remained with me as the flight attendant was giving her safety instructions. I pulled out the emergency card and studied it in boredom. The card described emergency procedures for loss of cabin pressure. In case of cabin pressure loss, oxygen masks will fall from above. Immediately put on a mask. Then the words leapt out at me: if you are with a child, put on your mask first, then second put the mask on the child . I thought about these words for a while. This makes sense because first-of-all a passenger would pass out from lack of oxygen and then only later would he die. You have to keep yourself alive in order to help the other person at all.

Ah ha! Sometimes you do not put others first. Sometimes it is wisdom to look after yourself first, because if you should die (God forbid) then who will care the other? If you are a caregiver, it may not be selfish to look after your own needs. The cruelest thing to befall your loved one is probably separation from you. I put the emergency card in my briefcase. I hope the airline didn t mind. I began planning my words to Dr. Kim. It was not from Hallmark, but I had a get well card for a friend in need.

Shaking Hands with Kim Jong Il    return to top

About a year ago President Kim Dea Jung visited San Francisco. He held an official reception at the Asian Art Museum in Golden Gate Park. Because my wife is a leader in the Korean Community, the two of us were invited to attend the reception in his honor. For an hour or so, I chatted with once-a-year acquaintances-those people that I see only at important Korean occasions. I had always been a cheerleader for Kim Dea Jung, recognizing that he was only politician in Korea who was outside the military / corporate system and could therefore create positive change. Most people I talked with agreed with me that here was the person who finally brought democracy to the Korean people. The president was running late so I ate a lot of finger food and downed the contents of a few wineglasses. Finally President Kim appeared with an entourage of security, translators, and local politicians. Mayor Willie Brown spoke first emphasizing the importance of Koreans in the Bay Area. Next he introduced the Korean President. My Korean wasn t polished enough to understand all his words. I did understand his references to sunshine policy and I heard people laugh at the jokes he made at the expense of the IMF.

When he was done speaking he left the podium. People gathered around him in a circle. President Kim shook hands with only a dozen people. Maybe it was because I was tall or maybe it was because I was not Korean. In any event, President Kim passed by several out-stretched hands and then vigorously shook my hand. (My wife suggested that he chose me because I look like Rock Hudson - a resemblance only in her eyes, I believe). For the next week or so I told my friends about my encounter with the Korean President. It was a memorable event, but it soon passed from my mind.

My handshake with President Kim came back to mind a few days ago when I was watching television. There he was walking off an airplane in Pyung Yang. There he was shaking hands with Chairman Kim Jung Il. This was a scene that most Koreans and friends of Korea could never have imagined. Was this really happening or was it special effects like when Forrest Gump met Richard Nixon? My next thought was this: I shook the hand that is now shaking the hand of Kim Jung Il. In some metaphysical sense, perhaps I am also shaking hands with the North Korean Leader. These thoughts filled my mind for several minutes. I tried to picture the thousands of people who have shaken hands with Kim Dea Jung. Then I imagined all of us, Kim Dea Jung, Kim Jung Il and myself included, clasping hands in a large circle. It was a silly thought for sure. And yet, I wonder. Human Beings cannot hold hands and fire weapons at the same time. I believe that the greatest fear of all is the fear of the unknown. With a handshake between two Kims, we know much more about North Korea and fear of the unknown may be (just maybe) turning in to friendship for the future.

Where have all the Hyundes gone?    return to top

My wife and I are shopping for a new car. She mentioned the Mercedes Benz , the BMW and the Lexus. I replied you re Korean. Why don t we buy a Korean car like the Hyun Dea? Her nose wrinkled up and she said don t make a joke . No really , I said, You re Hanje, let s buy Hanje . She was silent. We haven t talked about new cars in awhile now. I wondered if my wife was the only Korean who was adverse to buying Korean cars. I went to a large Korean church in San Jose and on the way into the service I checked out the car lot. I saw many Japanese cars (Honda, Toyota, Lexus and Nissan). There were Mercedes Benz, BMW and even a few American cars. But where were all the Korean cars?

One of the first words I learned after arriving in Korean was Han je . This meant made in Korea . The opposite word was Mi je , made in America . Along with these words, I also learned the associated GI talk: Mi je number one and Han je number ten .

I learned these words by going to the local market one day. I wanted to buy a pair of fingernail clippers. The shopkeeper showed me a nice pair for 500 won. I thought that the price was too high and I pointed to another pair of clippers behind the glass. He said in broken English That Han je number 10 . He held up the mi je clippers and said number one . I thought that the shopkeeper was trying to trick me and I bought the han je clippers for 100 won. I showed them to my Korean friend. He took them from my hand and looked at them very closely. He said Korean. No good . I thought to myself, what is it with these Korean people? Anybody can make fingernail clippers. The next day at school, I was trimming my fingernails when suddenly the top part of the clippers snapped in two. I was shocked. Maybe there is something about this han je stuff. I secretly threw out the clippers and went back to a different shopkeeper and bought a mije pair of clippers.

After my clippers broke, I bought lots of mi je things, mostly on the black market. My razor blades were mi je, my shampoo was mi je, and my underpants were mi je. After I was married, the first thing that I had to buy was 5 pair of me je stockings.

But times change. This generation of Koreans in America is stuck with the memory of han je number ten . Let s hope that the next generation of Koreans in America will be brave enough to drive Hyundes and Dewoos.

The Permanence of Men and of Mountains     return to top

When my family moved out West my brother and I were teenagers. We left behind the oil refineries and obscene smells of Indiana Harbor and moved to the Evergreen State of Washington. While driving west toward to the lumber center of Longview, my dad spotted a graceful mountain symmetric in the distance. Invisible at one turn then visible at another, we pulled to the side of the road and snapped a few photographs. My dad said someday we re gonna climb that mountain .

The years passed, but our neighborhood mountain remained unclimbed. Then in the summer of 1972, it was now or never. The climb was Saturday and on the following Saturday my brother Frank would be married. It was time to make the ascent. In a few months, I would be leaving for Korea as a Peace Corps Volunteer. My dad recognized that this might be the last opportunity to spend intimate time with his sons.

Our outing was impulsive and our preparation unskilled. We had no special climbing gear, just blue jeans, gym shoes, and work gloves. Dad planned to leave the house at five in the morning, but we left at seven. The two of us were hungry so the three of us stopped for breakfast. We didn t begin our trek up the mountainside until ten o clock. This was unhurried quality time for my dad and he savored every moment. We walked and lounged and laughed. We rested about half-way up the mountain at an outcropping of rocks called Dog s Head. The panorama was spectacular. Sister mountains in the Cascade Range arose from the mist. We spotted Mount Adams and Mount Rainer. With binoculars we could still see the tiny parking lot and could identify our tinier car. While sitting on the snowy rocks my dad noticed climbers descending the mountain. He shook his head and slowly got up to approach them. These professionals wore spiked shoes and carried ski poles. I watched him talking and gesturing. Dad returned to us with a face full of sad resignation. He concluded that it was unwise to strive for the summit. More mountain than daylight , he explained. We ll try it again some other time .

We were disappointed at first but our disappointment dissolved into exuberance. Although we didn t wear spiked shoes and sport ski poles, but we did bring sheets of sledding plastic. We swooped down the steep slopes at breakneck speed, leaving blood on volcanic rocks. Back in the car before sunset, we arrived tired, wet, and bruised. Dad said Don t worry guys. The mountain will always be there and we ll try again in a few years.

Our lives drifted apart. Frank and his new wife moved away to Seattle. I married in Korea and worked too hard to play. Our dad s life took a surprising twist as he blossomed into leader of the Full Gospel Businessman Fellowship International. He was busier and happier than at any other time in his life. But in 1976 cancer overtook our father s body. Within months he lost his hair, his appetite, his vigor, and his dignity. In 1977 he passed into eternity. Our father with his two sons would never climb to the mountain top. Three years later, as if to make this point emphatic, the symmetrical summit of Mt. Saint Helens exploded into space joining my father in the eternal realms.

20/20 Hindsight    return to top

There are some things that become clear only in hindsight. I was married in the Spring of 1974 and in Fall of that year, my Korean bride and I arrived in America. During our first year in America, we lived in my parent s house. I was as happy as a pig in mud. After all, I had returned home after two years abroad, my loving family surrounded me, the rent was cheap and the room was big. Plus, I had a beautiful wife to show off. What could be better in life? After 25 years I finally appreciate the depths of my wife s unhappiness.

She had just left all that was familiar to her in the world. I was her new husband, my parents were strangers, America was a new land, English was a new language and the customs and nuances of everyday life were beyond her knowing. I didn t understand this at the time. I also didn t understand that she needed a faithful friend as well as a faithful husband. While I was gabbing away with my family, debating and laughing, she was left out, both intellectually and emotionally. The few words of English that she did speak only embarrassed her more. To be kind, my brother would call her by her name. This was not kindness to her. He butchered the pronunciation of her name and anyway, isn t it rude to call an older woman by such a name? The isolation of my wife passed me by in 1974. My advice for newly weds is to avoid living in a parent s home. The first task of young marrieds is to bond to each other. This is more easily accomplished outside the nest of even loving parents.

My first son was born while we were living in my parent s house. This was an exciting time for me. It was a bittersweet experience for her. She tasted the sweetness because she brought a wonderful son into the world, but it was bitter because she didn t get the special Korean attention that she deserved. I only grasp this in retrospect. Last month a lady in our church gave birth to a son. All the other church ladies pampered her and brought to her house the new-mother seaweed soup . By Korean custom, she was not permitted to leave her bed for one week and stayed at home a full month. Contrast this to my wife s experience. She gave birth without me and with no one speaking Korean. Most of the time she was alone because I was out working. As a new mother she did receive some cards and small gifts, but nothing like the special attention that new mothers in Korea receive. She had no Korean books to read, no Korean TV. There were only two other Korean people in town. One older lady did bring soup to her one evening. My wife appreciates her act of kindness to this day. So for all you Korean people reading this newspaper be thankful for your community of Koreans in America that is large enough to support the daily newspaper that you are reading. Things weren t always so. You may not appreciate the Korean community that surrounds you, but think about this. If Korean newspapers, books, shops, food, TV, churches, and family were not supporting you, how much would your unhappiness grow? How isolated would you feel?

Our marriage did improve after we left my parent s house. Today we have been married for 26 years. I believe that I am the luckiest man alive to be married to her. Any husband who doesn t feel this way about his wife does not deserve her. This is more wisdom that becomes clear to a man with 20/20 hind sight.

My Two Hybrid Roses    return to top

My neighbor brags about his roses. His backyard is full of red hybrid teas. His rows of floribundas are yellow and shorter than his teas. He has an assortment of huge grandifloras which he says are his favorites. I once asked him why he grows only hybrids. He explained to me that all quality roses are hybrid. For example, his beautiful hybrid teas are a cross between perpetuals and tea roses.

I brag about my two sons; Zachary and Simon. Like my neighbor's roses, they too are hybrid. My two young men are a cross between a hybrid European father and a purebred Korean mother. And I must admit that, like roses, hybrid humans are also high quality. But then, this is the bias of a father. My neighbor also told me about something called "hybrid vigor". This is a phenomena of nature that "increases the performance of hybrids over that of purebreds". I smiled and thought of my two hybrid roses.

There is a strange reaction to hybrids. When my sons were in Korea, they were identified and spoken of as "American", yet when my sons were in the middle of America, they were looked upon as Asian. It appears that the eye first identifies that which is different before accepting that which is the same. Zachary and Simon feel most at home here in the mosaic of California where young people of mixed parentage are considered exotic and even "cool". These hybrids are naturally cool, they don't need to sport tattoos and nose rings. This new millennium is a new world indeed.

My thoughts grow dark when I think about the fate of hybrid roses born years ago in Korea. These children - half Korean / half Caucasian - were treated like dogs, forced into begging, prostitution, and early death. My heart breaks to consider what the fate of my sons would have been if they had the misfortune to be born in old Korea. Their mixed background would not be seen as an advantage, but as a threat. My sons would not have been exotic hybrid roses. They would have been insulted with such names as "mixed-breed", "half-breed" and "bastard son". But like the rest of the world, Korea is entering a new millennium.

My hope is that today's Koreans will be kinder to their hybrid children than they were in the last millennium. Like all the natural world, strength is in diversity, in the mixing of ideas and people. Hybrids are a sign of natural mixing. Lord, help us all to understand every child born of a woman and of a man is a child of God.

Dutch Treat    return to top

Upon my acquaintance with Korean people one of the first things I noticed was their generosity. By this I mean their willingness to share money with friends and family. The first time I went to a restaurant in Seoul, my new Korean friend said "I will pay". I shrugged my shoulders and said, "OK thanks". My friend looked at me as if something unexpected had happened. He paid the bill and we left. A week or so later, I invited the same friend to the same restaurant. After the meal we slowly walked toward the cashier., He said quietly, "I will pay". I asked "are you sure?". He said with some hesitation "yes". So I let him pay the bill again, but I could see in his face that he was troubled. This puzzled me.

Later, I attended a sensitivity workshop. One of the topics was how to deal with Korean generosity. A lecturer told assembled Americans that if you really want to pay a bill at a restaurant you must insist on paying three times. The first time you say "I will pay, I will pay" while sitting around the table. Your Korean friend will insist " no, no". The second time you say "I will pay" while walking to the cashier. This time you pretend to grab the bill from your Korean friend. Finally you say the third time "I will pay" in front of the cashier and hold out the money. This time it's OK. Now you are serious. Maybe you will pay, maybe you won't, but at least you are sure that the right person will pay the bill for the right reason. After this informative class, I wanted to redeem myself. I asked my friend if he wanted to go to the same restaurant again. He politely said that he had other plans, but my suspicion is that he didn't want to keep on paying for this insensitive American. After my enlightenment, I've made it a point to study Koreans as they pay bills. Sometimes they almost fist fight over who gets the privilege to pay.

In America, it's different. If acquaintances or office workers are eating in a restaurant, it's perfectly acceptable to ask for separate checks. Every person pays for their own meal. Sometimes, one person pays the entire bill but everyone else chips in the approximate cost of their portion. This method of everyone paying their own way is termed "a Dutch Treat". As someone born and raised in America, "going Dutch" seems perfectly natural to me. Maybe it America's sense of self-reliance, a streak of independence that says "I don't want to be obliged to anyone and I don't want anyone obliged to me". For me it appears pompous and artificial when one person in a group of peers announces "I will pay the bill for everyone". I wonder to myself "why is the person showing off?" or "what is this person's hidden agenda?" This rule does not apply for business meals, when someone else is footing the bill, or when the meal is somebody's tax deduction.

Life is difficult for a person who has one foot in each world. For example, my wife has lived in America for 26 years and when she sits in a restaurant she usually eats among Americans. She has adopted my American custom of "a Dutch treat" . For my 50th birthday party, about 30 of my relatives ate in a fancy restaurant. Each little family group picked up their own portion of the bill, except that my brother paid for the four in my family. That seemed perfectly appropriate to both me and my wife. In a similar situation, we were with her family. About 10 of us were eating at a Korean restaurant. At the conclusion of the meal, my wife's younger brother paid for everyone. I appreciated his generosity even though I know he is not a rich person. I kept my mouth quiet, but I ached to pay my own way. "Now we are obliged to him" I thought. My wife put a twenty dollar bill in his hand, but he forced it back on her. Sometimes life is simpler when you live by American rules.

Reading Roman Numerals    return to top

Most of my Korean friends are pretty smart people, so I was surprised one day when a friend of mine couldn't figure out what "XXIX" meant. She recognized it as a Roman Numeral but couldn't quite translate it as "29". At the time I thought this was a shortcoming in her individual education. But since that time I have recognized this as a gap in the education of most Koreans. This difficulty for Koreans to read Roman Numerals is not really surprising. Roman numerals are an artifact Western culture and they aren't very practical in today's world. It's nearly impossible to do math with them. How could anyone divide "mmii" by " xvi"? These old Roman numbers are seen today mostly on clocks faces, chapter headings, movie credits, and the Super Bowl . However, these old fashioned numbers are as familiar to me as an American as perhaps the Chinese numbers are familiar to Korean people. I learned to recognize Roman Numerals in 2nd or 3rd grade, at about the same time I mastered telling time on a face clock.

If you have difficulty reading Roman Numerals, read this paragraph carefully. There are only seven Roman Numerals: I,V,X,L,C,D,M. Sometimes you see them in lower case: i, v, x, l, c , d ,m,. The system begins simple enough: I=1, V=5, X=10, L=50, C=100, D=500, and M=1000. To make a number, you just group the numbers together. You add the number that is on the right to the number that is on the left. For example, XXI equals 21 and MDCLXVI equals 1666. But this is where it gets tricky. You never place four numerals in a row. Therefore in order to show 9 you don't write VIIII but IX. The lower valued numeral on the left is subtracted from the higher valued number on the right. The exception to rule is "M", so to show 7000 it's OK to write "MMMMMM". As you can tell, this system is cumbersome to use, especially with numbers greater than 10,000. That's all there is to know about Roman Numerals. They are at the same time very simple and very difficult.

You can also see why Romans were so happy to move from 1999 to 2000. The year changed from a complicated MCMXCIX to an elegant MM. Here are a few more interesting facts about Roman Numerals. The M&M candy company is now producing ads that tout the M&M and the candy of the new millennium. MM=2000. Also, have you ever wondered why American movies always show the date of the movie in small Roman numerals? I once read the story like this: At first American movie producers did not put a date on their movie credits. They didn't want their audience to say "this movie is too old". However the U.S. Congress passed a law that required a date be shown in the movie credits. So the wily movie executives showed the date of the movie in tiny Roman Numerals that scroll by so fast that only a professor of Latin could read the date of the movie. Try it sometime. Can you read the Roman date?

Finally, here's a joke to test if your friend understands Roman Numerals: Hold up two fingers outstretched in a V, like a peace sign. Ask your friend "what's this?". If he doesn't know say "this is a Roman soldier ordering five beers". If he laughs, he knows about Roman numerals. If he thinks real hard and is puzzled, show him this article about Reading Roman Numerals.

The perfect gift    return to top

My wife and I were sitting around a table with three other couples. The topic of discussion turned to "what gift should our group buy for Julian?". Now, Julian is the baby boy of a couple in our church group. He will be celebrating his 100 day old party next Saturday. As we talked, I observed four kinds of gift givers around the table: the traditional, the thoughtful, the humorous, and the practical.

First, Mrs. Oh spoke up. "We should put our money together and buy the baby a gold ring. That's what we always do for a 100-day party". This was an obvious suggestion, but others felt uncomfortable with it. "What's a baby going to do with a gold ring?" , someone said. Another chimed in, "That kind of gift was useful in Korea when the gold ring could be saved and sold for the baby's education". Another said, "Gold rings -- those are supposed be given by close relatives, likes grand parents and aunts. We aren't that close." The traditional gift giver lost out and stayed quiet for a while.

My wife spoke up next. "Well, let's think what the parents really need" We concluded that this was an older, well-established couple that could afford almost anything for the baby. Plus, Julian was a first son as well as a first grand-child for the father's parents. There would be lots of strollers, diapers, cribs, toys, and baby clothes. Some one said "they already have everything that they need". Another person asked my wife, "How well do you know Susan (the mother)? Do you know of something special that she would really like, maybe something that she has talked about for a long time, but didn't buy yet?" My wife said "no", and the thoughtful gift giver lost out. I decided to cheer her up. "Why don't we buy the same gift that my niece, Valerie, got for her birthday?" She thought a while and smiled. She then explained to the group about crazy Americans. On her 40th birthday Valerie's sister gave her a portable, electric, fart machine. You hold the machine behind your back and it makes disgusting noises. We all laughed and the discussion moved along. My gag gift was not appropriate for Julian.

Finally the practical Mrs. Chin spoke up. "How about if we just collect some money and give it to her?" This sounded good to some people, but to others it was too impersonal. Cash money may be the most practical gift and it may be the most welcome, but giving money demonstrates no thoughtful touch. At this point Mrs. Yee joined the group. She had just returned from the restroom. She listened for a little bit and then suggested, "Let's get a gift certificate for Macys. That way she can buy whatever she wants." That sounded good to all of our ears and the discussion was over. Julian would get a gift certificate for his 100 day party.

How can you decide what to give? Your gift is a reflection of your relationship. Are you in a traditional relationship and is culture important? Then, give a gold ring. Are you on a first name basis with the receiver of the gift? Are you really a friend? Then a thoughtful or sentimental gift might be appropriate, especially if the gift is targeted to the receiver. Are you extremely practical? Then give money. Do you want to be practical, but show some thoughtfulness? Then a gift certificate is just right. In any case, I would not suggest a fart machine unless you know the person very, very well indeed.

Keeping up with politics at home    return to top

My introduction to politics occurred when I was in fifth grade. John Kennedy was running against Richard Nixon. My family lived in a Catholic neighborhood and all my schoolmates rooted for Kennedy. My father was anti-Catholic and so I supported Nixon. I wore Nixon buttons to school and passed out Nixon bumper stickers. I was disappointed when Kennedy won the election. Ironically, I was again disappointed eight years later when Nixon was elected president. I was just starting college and my politics were becoming decidedly liberal. During my college years I became a Viet Nam war protestor.

I arrived in Korea just after the election of 1972. My presidential choice, George McGovern, had lost to Nixon in a landslide. I resigned myself to four more boring years of Richard Nixon. I would often talk politics with my Korean teacher friends. Sometimes I talked about the Korean president, Pak Chung Hee. My friends either praised his accomplishments of just kept silent. Nobody spoke against him. I remember telling one my fellow teachers who was about my age, that "Pak Chung Hee is a big snake". (I had just learned that Korean word 'Nungkurungee') . My friend quickly looked all around him. When he saw that we were alone, he whispered "me too" and he put his finger to his lips indicating "let's be quiet about this".

Then something amazing happened in American politics: first, Spiro Agnew, the vice-president, resigned. Then this thing called "Watergate" burst into the news. Suddenly I was a news junkie. I immersed myself in Watergate. I carried my transistor radio everywhere I went and tuned in on the hour to check the Watergate soap opera. I read the English-language Korea Times everyday cover-to-cover, memorizing all the events and names. In short, Watergate became an obsession to me. My fellow teachers just couldn't comprehend Watergate. They considered Richard Nixon to be the best American president ever. One of my Korean friends worried most about Henry Kissinger. He asked me "can Mr. Kissinger still be Secretary of State if Nixon quits?" My response, "I hope not", unsettled him. On August 9th, 1974, Richard Nixon resigned as President. My Peace Corps friends and I held a celebration. No Koreans attended.

In the quarter-century since the resignation of Nixon, I have had the opportunity to reflect upon the events of that time. With 25 years of perspective, I see more clearly. First, when I speak to a foreigner, I make it a point not to criticize their leader. That's too presumptuous. It's like me criticizing a member of your family. There is a saying from the insider to the outsider "he may be a son-of-a-bitch, but he's my son-of-a-bitch". Next, I have more understanding of how differently world leaders are viewed at home and abroad. Richard Nixon was a complex mix of great international leader and crooked domestic leader. At home he was reviled while abroad he was admired. This really hit home to me in the case of Mikael Gorbachev. To my American eyes, Gorbachev is great statesman and a courageous leader of change. It's a fact that in Russia he is scorned and received only one percent of Russian votes in a national election. Nixon was like that when I was in Korea. Koreans saw the international leader. All I saw was a man of flawed character. Finally, I realize how sweet news from home can be to an ex-patriot. American newspapers were a lifeline to me and maintained my identity as an American. News from home comforted me and kept me in touch with my American soul. If you were born and raised in Korea, I understand your interest in Korean newspapers and politics. I understand how closely you follow news of rapprochement between North and South. Just like your stomach craves kimchee - food from your home, so your eyes crave hanguel - news from your home.

Yang-bans don't work with their hands    return to top

I understood from the very beginning that Americans and Koreans think differently about work and respect. As I see it there are three ways to get job respect from a Korean. First, be a doctor, lawyer, or professor. If you have one of these professions then it doesn't matter how little money you make. You will get respect. Second, make a lot of money. Then it doesn't matter what job you have. (Your job becomes RICH GUY). The more money you make, then the more respect you get. Your can be a banker, a shop-owner, or even a car salesman. It doesn't matter, as long as the only work you do with your hands is to count 100 dollar bills. Third, you can win a Nobel prize. This will get respect from Koreans no matter what else you do.

I was brought up differently than this. Both my father and mother were of humble origin and had humble jobs. They always taught me that it was OK to work with my hands and to labor with my body. I learned a Protestant ethic that "all work honors God" and that any job is better than no job because work ennobles the soul. I my life, I have labored as a floor sweeper, a bottle washer, and a car parker. All these jobs were fine with me. My soul was ennobled, but then maybe I am brainwashed. I don't know.

So where does this put me in the eyes of the Korean community? I don't think that a Nobel prize is in my future ( unless the Nobel committee reads this article and really REALLY likes it.) I am not becoming a rich man. I have most of what I desire and am blessed beyond counting, but I don't have a lot of money. I do have education. I like to say that I am "educated beyond my intelligence". I also teach part time. So maybe this gets me a little respect from my Korean acquaintances.

My beautiful wife is a contrast to me. She is a Full Professor in a college and no matter what else she does for work or play for the rest of her life, she is called "professor" and by that title alone she earns respect. She does not like working with her hands with crafts or in the soil. She was born a Yangban and continues to be one.

Let me conclude with a story that illustrates our attitudes. On a recent Saturday morning, my wife and I agreed t o go for a walk in the mountains. About ten o'clock I called to her, "OK yobo, let's go for our walk now". She wrinkled her nose and said, "I'm not done writing yet. Give me a few more hours and we'll go." I was disappointed but decided not to waste such a lovely day. I put on my leather gloves and began to work outside. I raked up an endless supply of Eucalyptus leaves, I pulled weeds from my garden, and was just beginning to dig some holes for new flowers. Then my wife called to me in the back yard, "OK Honey, I'm all done writing now. Let's go for our walk". I replied, "But I'm in the middle of yard work". I could tell she was a little perturbed at me. After a long pause she said, "Why don't you just hire some Mexican to do that stuff for you?" . I replied a little hurt, "but I enjoy this". I put done my shovel and walked over to her. I thought some more and smiled "Why don't you just hire a Mexican to do your writing for you". She laughed and recognized herself. I got on my hiking books and we went off to the mountain. As we started our walk I said, "tell you what. You like writing more than going for a walk, Right? and I like gardening more. Maybe next time, we could hire a Mexican guy and a Mexican girl and they could go for a walk in our place?"

Coming to America    return to top

I am continually surprised at the number of Koreans arriving in America day after day. I see a Korean couple working endless hours in a little grocery store. I see a man struggling in night school to learn the English language. I see two young kids working illegally, hiding out from the INS. I wonder why are all these Koreans coming to America? What is it that draws them here?

One Korean couple I know came to America in their mid 40's. The husband had just retired from the Korean army and his wife had quit her job as a nurse. They sold all that they owned and moved to the Oregon countryside. They bought a small convenience store and both now work from sunrise to sunset to keep it running. Every evening, they go to bed exhausted. They have been in America for three years but have never taken a vacation. I look upon them and wonder "why did they leave their comfortable and predictable life in Korea and come to this strange land to struggle in a small town?" I have admiration but I don't have an answer.

I see the husband spending countless hours studying English, but I have trouble communicating with him in simple English sentences. Is 45 years old too old to learn my native tongue? I drive with him to an evening language class and wonder why he is here. I visited him once in Korea. He was a proud colonel leading dozens of men in a hospital unit. Now is sits in a crowded classroom barely able to keep up with the conversation spoken by the teacher. Why is starting his life again? I have admiration but I don't have an answer.

I see two young cousins who arrived in America on tourist visas. One girl stays at home caring for her grandmother. She is afraid to leave the house, because she stopped being a tourist months ago and now she is lawbreaker hiding from the INS. Her brother works in the kitchen of a Korean restaurant. Sometimes is isn't paid enough for the work he does and sometimes he's not paid at all, but he doesn't complain too much. The INS is after him too. He tells me how he paid a Korean lawyer $5000 for a green card, but never saw a green card or his money again. But still, he doesn't complain too much. He says he likes it in America. I see these two young people and I wonder why are they here. Why are they taking this risk? Again, I admire their pluck, but I don't have an answer.

But when I think long about this, I realize that I am two generations removed from their experience. My country is great because it is a country of self-selected risk taking immigrants. Except for the descendents of slaves and natives, every American has a risk taker in their ancestry. My own grandparents arrived from Europe about 90 years ago. My grandfather risked all moving from the coal mines of Eastern Europe to coal mines of Ohio. My grandmother owned a small shop in Germany. She left it prosperous in 1914 and wanted to return to it (with my father) in 1921. But the Great War had destroyed her shop and her hopes of returning to her homeland. Most Americans have an immigration or a pioneer story in their history. America is special because it's people are special. The unmotivated masses - and their gene pools - are still back in Germany, Italy, England, India or Korea. They are content with their lot in life. The risk takers - like you - left the land of their birth to seek a better life. Take a look around you. You feel at home because you are a risk taker living in the midst of risk takers.

The virtue of balance    return to top

I think that many times a culture prizes a virtue not because that virtue is common among its people, but because that virtue is rare and must be encouraged. Here are a few examples: "Peace" (or Shalom) is a prized virtue among both Jews and Arabs, so why is it so hard to find shalom in the Middle East? "Love" is the preeminent virtue of the Christian West. Why is this so? Perhaps because there is so little love among Christians in the Western World. In the Confucian East the important virtue is "balance". The symbols of balance are illustrated on the Korean flag; a balanced circle is surrounded by balancing lines. But does the balance of Korean flag represent a balance in the Korean character? I don't think so.

Koreans seem to be a people of hot and cold, of good and bad, of love and hate. It's either one extreme or the other. Moderation seems very hard to find in everyday Korean life. While reading an English-language newspaper the other day, I spotted an article in the business section about Hyun Dae. The entire corporation was in crisis. Why? because one bother named Mong Ku hates his brother named Mong Hun. Why is there this family feud? It appears that Mong Ku the older brother is angry at Mong Hun the younger brother, because Mong Hun beat him in a struggle for leadership of the conglomerate. In past years these two brothers were happy to trade billions of dollars between them, but now Mong Ku won't even speak to Mong Hun. This is a story that could only happen in Korea.

This kind of bickering is not confined to the business world. It also happens in the religious community. Could it be true that peaceful Buddhist monks attacked each other in Korea? I couldn't believe it. I saw images of sticks and rocks, of religious figures in robes pushing and shoving one another. I believe they were struggling over control of a monastery. Since I am a Christian, the idea of fighting Buddhists made me a little smug. Then I read of a Korean church in Portland where an elder ran onto the pulpit and began a fist fight with his pastor. I saw the picture in the newspaper. What a spectacle for the congregation! It's love then hate. It's kiss-kiss, then it's bang-bang.

This squabbling is also widespread in Korean families. Brothers and sisters are always in a passionate shifting relationship. It's either "I love you and will do anything for your" or "I hate you and get out of my face". I know a certain family of three sisters and three brothers. I laughed to myself when I heard that they have divided themselves into two "teams". Team One is the oldest sister and two younger brothers. Team Two is the oldest brother and two younger sisters. My friend was under pressure, because one sister from the other team was phoning her and wanting her to change teams. This amuses me because I am also one of six children. We six tend to keep a comfortable distance from each other. We don't lend money to each other, or trade children, or go on vacations together. I enjoy their company, but I don't have the intense relationship that I see in Korean people. This arrangement prevents the greatest sorrows, but perhaps the greatest joys.

Maybe deep-down I admire these passionate Koreans. Balance is comfortable and most of the time desirable, but real life is experienced most richly in the extremes.

Paper, scissors, rock    return to top

In the middle of these presidential election problems, I hear people say "there must be an easier way to elect a president". Other people ask why our system has to be so complicated, with states, courts and political parties all getting involved in the process. What most people don't realize is that government in America was designed to be inefficient and fractured. It is operating just as it should. The last thing that our founding fathers wanted was a single unified government with a single party leader and a single chief of state who would make all the big decisions. They did not declare independence from King George the Third, only to elect a tyrant as president.

The genius of American government is the recognition that to protect individual liberty, no person, party or region can come to absolute power. The makers of the U.S. Constitution framed a system that prevents anyone from assuming absolute control, a system of checks and balances. You can look at this system like playing "paper, scissors, rock". American government is chopped up into three components, a legislature - to make the laws, an executive - to carry out the laws, and a judicial - to decide the laws. The legislative is like the rock. The rock can break the executive like a pair of scissors, but then judges can over rule the legislative, like paper covers a rock. Now the scissors of the executives can cut the judicial branch by appointing new judges, but the legislative branch must approve new judges. And so it goes: each branch of government has power over another branch, but each branch is held in check by another branch at the same time. This constant tension has make government stable over the years.

There is also a game of "paper, scissors, rock" going on with the levels of government. Again, think of the National government as the rock, the state government as the scissors, and the local government as the paper. In America, state and local governments have powers unheard of in most nations. Most criminals are put in a state prison for violating a state law and most children are in schools run by locally controlled school boards. Authority is diffused in America. As many people have recently learned, counties are in charge of elections. This may seem odd until you realize that local voting ballots contain only one nationwide candidate (the president), only a few state wide people and issues, but many local candidates and issues. I don't think that Americans need a "nationalized" election, but state and federal officials should give counties sufficient resources to conduct full and fair elections.

Finally, there is one aspect of American government that the founding fathers did not envision. That is the two-party system. Americans have had only two controlling parties since 1860 - the Republican and the Democratic party. This arrangement is a good fit with the American system and also makes government stable. In fact, many citizens prefer a government in which one party controls the White House and another the Congress. They argue that gridlock is good because it assures liberty by preventing one party from forcing its will upon the American people. Confusion is Florida may not be a bad thing. The next time you decide a matter with paper, scissors, and rock, think about your freedom in America. Be thankful that our founding fathers framed a government in which power is diffused, a system in which no leader can become a king like George the Third or worse yet a tyrant like Kim Il Sung.

A Treasured Scroll    return to top

Before my wife and I headed home from Korea, we wanted to purchase a few quality items to remind us of the land of the morning calm. We bought a Korean jewelry box and a ceramic tea set. We also bought a hanging scroll with fine Chinese writing. The scroll was two meters high and cost 20000 won. That was lot of money in 1974. I never knew exactly what the characters on the scroll meant. Only experts can understand the stylized calligraphy. And these experts could never explain to me its meaning in English. Anyway, most Chinese scrolls say the same thing: "Live long and prosper".

When we moved to America, I proudly hung the scroll on the wall. Guests would comment about how nice it looked and they would asked me what the words meant. I would study the scroll closely and then tell them "live long and prosper". They were amazed at my ability to read Chinese. When my first son was learning to walk around the house, we had to put some of our nice things away. We put the ceramic tea set on a high shelf. We also put latches on all the doors and covers on all the electrical outlets. My son, Zachary, knew how to get into things. He yanked on my treasured scroll once and tore a corner. I gave him a spank on his bottom and taped up the back of the scroll where nobody would see the mending.

Then Zachary learned how to draw. We gave him coloring books and crayons but he could not draw in the lines. He could not even keep his drawing to the books. Zachary began to draw with crayons on the white walls. I used to spank him and then he would cry and then his mother would try to scrub the crayon marks of the painted walls. Like most fathers, I like to brag about my son. When he was only three he could spell out his own name "ZAC". He saw that we were proud of this achievement and he began to write his name everywhere. He wrote his name on the walls of the house, on the side of the car, and on the kitchen table. I used to smack his hand every week or so for his crayon activities. One afternoon, I came home from work and looked at my treasured scroll. There on the bottom in big red letters was "ZAC". I was really angry. I yelled his name "ZACH-A-RY". He ran and hid. I found him and pulled him by his hand to see to the scroll. I pointed to the writing at the bottom and said "Zachary, do you know who did this?". He looked at me with big innocent eyes and said "No, Daddy". Of course this made me madder than I already was. I really lost my temper and spanked my son harder than I should have. I don't have many regrets in life, but do wish that I would have been less quick to punish my children. I couldn't bare to look at my damaged scroll. I rolled it up and tossed it into storage.

My son, Zachary, is now 25 years old. Last year I was poking around in the attic and I found my old tattered scroll. I brought the scroll downstairs and hung it up in our living room. Now when visitors look at the scroll, I don't pretend to understand what the Chinese calligraphy means. I proudly point the bottom of the scroll and tell them "My son spelled his name right there when he was only three years old!" Time has a way of showing a father what is really important. Now the scroll with its special writing is treasured indeed.