Korean  Stories from 2001
English language version by Chris A. Foreman

Still Can't Figure Them Out     return to top

A few months ago I attended a Korean banquet in Oakland. The event was sponsored by a local education association and both my wife and I attended. An old friend of mine named Dan was a guest speaker. Dan had just completed a book in English about Korean proverbs and was signing and selling copies in the lobby of the banquet hall. I knew Dan from the early 1970s when we were both Peace Corps volunteers in Korea. I don't know of any non-Korean who studies, appreciates, and understands Korean culture more than Dan. He is a great admirer of everything Korean.

As the meal began, my wife and I took our places at the front table along with Dan and other honored guests. We had some enjoyable conversation both in Korean and in English. We traded stories about our old experiences in Korea. After the eating was complete, the entertainment began. Dan gave a brief speech in Korean and then sang a traditional Korean song a cappella. The Korean audience was amazed that a person without one drop of Korean blood was able to speak and sing Korean so well.

The entertainment continued. First there was a competition by different Korean schools in the Bay Area. About a dozen kids from each of the competing schools would walk to the stage and sing or pantomime or do a skit. Some of these schools were Christian-sponsored so there were lots of "Jesus" songs and "Hallelujahs". After the awards were given to winning schools, the entertainment continued. At this point, some of the school children left, but many remained in the banquet hall.

The entertainment now turned to audience karaoke. I hate to admit this, but I enjoy karaoke about as much as I enjoy a root canal. First, I don't know any of the words; next I don't recognize any of the tunes; next, they sing the same songs over and over; next the sound is ear-shattering / mind-numbing; and finally, none of the karaoke singers can really sing. If they could sing, they wouldn't need the smothering support of electronics. (Don't tell the devil this, but if he were to prepare a special hell for me, it would be located in the everlasting karaoke bar.) To enhance the effect of the karaoke singing, the MC would ask people in the audience to tell jokes between songs. One old gentleman got to his feet laughing as he grabbed the microphone. My Korean isn't too good, but I managed to understand his joke. I saw the exaggerated motions and I heard the words, "zipper", "Cadillac" and "Volkswagen". My wife stared down at her napkin in embarrassment. Dan's face turned pinker than it normally is. The audience was quiet for a moment, then laughed, and then the next karaoke singer walked up to the microphone. During a lull in the karaoke, I spoke to Dan "You know that this banquet is sponsored by an Education organization, you know that there are school children in the banquet hall, you just heard all the "Jesus" singing. Why in the world would anyone want to tell a joke like that? In an American setting that behavior would totally unacceptable." Dan sighed and replied, "I've been studying these people for 30 years and I still can't figure them out". Move over Dan. You're not alone.

Red Ink, Smiles and Chop Sticks     return to top

Sometimes the cultural divide between American people and Korean people takes me by surprise. I remember working in a teachers' room in my Korean middle school. I had some free time before Christmas and I began to compile a list of family and friends to whom I would send cards. My ball point pen ran out of ink and I continued to write the list with my red teacher's pencil. After a while, my co-teacher Mr. Chang asked me what I was doing. I showed him the list of names and said "I just bought these Korean Christmas cards and I'm making a list of the people that I'll be mailing them to." He looked at the list in shock. I saw the emotion on his face and asked him what the trouble was. Mr. Chang said "why are you writing their names in red? That means that they are dead people". I said "what? I never heard of that". He assured me that in Korea you never ever write a person's name in red. I learned that a red name means that the person is dead. If they are still alive, it's like writing them a death curse.

I learned more about Korean beliefs about a year later. That's when I married by beautiful wife. Just before the wedding, we went to a photo studio and posed for an engagement picture. I tried to get her to smile for the picture, but she that smiling was "bad luck". Later, I tried to get her to smile for our wedding pictures. This time she explained that smiling for a wedding picture would be really bad luck. She said if she smiled our first child would be a girl. I guess I'm too much American. I told her a girl would be OK with me. I always thought that having a girl first was lucky. That way we would have a built-in baby sitter.

My cultural ignorance came to mind when my wife told me about an incident that happened in her sister's life recently. My sister-in-law, Nancy, lost her husband to cancer a few months ago. David Ko was only 48 years old. He was a good husband, a good father and a good Christian. One of the people who attended his funeral was an strange American woman named Linda. She was a worker in Nancy's store and she assumed a closer relationship to Nancy and her family than was appropriate. She gave little gifts to Nancy and made unwanted visits to her house. I am convinced that Linda was just trying to be kind, but the result was just the opposite. No one could figure out why this woman pestered her with visits, letters, and phone calls during a time of grief. My sister-in-law tried to remain patient during these trials, but her patience finally ran out last week. In an act of innocent kindness, Linda visited the grave site of Nancy's husband. I assume she wanted to pay respect to the deceased. She made a cross of two chop sticks and stuck the cross in the dirt above grave. The next time Nancy visited the grave site she nearly freaked out! She couldn't figure out who would want to disrespect her husband so much by stabbing a stick into the grave. She got her answer a few days later when Linda dropped by the house uninvited. Linda mentioned that she had visited the grave. Nancy really got angry this time. She yelled at her and threw her out of the house. No one has seen Linda since then. Cultural ignorance by an American person caused great pain for Nancy and great confusion for Linda. With such a cultural gap, I think that it is remarkable that Americans and Koreans get along as well as they do.

Where are you going, mountain bunny?     return to top

Of all the songs that I learned in Korea, the two that I remember best were taught by a little child. My host family in the small village of Mu Kuk included a cute 3-year-old boy who loved to sing. In my broken Korean, I asked little Wee Ju to teach me his nursery songs. The first one went like this:

"Mountain bunny, oh mountain bunny, where are you going? You hop to wherever you want to go. Where are you going anyway?"

Wee Ju would put his little pointer fingers to the sides of his head and hop around like a bunny. Of course in order to sing the song correctly, I also had to go through all the hopping motions. His other song was this:

"My face is like an apple. It's cute, isn't it? My eyes sparkle, my nose sparkles, my mouth sparkles, just sparkles."

This little song had motions too. I especially enjoyed doing the "sparkle" hand motion.

These nursery songs came in handy a few times. Once when I was at a Korean party, it became my turn to sing. I stuck to my standard song "Oh Mother, Oh Older Sister". After an hour or so, my Korean friend urged me to sing a second song. I agreed to sing but only if my friend would sing along with me. He agreed. Only then did I tell him we would sing together about the "mountain bunny". We both went through the bunny motions as we sang. It was a memorable evening, but my friend didn't ask me to sing any more songs.

A few years after singing in Korea, I was blessed with my own 3-year old boy. My Korean wife was busy studying English, so I personally taught my son my two nursery songs. Zachary was especially proud to sing Korean songs for his Korean grandmother. He would get excited and his grandmother would beam. Unfortunately that was about all the language communication between these generations. I am glad that I taught Zachary the "mountain bunny song" and the "apple song", because those words are about the only complete sentences that Zachary can fluently recite in Korean.

One year ago, my 24-year old Zachary went on a bus trip with some friends from Stanford. The group was playing games to pass the time. One of the games was called "Truth or Dare". Zachary asked one of his friends (who happened to be Korean) a very difficult question. When his Korean friend could not give an answer, Zachary said "OK, you have to go up and down the aisle of this bus and sing and do the motions to the mountain bunny song". This Korean guy was amazed that an American guy knew of this song. To be a good sport, they sang Mountain Bunny together as they hopped around the bus. When Zachary told me this story, he thanked me for teaching him this nursery song. Do your little kids know how to sing about the mountain bunny?

Still Digesting Chunhyang     return to top

The reviewer in the San Francisco Chronicle said this about the movie Chunhyang: "What begins as a charming folktale becomes, in the hands of prolific Korean director Im Kwon Taek, a passionate cultural statement. Im frames the traditional star-crossed lovers story within a modern balladeer's stage performance of the tale. The singer, variously playful, intense, soulful and cajoling, makes such direct contact with his audience that some of the gutless wonders that pass for communicators today should be struck speechless." -- B. Grahm

After reading such a gushing review of a Korean movie with English subtitles, my wife and I decided to drive into San Francisco and view the movie for ourselves. I was vaguely familiar with the tale of Chunhyang, and during the car ride downtown, my wife filled me in on the details as best she could. I didn't know quite what to expect. The most recent Asian movie that I saw was Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. That movie turned out to be one of my all-time favorites.

I enjoyed the two hours watching and listening to Chunhyang, even though none of the characters leaped from roof to roof like the stars of crouching tiger. The interplay between the stage performance and the folk tale was at first unsettling, but as the story progressed I could see that the interplay did not subtract from, but added to the telling of the tale. Before my eyes I saw old Korea re-created on the screen: High-class men wore white clothes and horse-hair hats, houses were wooden with thatched roofs, and common people worked in the rice fields with cycles. Like magic, Korea was transported backward 200 years in time. But even more than pictures of old Korea, the values of old Korea were on display. To understand the Korean psyche of today, one must understand the values of Koreans yesterday. Let me make two observations about Chunhyang. (I'm still digesting this movie, so maybe I'll make more comments later).

First, have you ever tried to define the word "han" to an American? This Korean word defies English definition. There is not a single American-word equivalent or even a 20-word definition that does the job. "Passion", "suppression of feelings", "revenge", and "fate" are English words that describe some aspect of Korean "han". If Americans want to understand Korean "han" they need to watch Chunhyang and identify with the young woman in the context of her culture. Chunghyang is just dripping with "han". She is pure, then she is seduced, then she is married, then she is betrayed, then she suffers, then she is redeemed. She runs the gamut of emotions at times suppressing her feelings and at other times overly expressing her feelings. Above all, she is a victim of her fate. What is "han"? Chunghyang is han. What is Chunghyang? Watch the movie.

I found one small part of the movie especially revealing. When the young governor confronts the old corrupt governor, he asks him "Why were you so cruel to Chungyang?" The bad governor says, "I was the king's representative, she was a courtesan. I gave her an order and she disobeyed. It's a simple as that." The young governor, whose dearest love was just cruelly tortured, says nothing. He seems to look into space and nod in agreement. It appears that the corrupt governor was guilty of mistreating the king's people, but not of mistreating poor Chungyang. His cruelty to Chungyang was a privilege of his position. What do you think? I'm still digesting the movie.

An Unkind Joke about Koreans     return to top

I teach computer classes for a living. I enjoy talking and joking with students as I teach about databases and spreadsheets. Occasionally I mention that I have a Korean connection -- that I can speak Korean, or that my wife is Korean, or that I spent time in Korea as a Peace Corps volunteer. After one of these offhand remarks, a student named Marcus cornered me during a break. He thought that my mention of Korea was interesting. Marcus said that he had spent some time in Japan and spoke Japanese pretty well. I was only half-way listening to him ramble on about Japan until finally he said, "I don't know any Korean, but I do know a Korean joke." He looked at me with a sly smile. I said, "OK, tell me your joke". He said, "How do say 'excuse me' in Korean?" I said, "mi-an-ham-ni-da?" He stared at me, not expecting a real response, but to play along with his joke. So after some silence I realized what was going on and I tried again, "OK, I give up. How do you say 'excuse me' in Korean"? Marcus didn't say a word, but bumped his shoulder into my shoulder. Then he looked at me and smiled slyly again. It took a few moments for me to interpret his joke, which I understood to be "when a Korean person bumps into you, he or she never says 'excuse me', but just moves along". The implication is that Koreans are not a polite people. I made a response like, "Koreans are polite. It's just that they treat each other more like family. Do you say 'excuse me' to your mom when you accidentally brush up against her in your house?" When he saw my vigorous defense of Korea, he said, "It's just a joke. I wasn't serious." And that was the end of it.

As I drove home after the class, I thought about this joke. I wondered "is this the image of Koreans that Americans carry around with them?" In my mind I conversed with Marcus as I drove. I told him that in Korea people are socialized differently. It's not that Americans are polite and Koreans are not polite. Koreans are a different kind of polite. Young people call older men "uncle" and old ladies "grandmother". This kind of intimate politeness makes Americans feel uncomfortable. I told him how I felt strange the first time I went into a bathhouse in Korea; all those naked guys around me. If you live in a culture where people share bathwater, what's the big deal about accidentally bumping into one of them on the street? In my mind, I also told him how strange Americans are about their "personal space". You dare not touch an American without permission, and you dare not violate their personal space of 14 inches nose-to-nose. In a one-blood nation like Korea, touching is OK, being close in OK. Americans are so alarmed to see Korean schoolgirls holding hands. "Are the lesbians?", they ask. In my own mind, it is my people who are strange. What's wrong with friends touching friends in a non-sexual way? That has been the way of humans for thousands of years. Accidental bumping is not a trespass that must be excused, and friends touching friends is a way of bonding that goes beyond speech. This has been lost in America. I would tell all this to Marcus, but I wouldn't be too upset with him. After all, it was his joke provoked my thoughts, and my thoughts provoked this writing. And now you are reading all this because Marcus told me an unkind joke about Koreans.

Brain Teaser     return to top

A few weeks ago I received an interesting e-mail. The subject of the e-mail was "Brain-teaser".

I will give you the same test that I received in the e-mail. Let's see how you do. "Count the number of 'F's in the following text:

How many F's did you count? The first time I read the message, I counted three F's. That was my final answer, three. As I re-read the sentence more carefully, I discovered that there were really six F's in the message. I was surprised. The e-mail went on to explain that: "The brain cannot process the 'F's in "OF". Anyone who counts all six 'F's on the first go is a genius - three is normal, four quite rare." I bet that most of my readers rate as a genius. Does this mean that Koreans are the smartest people in the world? I hate to disappoint you, but this means that English is not your native language. Strangely, if you counted only three F's like me, that would mean that you were a native speaker of English. Let's try to figure out what's going on.

As I read the sentence, my eyes scanned all the words, but my mind passed over words that don't provide meaning to the sentence. Words like "the", "a", "of" are not really words at all, but grammatical markings. After all, how do you define the word "of"? "Finished", "Files" and "Scientific" are real words, so I counted these three "F's". The F's in "of" I mentally bypassed. This is simply the most efficient way to process the English language. I bet that there is a similar phenomenon is the reading of the Korean language.

These little pesky words make learning English difficult for Koreans. When I compose a sentence in English, I don't even think about words like, "a", "the" and "of". They appear automatically outside of my consciousness. I possess a grammatical sense about my native language, an ear for the way it is supposed to sound. Non-native speakers of English don't have this sense. You may write all the meaningful words perfectly and the meaning of the sentence may be perfectly clear, but it's the little meaningless words like "a", "the" and "of" that turn your English into "Konglish". I once read an full explanation of when to use the article "the" before nouns and when not to use it. The explanation ran three pages in length. There were exceptions to the exceptions. My suggestion for Koreans is to read a few sentences of well-written English. Focus on the words and try to remember them. Then write down the sentences in your own words. Check to see where you omit little words. Check to see where you add little words. Try to develop a sense for the language. Read the words out loud, picturing a native English speaker saying the words. You can even memorize speeches in English, saying them to yourself as a way of embedding this grammatical sense of English. But don't get discouraged. The little words are the last to be conquered. Maybe if you take this brain teaser in five or six years, you will not be a genius. Maybe like me you will only count only three F's. Then you will have mastered the English language.

Green Frogs Everywhere     return to top

My younger son Simon is very thoughtful. For Christmas he wanted to buy his mother a Korean book. So he went on-line and visited Amazon.com. He searched and finally found a book called The Green Frog. Simon had no idea what the book was about, only that it was advertised as a Korean folk tale. Simon didn't even wrap the book. Amazon did that for him. On Christmas day, Simon's mother unwrapped the package in his presence. She was pleased to receive such a book. It was about the size of a magazine with cute colorful illustrations of a mother frog and baby frogs. Simon was surprised to learn that his mother was already acquainted with the folk story of the green frog. Simon was even more surprised to learn that he himself was a green frog.

You all know the story of the green frog, right? Here is the short version:

The mother green frog had many children and they never did what they were told. They did just the opposite, without exception, always disobeying their mother. Just before she died, the mother frog instructed her children to bury her by a stream. Her hope was that her children will do just the contrary and bury her on a mountain top. However, this time her children repented and obeyed. They buried her next to the stream. When the Spring floods came, their deceased mother was swept away in the waters. To this day, all baby frogs greave loudly by streams in the Springtime for the loss of their mother.

When Simon was 19 years old my green frog decided to wear a nose ring. He came home from college on Thanksgiving day with this new facial ornament and the mother green frog couldn't stand it. She yelled and threatened and would not look at his face. Simon wouldn't back down and remove the nose ring. As a compromise, he covered his nose ring with a band-aid during Thanksgiving dinner. The meal was tense. There was not much opportunity to give thanks. My advice to my wife was "just ignore the nose ring". But green frog mothers can't do that. My approach to Simon was to use reverse psychology. Like the final instruction of the mother frog, I told Simon, "I really like that nose ring. Why don't you get more?" I not sure why it happened, but by age 21 Simon removed all of his facial ornaments. He is back to his handsome natural self.

Now The Green Frog rests on our coffee table. When Korean visitors drop by, they admire the book. Many of them remark, "Oh the green frog. My mother used to call me that." Is this true? Is every child in Korea a green frog to their mother? Maybe this "green frog syndrome" is an important aspect of the Korean psyche. Do the northern half and the southern half of Korea act like green frogs towards each other? I have a suggestion, maybe half-way serious. At some time in the distant future, the north and the south will come together. The northern half named Chosan does not like the southern half named Han Gook. And of course, visa versa. May I offer a solution to this perplexing problem? Maybe a unified Korea can adopt the name of "Green Frog country". Maybe future generations of Koreans will say "I am a green frog country person."

---

An Invisible Minority     return to top

How does it feel to be a stranger in a strange land? Do you feel the sting of discrimination and rejection? Maybe the only people who speak your native language are your family and fellow strangers. You may never see people like you on TV. Most of your friends either work in restaurants or in laundries. Children in town make fun of your children and point fingers at them calling them "dirty". Are you ready to fight for this invisible minority? Before you stand up and join my cause, you should know that I am referring to the Chinese in Korea.

During my stay in Korea, there was a Chinese person in every town I visited. But I never saw them. At least twice a week I would dine in a Chinese restaurant eating fried rice or cold noodles. I looked into the faces of hundreds of Chinese. They were invisible to me. At some point during my stay in Korea, I learned that most Chinese restaurants were operated by Chinese people, but I never thought about them beyond their cheap and savory food. I did pick up some hints about the Korean attitude toward the Chinese. One day a friend told me that it was time to wash my white shirt. He noticed the dark rings around my shirt cuffs and commented laughingly "those are Chinese shirt cuffs". On another occasion I ate more than my share of raw garlic. A girlfriend smelled my breath and said, "whew, you smell like a Chinaman".

My first (and only) prolonged encounter with Chinese in Korea occurred while I was teaching at a night school in Seoul. In order to buy plane tickets back to America, I taught as many English classes as I could. In one of my one-hour sessions I taught about five young men of college age. I didn't notice anything distinct about them. They were all very good students to me. In about the third session of the class, I happened to call one of them "hanguk saram" (Korean Person). The oldest of the group paused a moment, and said "Don't you know? We're Chinese". I was surprised. "I thought you were Korean", I said. The spokesman for this little group seemed to be a little offended, amused, and surprised himself that an American could mistake a Chinaman for a Korean. Aha! Then I understood. One of the essays a student read during the first session was on China. Another student had a picture of Chang Kai Shek on his notebook. How could I have missed it? During the next several sessions I got to know these Korean Chinese better. Always curious by nature, I asked them what it was like to be a minority in Korea. They told me "it's not too bad". Of course they couldn't vote, attend a regular public school, hold a government job, or work for a big Korean firm. They could teach in a Korean college, but only if the subject was Chinese writing, history or culture. One of the students was good a math, but said that he had no hopes of becoming a Math professor in Korea. It surprised me that all disavowed Korea as their home, even though most had been born in Korea. It surprised me more that all considered Taiwan their home-- a place they had never been to, and a place far from their ancestors in North China. I figured out without telling them so that the government of President Park Chung Hee would not approve of them calling the People's Republic home. He would frown upon a picture of Chairman Mao on a notebook.

The time I spent with these five Korean Chinese students was eye-opening. Today, whenever one of my Korean immigrant friends complains on-and-on about how bad the discrimination is in America, I ask them "what do know about the Chinese in Korea, other than they produce cheap and yummy food?"

Aristotle talking past Confucius     return to top

The recent international crisis involving an American airplane spying along the Chinese coast has once again made me ponder the differences between East and West. What is going on here? Why are these two nations talking past one another? Is there a real difference between the way Europeans and Asians frame the world? I think that the answer to this last question is "yes, indeed." I think that the difference flows from our ancient philosophical roots.

All Western thought and civilization goes back to ancient Greece. I once asked my Western Civ professor "do you mean to tell me that before the Greek city-state, the whole world was east? There was no west at all?" He thought a while and said, "Yes, everywhere was East." This gives me a clue as to why my Western thinking is so out of step from traditional thinking all over the globe. You folks in Asia or Africa didn't change, we in the West changed. We are the ones who wandered off in our own direction. Western thinking began with the trio of Greek philosophers: Socrates, Plato and Aristotle. For a while Plato was on top, but for the last 800 years or so, western thinking has followed Aristotle. Of course I cannot condense Aristotle into one line of print, but when Aristotle was asked this question "What is it that we should cherish most?" He came up with the answer TRUTH. His answer has led to logic, systems, science, and computers. Westerners tend to love things and concepts over people.

Asia has traveled a different path. The ancient philosopher Confucius taught about relationship. He figured that the way to get along and live a good life is be in proper balance with everybody else. Truth is important, but truth is secondary to our relations with the king, our parents, our siblings, our children and our spouse. Like China, Korea is a Confucian society and personal relationships have always received the highest priority. Again, I cannot condense Confucius into one line of print, but when Confucius was asked "What is it that we should cherish most? He came up with the answer RELATIONSHIP. His answer has led to stability, harmony, and politeness. Easterners tend to love people over things and concepts.

So what happened when an American plane offended Chinese airspace and landed in China? The first thing that the children of Aristotle sought was TRUTH. "What really happened? Why? What are the facts? Give us our plane back." The first think that the children of Confucius sought was RELATIONSHIP. "You must apologize first, repair this relationship, then we will discuss further. How can you think that your plane is more valuable than our pilot?"

A relationship between two people is not much different from a relationship between two nations. When my Confucian wife has a fight with her Aristotelian husband, I have learned the wisdom in following the Eastern path. It doesn't matter who's at fault. She was offended. I apologize first, repair the relationship, and only then seek after the truth.

Enjoying my relational name     return to top

Tucked away in the mountains near Santa Cruz is a retreat center called "Fasting and Prayer Mountain of the World". This backwoods place is open to anyone who wants to commune one-on-one with God. Most people bring only a sleeping bag, a toothbrush, a flashlight and a prayer concern. Many leave with the same set of items, minus the concern. Prayer Mountain was started by a Korean woman who wanted to pray out loud in a location where she would disturb no one and no one would disturb her. She could not find such a place near San Jose and traveled to Korea to find her prayer mountain. When she returned to America she had a vision to build a prayer mountain here is California. Ten years after the vision, she and her sister run a retreat near Santa Cruz on a hundred acres with a dozen homes. The amazing thing is that she built this mountain site with very little money or outside help. And how did she do this? By prayer and fasting of course. That's how the mountain got its name.

I have stayed overnight at prayer mountain a few times. My room was tiny and unheated. The floor provided only enough space for two mats to be rolled out. Prayer mountain is not a luxury hotel, but what it lacks in physical comfort it makes up for in spiritual comfort. You might think of it as a "luxury hotel for the soul".

A few months ago my 23-year-old son was burdened with life's problems. He drove down to Santa Cruz and introduced himself to the two women who run Prayer Mountain. He spent two days alone, seeking God's guidance for his life. My wife telephoned the Korean ladies to check up on him. The two praying ladies could not stop complementing Simon and saying what a great young man he was. They were impressed. I thought to myself, "are we talking about the same Simon?"

About a month later, my wife telephoned Prayer Mountain to make a reservation for the two of us. At first, the woman did not recognize her voice, then the exclaimed, "Oh, you're Simon's mother!" My wife laughed, "yes, that's me." When we arrived at Prayer Mountain after work on Friday it was late and quiet. With my flashlight I began searching on cabin doors. There was big note on one door that read in English "Reserved for Simon's Father". I smiled and pulled the note off my door. As I was walking toward my wife, I saw that she had a note too. This one read "Reserved for Simon's Mother". This kind of relational naming was old to her but something new for me. I had never considered my identity being defined by my son, at least in the English language. As I thought more about it more I began to see that I was just being treated as a Korean. I have a sister-in-law whose birth name is Hyun Hee. Americans call her "Nancy" but most Koreans call her by a relational name: "Sung Kyung's Mother." My wife was has relational names as well. She began life as "Father's Daughter". For just a short time she was "Husband's wife" and for a long time she has been "Son's mother". All of these names are OK with her, but the name she enjoys most is "Kyosu Nim". I used think that relational names were insulting. After all, you are the secondary person. But when I saw the note written in English referring to me as "Simon's Father", I was proud of it. Today the note is on the door of my study room. If we ever meet, you can call me "Dr. Foreman" or "Chris". However, it is just fine with me if you affirm an important relationship and call me "Simon's Father".

An Encyclopedia of Names     return to top

A few weeks ago I visited Mr. Pek for the first time. He lives in a comfortable house near San Jose with a wife and two children. After a short time of polite conversation, I was left alone in his living room. I must admit to a bad habit. When I find myself in an unfamiliar house, I like to casually walk around and examine book shelves. I turn my head sideways and read the titles. You can tell a lot about a person by the titles of the books he or she reads. This can also become a point of conversation: "Oh, I see you like science fiction. I'm an Asimov fan myself." At Mr. Pek's house, I saw a long row of about 20 books. The books looked like a set of encyclopedias, but they were taller. The writing was Chinese on the front. When Mr. Pek returned to the room, I asked him what the books were. He smiled and said, "Oh, those are my family history books. They contain the Pek family tree all the way back to China". He added "The Pek family was never divided into sub-families, so all the Peks who ever lived in Korea should be in there. That's why there are so many books." He gave me a book and I thumbed through several pages. There certainly were a lot of names in there. He showed me the book with his name in it. He thought that the names of his kids would be in there, but then he remembered that his children were born after the book was updated. He commented that he would have to contact the book publisher so that the next edition would contain the names of his children in both Korean and English.

I know that in most traditional cultures, keeping a record of ancestors is of utmost importance. If you look back a few hundred years in Korea, I bet that half of all books bound in Korea contained cherished family records. That was the major job of the village scribe. I also know that in the Bible, a lot of verses are dedicated to re-counting who was who's father and who begat whom. I told Mr. Pek that what I knew about my family tree could be typed on a single sheet of paper. With the help of my older sister, maybe we could stretch it out into two sheets. All four of my grandparents were born in Eastern Europe about 100 years ago. I can only trace my family tree back to my grandfather's grandfather. All my knowledge comes from records and pictures that were brought to America. The havoc of two world wars and 50 years of Communism have erased all records of my ancestors in Europe. The small villages, ethnic groups, and even the names of European countries have changed. In some ways, this lack of an official list of ancestors makes me feel impoverished. In other ways, I feel liberated; the past is a burden that I do not need to carry. I think that my rootless yet liberated condition has to do with living in the "New World". Even the most prominent of American families can only trace their new world heritage back 350 years to the Mayflower landing in New England.

Mr. Pek has two young children. I wonder if the children of these children - and their children - will want to hang on to the encyclopedia of Pek names. In 2100 AD will anyone care to read through 20 volumes of careful record keeping all the back to China? Will a chain of 1000 years of careful record keeping be broken? The New World has its way of discarding the Old World and making all things new. Would the loss of these old books be a good thing or a bad thing?

A Walk down the Beach     return to top

When you begin a walk on the beach, you never know where it will end. Last month my wife and I went out for an outing to a nearby strip of sand. We drove our car to the north end of the Golden Gate Bridge and parked near the entrance to an old World War Two bunker. From that high point we walked a mile or so down a dirt trail to a beautiful area called Kirby Cove. On the way down, we strolled past scotch broom first, then through a eucalyptus forest, and finally through tall pine trees. During our winding walk down to sea level, the bridge would appear for while, then disappear, and then reappear again. Finally on the beach at Kirby Cove, we saw a magnificent panorama of San Francisco spread out below the span of the Golden Gate Bridge. On this spring day we walked down the shoreline in the sand. I always point out to the ocean and tell my wife, "Way way over there is Korea."

Walking down a beach on a windy day is always a melancholy experience for me. This experience makes me feel kinship toward Koreans. I can recall several Korean movies where the broken hearted walk slowly down a lonely beach, hands behind the back and eyes looking downward or else out to sea. Their sense of sadness is heightened by surging waves and the plaintive call of sea gulls. How many Korean movies have you seen with this sad seashore interlude?

The beach was not long, maybe two-hundred meters. We saw a family at the far end of the beach where the sand turns to rock. A mother and father sat on the dry sand near the grass line with one eye on their children and another eye on the sea. A little girl was running from the waves. When a wave retreated, the girl would follow the out-going water. She would put her hands on her hips and look defiantly at the water, as if she personally caused the ocean to run away. Then as the wave returned to the sand, she would let the water cover her ankles, squeal, and turn running toward the dry sand. A boy - probably her older brother - was examining all the strange creatures that the sea washed to the beach: jellyfish, broken crab parts, kelp, and sea shells. He would poke the creatures with a stick of driftwood and look at their underside. Finally he speared a jellyfish and ran mischievously toward the little girl. The girl let out a shriek and ran to the safety of her mother's blanket. The father gently scolded the boy and made him put the pierced jellyfish back on the wet sand.

Among the piles of driftwood I saw what appeared to be a teeter-totter. It looked as if someone had moved a very long piece of wood planking (maybe from a pier deck) on top of a short thick pole (maybe from a pier support). I said to my wife: "Let's try it out". She stood cautiously at one end while I gingerly stepped on the other end. We were able to make the plank of wood teeter up and down. Of course I had to stand nearer to the center than she did. That's what you do when you are the "100 kilo man". I asked the father of the two kids to take a picture of us on the makeshift teeter-totter. Just after the picture, the wooden plank broke. I guess 100 kilos was too much for the wood to bear. As we walked back up the beach, I asked my wife, "didn't you play like this when you were a little girl"? She thought a while and said, "sometimes". I asked her again, "what's the Korean word for that game that I see in all the Korean folk pictures? You know, the game with the girls jumping up and down on the teeter-totter." She said "Nul-tee-gi". So I said to her, "See, when you and I began our walk down the beach, I bet you never thought it would end in a game of nul-tee-gi."

Study Very Hard     return to top

One of the first phrases I learned in Korea was "mani, mani, kombuheyo". (Study very hard). This phrase was spoken sometimes as a question (?) but mostly shouted as an imperative (!). Koreans seem to be obsessed with study. I have known this since my first step onto Korean soil. My Korean language instructors made us poor American students recite Korean sentences again and again. Most of the time I didn't understand a word that I was saying, but I parroted the words over and over again. When I began teaching English in Che Cheon, every Korean wanted to study English. Along with my required middle school classes, I taught in an English club for students, I taught local teachers, and I taught local factory workers all at the same time. Even my landlady wanted me to give her private English lessons. All this attention turned out OK for me, because I met my wonderful wife by being her English teacher first.

When my son was born is was time to study again. All the time my wife would say to Zachary "mani, mani, kombuheyo". As he was growing up she would whisper in his ear, "Harvard, Princeton, Yale Harvard, Princeton, Yale". And so Zachary was disappointed when he only got his third pick of colleges, crummy old Stanford. However, that turned out OK too. We had our son in our life for another 4 years. We are fortunate that Stanford is only one hour's drive from our house.

I am now getting a close up view of how hard Korean students study. For a year I have been taking graduate classes at the Golden Gate Baptist Theological Seminary. Believe it or not, about one-quarter of our student body is Korean. On the first day of a new class, each of the students introduces himself or herself. I am always impressed to hear from Korean students. I can hear them struggle with the English language and I appreciate how difficult these classes are for them. Hey, they are difficult for me and I was born speaking English. I know these seminary professors. They don't bend grading rules for anyone. I know how hard I have to study. I am doubly impressed at how hard newly arrived Koreans must study just to get a passing grade in a class. (If any GGBTS seminarians are reading this "Way to go! I am impressed")

I am also preparing to go on a mission trip to Rwanda in Africa. Just like in 1972, I have a Korean instructor trying to teach me a foreign language. This time the language is Rwandan and not Korean. I find myself repeating long sentences of words without understanding what I am saying. This is pure Korean pedagogy. From my own investigation, this method of studying has been going on for a long time in Korea. Here is an excerpt from Carpenter's Geographical Reader of Asia by Frank G. Carpenter. This is what his American eyes observed in 1890:

"His students squat about on straw mats studying their lessons out loud. They sway themselves back and forth as they sing out again and again the words they are trying to learn, all shouting at once. If one stops, the teacher thinks he is not studying, and calls him up for a whipping."

These words could describe my group of missionaries trying to learn Rwandan. After 111 years, some Korean methods never change.

A look ahead at Life and a look behind to Korea     return to top

On Friday mornings at 6:30 I meet with a group of 15 men at the Presbyterian Church. Most of these men are retired and range in age from 60 to 85. At age 51, I am the youngest. I enjoy their company and respect their wisdom. I once read a book that advised men to include three relationships in our life. As men, we should have a relationship with a younger man in order to give advice and counsel - to be a mentor. We should also have a relationship with a peer, someone of the same age. This best friend might be a person with whom we can share life's pleasures and pains. Finally, we should develop a relationship with a older man, someone who is ahead of us in the pilgrimage of life and someone to whom we can turn for counsel. I look forward to Friday mornings because I can glimpse the future of my own life. I can look ahead.

Some of our weekly conversation is personal. There is a lot of talk about prostate cancer, divorced children, visiting grandchildren, and moving into retirement homes. Some of our talk is about lifetime experience. Over the past several years, I have learned that three of my Friday morning regulars have spent time in Korea.

Lloyd was actually born in Korea. His parents were missionaries when he was born near TaeGu in 1925. Lloyd spent the first 10 years of his life in Korea until his American parents were forced out by the Japanese. He doesn't speak any Korean and memories of his time in Korea are dim. I joke with Lloyd a lot. Sometimes he mentions that I have a Korean wife and then I reply, "Well, Lloyd, you're Korean too!" Lloyd smiles. He has only a few physical reminders of his days in Korea. His parents left to him a handful of photographs and an old jewelry box given by a town official upon their hasty departure. Lloyd has never been back to Korea.

Carl was commissioned into the U.S. Navy in 1951. He spent a year on navy ships in the Pacific. He talks about a short duty in Pusan and the terrible suffering of the Korean people. Carl spent several months on a battleship, then later helped shuttle army troops between Korea, Japan, and America. Although he never saw combat himself, he witnessed the effects of war upon both soldiers and civilians. Carl has never returned to Korea.

Hal graduated from UCLA as an engineer. He was hired by Bechtel Corporation is 1953. His first job was in Korea. Hal tells me that Bechtel received a contract from the U.S. government to build 10 coal-fired power plants in South Korea. He explains that upon his arrival, Korea was devastated. The first and greatest need in the South was for power. "Before roads, before factories, there has to be power" he comments. Hal tells me that most of the power lines in the South ran from North Korea where there was abundant hydropower. After the war, the South was left with nothing. Hal complained about how hard the coal was in Korea. "The anthracite chewed up all our steel machinery" he laments. I tell Hal, "The coal in Korea is just as hardy as its people." Hal visited Korea in the 1980s. Eight of his ten power plants were obsolete and were shut down. He was amazed at the transformation of the nation. I thanked Hal for making the transformation possible. I thank Lloyd and Carl too. Without ordinary men like Lloyd, Carl, and Hal, where would you be today?

Travels among the Koreans     return to top

I have just returned from a missionary journey with a group of 84 people. Eighty three of us missionaries were of Korean heritage. My only relationship to Korea is through my Korean wife. The core organizers of our mission were Korean-Americans from California. These leaders were comfortable with both the Korean and English language. Our mission also included several second generation Korean -Americans who spoke only English. To our numbers were also added 25 Korean students studying in London as well as several Koreans who traveled to Africa directly from Seoul. All eighty-four of us held a common purpose: to proclaim the gospel in Rwanda. Although our intention was to maintain group unity, we found ourselves un-intentionally breaking into three sub-groups: Korean-only speakers, English-only speakers, and bi-lingual Korean-Americans.

I was disappointed with this sub-grouping, but upon reflection not surprised. Neither was I surprised that Koreans fluent in both English and Korean were the most effective throughout our entire mission event. The reason for this becomes apparent when one considers both the organizing portion and the delivery portion of the mission. Our organizing and planning took place in Korean churches in California. Quite naturally, the language of meetings, songs and prayers was Korean. Korean-only speakers could fully participate, as could bi-lingual speakers. During this planning, organizing and preparation of this mission, English-only speakers were left out. English was spoken occasionally but only to summarize things to stray English speakers. Our delivery portion was in Rwanda. Many Rwandans speak English as a second language. Our Rwandan interpreters spoke the local Kenyrwandan as well as English. We never met a single person who was fluent in both the Korean and Kenyrwandan language. (I don't think that such a person exists). Korean-only speakers were left out of the delivery portion of our mission. In communicating to Rwandans, English is essential and Korean is useless. A missionary with only Korean language skills would be spiritually frustrated in Rwanda. Bilingual and English speakers were effective on the ground in Rwanda, sharing the gospel with Rwandans.

My Korean speaking skills are minimal. I was not much involved in the planning and organizing of our mission. However, on the ground in Rwanda I was very effective (much to my own surprise and others). I was able to preach and lead seminars in English and to receive a blessing.

I must also note the culture shock for those of us who are English-only speakers on this mission. This culture shock came not so much from the Africans - we were expecting that--, but from our fellow Korean-speaking missionaries. That was true culture shock, but that is another story.

Hot Pepper Sauce in a Tube     return to top

A few months ago I spoke in our Baptist church about my upcoming mission trip to Africa. I was searching for ways to describe our Korean-American mission trip to this group of non-Korean Americans. This church has sent out dozens of missionaries. As a matter of fact, the International Mission Board (IMB) of the Southern Baptist Convention sends out more missionaries than any group in the World. I likened the IMB to the "Safeway" chain of food stores. Like Safeway, the IMB is large; they employ thousands of people and they have a vast bureaucracy to keep money and merchandise flowing. Also like Safeway, the IMB is averse to placing its resources in "bad neighborhoods". Then I likened our group from Christian Life to a humble Korean grocery store located in South Central Los Angeles. We are small, we are independent, we are a bit unorganized, but we are able to set up shop in very rough international neighborhoods like Rwanda. Perhaps we step in where angels fear to tread.

As I traveled with this group of Korean-Americans, I noticed that they were more like a Korean grocery store than I had imagined. My wife and I brought along with us suitcases full of school supplies, but some of my fellow travelers brought along suitcases full of Korean groceries. There was always an abundance of raman noodles, seaweed soup, and dried octopus, but especially hot pepper sauce. We ate our first meal in Uganda at a remote village church. The local people prepared a meal of African food: fried bananas, casaba, potatoes and chicken. About half way though the meal, suddenly there appeared a large tub of hot pepper sauce. All the Koreans clapped their hands in delight. As they spooned the hot, red sauce, on the potatoes, I thought "Did they come to Uganda, in order to eat like Koreans?"

But the story of the hot pepper sauce doesn't end there. A group of about ten people spent three days ministering is a UN refugee camp. We would speak in the morning, then go to lunch, then speak again in the afternoon. We ate our lunch in the "camp restaurant". To get to this restaurant we walked through throngs of kids. Then we crossed over a sewerage trench upon wooden planks. The restaurant was a cluster of small rooms surrounded by barbed wire. The walls were built of sticks and mud. The roof was made of UN issued blue plastic tarp. There was a small window that provided just enough light to see across the wooden table. We drank warm soft drinks which they called "fanta". We ate the beans and rice that the UN provided the camp. As we were sitting, my fellow missionary lady opened her small backpack and pulled out a tube of something. I thought she was going to brush her teeth. But this was not a tube of toothpaste, this was a tube of hot pepper sauce. Again, all the Koreans clapped in delight as she passed around this important object of Korean culture. I was told that a true Korean person cannot eat rice without this sauce.

Of course I wasn't surprised during my flight home to California. I was busy eating my airplane food. I looked across the aisle at my Korean companions. There was the ubiquitous tube of hot pepper sauce not almost squeezed to emptiness. Question: how can you tell when a Korean mission trip is ended? Answer: when the hot pepper sauce is all gone.

Generous Giving    return to top

I have been involved in several discussions about "generosity" and about how American generosity compares to Korean generosity. These discussions seem to arise during birthdays, weddings, and visits. My sons have both American relatives (father's side) and Korean relatives (mother's side), and I can tell you that in the realm of family generosity, Koreans are far more generous than Americans. In this "family generosity" Koreans excel, but let me talk about another kind of generosity.

As I see it, there is a second way that a generous person can give, and that a needy person can receive. This second way happens when someone donates money to a stranger through a church, a charity, and even through a corporation. I believe that Americans excel in this second way of generosity. I have two stories to tell.

While in the Peace Corps, I was recruited to sell Easter Seals. We were not only to sell stamps, but also to sell a new idea of "giving money to charities". Profits from the sale of these Korean Easter seals went to fight TB in Korea. I stood outside a Post Office in Seoul with Easter seals in my hand. People were amused to see Americans selling things, but they were puzzled by what we were selling. The idea of giving money freely to assist strangers was more foreign to these Koreans than the foreigners selling the Easter seals. I did sell a few stamps, but mostly to people who wanted to practice their English on a native speaker.

I also think about American generosity when I remember my flight back to the United States. In order to save money, my new bride and I agreed to accompany babies back to America. On this flight for the Holt Adoption Agency, I was in charge of three baby boys and my wife looked after three baby girls. I held one of the babies in my hands and personally handed him off to a n excited couple at Kennedy airport in New York City. That baby would be about 30 years old now. If Koreans are a more generous people than Americans, then why were Korean babies moving from Korea to America? I think that the answer lies in the status of these newborns. They had no family in Korea that would claim them. Although Koreans are exceedingly generous with members of their own family, they were indifferent to the plight of strangers. This is changing, I think, but this kind of generosity toward strangers has long been a part of the American character.

I believe that as human beings we have a responsibility to look after our own family and our own friends. However, our responsibility does not end there. I also think that we must look after strangers, especially strangers in need. This is why I feel privileged to have one foot in the Korean world and one foot in the American world. I can learn from the special generosity that Korean people extend toward their families. I can encourage Koreans to capture the generous spirit that American people extend toward strangers.

The Other Side of the News    return to top

How can I begin to express my feelings over the events that happened last week? Words cannot capture the full spectrum of emotion and thought. I woke up as usual about 7 o'clock on Tuesday morning. I was still sleepy when I turned on the kitchen radio. I heard something about airliners smashing into the world trade center in New York City. At first I thought that it might be a joke of some sort, or maybe advertising for a new disaster movie. When I realized that it was for real, I felt a desire to go back to bed. If I woke up a second time, perhaps this Tuesday morning would begin differently. I continued to listen to the news. After a few moments, my wife joined me in the kitchen and I broke the news to her . She responded with "What! Are you sure?". Then we listened to the news together. I was a hour late for work and when I arrived my co-worker was sitting at her computer terminal but her attention was directed to a small TV. Tears were in her eyes. We watched TV and talked for a while. It did not seem to be a day for working, so I went back home.

Over next few days, I felt numb and sick. I can remember feeling the same way just after my mother died. Last week's trauma was different because most people I met shared this same numbing sickness. The four people in my family reacted differently to this crisis. Since last Wednesday morning, I have flown the American flag from my 2nd floor balcony. I turn on the news but only for a few minutes. I know that the constant news of suffering would cause nothing but suffering in me. My serious-minded older son has been in daily prayer with his religious brothers at a Dominican priory. My happy-go-lucky younger son volunteered for the first time to give blood. This from a young man who has been fearful of needles his whole life. My Korean-born wife watched television, read the newspaper and listened to a sermon in church. She tells me that for the first time in 27 years she feels more like an American than like a Korean. These are strange times indeed.

On Thursday, I received e-mails from my two college friends in Rwanda. Each of them expressed sorrow and offered sympathy for the terrible events that took place in my country. This is also strange to me. It was just in July that I traveled across the world to preach reconciliation and peace to this African country torn apart by war and massive death. How could I have guessed that my two Rwandan friends would me preaching to me about peace and reconciliation in America?

I have read the newspaper for many years. I have always been amused but troubled by the way Americans report on disasters: "During this flood in the Philippines, 100 people died, including 3 Americans" or "This airplane went down in Egypt killing all aboard, including one American". What? Are American lives more precious than foreign lives? Are Americans so important they must be reported separately? While I was focused on my American newspaper, my wife was reading the news in Korean. She interrupted my reading to tell me that out of the thousands killed in New York City maybe forty were Korean. American newspapers are no different than newspapers in Korea. They all focus on fatalities of their own national people. This time we Americans are on the other side of the news. And the news in America is very very grim indeed. To quote Thomas Paine, "These are times that try men's souls".

Last one on the Boat    return to top

Not far from our home is a ferry boat that transports commuters between Sausalito and downtown San Francisco. One of my favorite activities for visitors new to the Bay Area is to ride the ferry back and forth across the gorgeous San Francisco Bay. A few months ago my sister came to my home for a visit. We planned to catch the ferry boat that left Sausalito at 8:20 AM, do some sight seeing at Fisherman's Warf, and then return by ferry in the afternoon.

As usual we were running late. It was already eight o'clock when we left the house. Murphy's law was in effect: "everything that can go wrong will go wrong". Sitting in my car I remembered that the ferry tickets were still inside the house. I dashed inside and out again. Just as I returned to the car and started the car engine, my sister remembered that she left her windbreaker in the closet. And so it went. All the stop lights turned red against me, all the school buses turned in front of me, and of course all the nearby parking spaces were full. With my blood pressure increasing behind the steering wheel, I was pleading and praying at the same time. "Why do all these bad things happen to me?" and "Lord, please let the ferry linger a while past 8:20." The last stragglers were just walking up the dock onto the ferry. I left my sister and wife off. I asked them to hold the boat until I could park and run back. Mercifully I found a parking spot and began a brisk walk toward the ferry. I heard the ferry whistle toot. I saw the ticket taker glance at his watch. I saw my wife look anxiously over the side of the boat and I murmured to myself, "please, let the boat wait one more minute". The ticket taker saw me struggling toward the ferry. He gestured with his hand: "hurry, hurry". As I reached the floating footpath and stepped pass the roped-off entrance , I tried to express my thanks but I was out of breath. I thought to myself, "what a good ticket-taker. I should write the ferry company a letter of gratitude".

A moment later, I was sitting next to my sister thankful that I was the last one the boat. But why wasn't the boat moving away from the dock? I was safely on board. Now I was in a hurry to reach the city. I looked over the side and saw a woman with two kids struggling up the dock. I thought to myself, "why is waiting for them? Doesn't he know that I am in a hurry?" My opinion of the ticket taker changed. "This guy is a jerk. The ferry is supposed to leave at 8:20 and it's already 8:25. Why is he letting these people on board?" Then like a shot out of heaven, I realized how ridiculous I was and said beneath my breath, "Forgive my impatience and my unkind attitude toward others."

This incident came to mind when I was discussing immigration with my friends. After recounting this story I asked, "Why is it that immigrants from 20 years ago are now trying to prevent new immigrants from entering America?" I know that many Americans in 1914 were not happy to see my Polish grandparents pass through Ellis Island. It was a bit strange then to hear my own father complain about all "the Mexicans that are flooding into this country". There are now voices in California that say "it's time to get tough and stop all these Asian people from entering America". I think to myself, "The grandparents of these voices thought that they were the last ones on the ferry. Their children are ready to rope off the entrance. Now they must be reconciled that they are not the last ones on the boat"

So Cute that I'm going to die    return to top

In my experience Korean people have always lived at the emotional extremes. They are either very happy or very sad; their experience is either very good or very bad. There does not seem to much room for middle ground. I first ran into these emotional poles when I was planning to go to a restaurant with a friend. My friend hadn't eaten all day. As we sat down to eat, he did not say "I'm hungry" or "I'm very hungry", but "I'm so hungry I'm going to die." What I found especially amusing was that one hour later as we were leaving, my friend was not just full, but "so full I'm going to die."

I began to listen for this expression is Korean conversation. Suddenly I noticed "to die" everywhere. People were not just tired, but "tired to death". An exam was not just difficult, but "difficult to death". These uses of the word "death" made some sense to me. I suppose that someone could be so hungry that they would die, or so exhausted that they might face death. However, I could never figure out why a mother would look at her little daughter and say "She's so cute that I'm going to die". I suspect that "to die" has become an unofficial part of Korean grammar. In English we say CUTE, CUTER, CUTEST. This is the adjective form, the comparative degree and the superlative degree. I can see the same three parts in Korean grammar, but with the forth unofficial level added. In the Korean language, there is first CUTE, then CUTER, then CUTEST and finally SO CUTE I'M GOING TO DIE.

I have also learned that expressions of death and killing fill Korean conversation. I think that it is common for a mother to say to her high-school age son "If you don't get accepted to Harvard, then I will jump out the window". (I'm not sure to what extent those words motivated my own son.) I have heard a Korean say in anger, "If you do that, then I will kill you". I assure you that no murder took place. I also have a friend who was going through a messy divorce. The only thing that cheered him up was when his sister said, "I know what we can do. Let's hire a hit man." Of course, they were just words with no serious intent. Such things are in the fabric of Korean language.

In the bi-cultural setting of America, such Korean words can be taken out of context and can lead to misunderstanding. In a recent newspaper article, a grade school student told his friend "this class is so hard that I'm going to die." The teacher heard these words and the next day the student was placed under a suicide watch. He was only released when Korean adults explained to school authorities that "to die" is just a Korean expression and carries no intent. Imagine what would happen if all Korea mothers who said "She's so cute I'm going to die" were put under suicide watch. Half the mothers in Korea would be under lockup. There is a difference between interpretation and translation. Korean words are difficult for Americans to interpret, even when the words are clearly translated. I can testify to that. As I struggle with the Korean language all I can say is that "Korean is so hard that I'm going to die".

The Asian Mother Paradox    return to top

The relationship between my wife and her mother has always intrigued me. Both are strong women with strong bonds of both love and tension. After observing these two Korean women interact over the last 25 years, I have developed my own theory of their relationship. I call it the "Asian Mother/Daughter Paradox". If I had the energy, I would write an entire book about it, but this article will have to suffice. This paradox does not apply to all Asian women, but only to those who were driven to success by their mothers. (You know who you are.) My wife is a successful university professor. I have no doubt that the driving force behind her years of effort to achieve this goal was a desire to please her mother.

The Asian Mother Paradox is this "Your mother will sacrifice everything for your success, and yet your mother will never admit that you are fully successful". In other words, no amount of your success will fully satisfy her. I think that the mother's subconscious motive may be this: "if I hold back my full approval, then maybe my daughter will try even harder". The counterpoint of this relationship is the Asian Daughter Paradox which states: "You will sacrifice everything to win the approval of your mother, and yet you recognize that no matter how successful you become, you will never win her full approval." I have witnessed his dynamic between my wife and her mother. I also heard a fine example recently. Amy Tam was being interviewed on the radio. She was asked, "what made you happiest about the success of your first book?" She quickly replied, "that my mother was pleased with me". Then she added with a sigh, "but my mother urged me to get started on my next book." This perfectly illustrates the Asian Mother/Daughter Paradox: a fully successful author still strives to win the full approval of her mother. I don't want to say that this dynamic is all bad. Many successful Asian women have found success out of a desire to please their mothers. However, the tension that this paradox produces often leads to anger, miscommunication, and avoidance. I am writing these words to raise this mother/daughter tension to consciousness in order that it can be dealt with openly.

These are ten rules that I outlined for my wife to better relate with her mother.

Rule 1: Accept the Asian Mother Paradox. You are not going to change her.
Rule 2: Accept the Asian Daughter Paradox. Your psychological desire to please your mother is too deep rooted to be plucked out entirely. You must change it around the margins.
Rule 3: Your mother has been the one who defines your success. Begin to define success in your own terms.
Rule 4: Forget Western psychological junk. You and your mother will always be trapped in a Parent/Child relationship.
Rule 5: Hold your mother's image and her sacrifice in the highest esteem, but live your own life. Not measuring up to your mother's impossible expectations may have served a purpose early in life, but now it is a burden.
Rule 6: Love your mother at a distance. Keep visits and phone calls short. The joy and love exhibited upon first meeting is quickly replaced by mother's controlling behavior.
Rule 7: Recognize the thin line between love and hate. Both are extreme emotions, but then you have an extreme relationship with your mom.
Rule 8: Form is more important that substance. The trophies of success may be more important to her than to you.
Rule 9: Say "yes, yes" to your mother, but do what is best in the context of your own life. You live with consequences. She doesn't.
Rule 10: Break the mold with your own daughter or son. Adult children are their own persons. I can say with experience that having an adult-to-adult relationship with my own sons is much more satisfying than being trapped for life as controlling parent of a rebelling child.

And good luck to all you daughters of Korean mothers!

Child and Adult    return to top

The English language can be confusing at times. Take the word "child" for example. In everyday language "child" has two related but distinct meanings. If I say "children must be quiet in church", of course I am talking about young people, boys and girls who are not yet adults. If I ask you, "Do you have any children?", I am using the word in a different sense. Here I am asking you if you are the parent of any offspring. Now let's try to figure out the meaning in this English sentence "children should obey their parents." Does "Children" mean "juvenile" or "offspring"? Is the meaning any clearer in Korean? "Children should obey their parents". I think that we can detect both a language and a cultural difficulty as we ponder these words.

Probably an American would interpret this sentence to mean "juveniles should obey their parents". I bet a Korean would interpret the sentence as "offspring should obey their parents". I was thinking about these words as I was talking with my two children (offspring). They are 24 and 26 years old so that I can no longer refer to them as children (juveniles). In my eyes they are my children and yet they are adults. At this stage in my life I am learning how to treat them as both. I think that there can be no more satisfying relationship than an adult parent with an adult child. I also think that this is one of those wonderful relationships that many parents, especially Korean parents miss out on. Some Korean parents wish to always treat the child (offspring) as a child (juvenile).

To help me work through this relationship puzzle, I often think of a psychology construct that was popular a few decades ago. Psychologists proposed three relationship attitudes: the parent, the child and the adult. The parent is an authority figure, looking down to the child. Parent figures can also be teachers and bosses. The child is needy and dependent, subordinate to the parent. Child can also be students and employees. The adult figure is independent and equal to other adults. I can see that the relationship between my two sons and me has slowly migrated from parent/child to adult/adult. This has always a challenging task for me. At times I want to tell my 26-year old, "Here is the solution to your problem. Just do this and this and this". But then I bite my lip and listen some more. I try to make suggestions and not demands. My 24-year-old wants to quit college and sing hip-hop music full time. I try not react too strongly. I ask him how will make his car payments and urge him to complete his schooling first. I try to act more like a coach and less like a teacher. I think that adults can give advice, council, and support to one another, but demands, threats, bribes and blackmail are out of line. Raising children is an art, not a science. I have many things to learn about this art of child raising. In order to be both a parent and a friend, I understand that this adult/adult relationship is vital to maintain.

Despite my best efforts, sometimes I slip back into my Parent/Child mode. Whenever I do this, my sons squirm and roll their eyes. Then I think, "aha, I must be talking down to them again". Then I resume my healthier adult/adult conversation. Life is short. Enjoy your adult children as both your children and as adults.

Three gaps to cross    return to top

The more years I live on this earth, the more I realize the gap that exists between me and the young generation. My twenty-something son read me a story about John Kennedy from his history book. I wistfully babbled on about my memories of the Kennedy era. He gave me a look like "you mean that you were alive that long ago?" His history is my memory. As our conversation continued, he made a reference to a fellow named "George Clinton". Quite seriously, I said "is that one Bill's brothers?" My son looked at me in disbelief. I was told that George is not the brother of Bill, but an important figure in the history of funk music. When he mentioned the important group "Funkadelic Parlaphone", I realized the size of our generation gap. In spite of our communication gap, our experience of growing up in America has many common threads. We can both talk about favorite TV shows, favorite sports teams, and how awkward it was to pass through an American high school.

My wife has a double-gap to overcome: a culture gap as well as a generation gap. During the Kennedy years while I was enjoying a childhood of television and baseball, my wife-to-be lived in a small Korean village without electricity and hot water. Her childhood was nothing like mine own or like our son's. She tells the story of the first transistor radio in her village, about how proud her grandfather was to set the little radio on a tree stump and allow the farmers to listen to the voices. Did little people really live in there and speak, like her grandfather told her? I was reminded of this double-gap, while I was listening to church leaders talk to young Korean people about a missionary trip to Africa. The adult leader said to the youth "and this might be the greatest hardship in Africa. They don't even have flush toilets. All they have are holes in ground!" I laughed to myself. Don't these young Korean-Americans know that all Koreans pooped into holes in the ground before 1960?

There is also a triple gap. This triple gap is one that my brother in law suffers from. He not only has a generation gap like me, and a culture gap like my wife, he also has a language gap. He is about my age and was born in Korea. He sent his son to America for Grade School and came himself about ten years later. The son can speak broken Korean and the father can speak broken English. They love each other very much, but their communication is very difficult. I think that this gap is hardest of the three to overcome. Older people should not be discouraged and should learn the language of their adopted country as well as they can. Younger people should try to hang on to their Korean language and with that their Korean heritage

When I observe my two sons talking to each other, I see no gap. They are both on the same wavelength. I feel a generation gap widening between me and my sons. My wife and I don't have a generation gap, but we do have a culture gap. When my sons visit their Korean grandmother, there is the triple-gap, but that wide gap is not unbridgeable. With just a hug and a smile, the gap is gone. Love is a great gap crosser.

Three days in Infamy    return to top

I am writing this on December 7, 2001. Today is the 60th anniversary of the Japanese sneak attack on Pearl Harbor. This morning I attended my weekly meeting at the Presbyterian Church. As I was arriving, the old men were sharing how they learned about the attack exactly 60 years earlier. Stan said that he was home just after church listening to a radio preacher. The sermon was interrupted by the world-shaking news. Phil was studying for a college class. His room mate burst into his room with the news. Jim had just left Hawaii and was beginning study at a boarding school. His friend said, "did you hear that your home has been bombed?" Jim didn't believe his words until he turned on the radio. When America entered the world war, the lives of Stan, Phil, and Jim were changed forever. I don't remember the event since my birth was yet several years away, but for all who lived through December 7th, the attack is a marker event in their lives.

Almost 22 years after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, I was in Middle School. On November 27th, I was between classes -- in line at a water fountain. A boy named Arthur told me that the president had been shot. When I returned to classroom after my drink, the teacher looked real sad. She told us to sit still in our seats. In a few minutes the principle spoke over the loud speaker system. After telling us about the shooting in Dallas, he sent us all home. At the age of 12, I knew enough to be sad, yet I was still happy to get out of school. However, when I got home I was sad again. All my favorite TV shows were off the air for special coverage of the assassination. I have repeated my personal memory of John Kennedy's death whenever conversation leads into that direction. This is a marker event in my life.

Almost 38 years after Kennedy's assassination, four jet airlines are high jacked and crash into infamy. Upon listening to this tragic news, I immediately remember Pearl Harbor and the death of John Kennedy. This is another marker event.

I once talked to an old Korean man about the marker events in his life. After mentioning the death of his mother, then his father, he mentioned two things. One event was the defeat of the Japanese in 1945. He tells me that one day, they were there and the next day they were all gone. He couldn't believe it. The second event was the invasion by North Korea in 1950. This man had never planned to be a soldier, yet he spent nearly 3 years fighting communists. He tells me that he did not even know about the bombing of Pearl Harbor, and, although the death of President Kennedy was big news in Korea, it did not effect him very much.

Why is it that we mark our lives with remembrance of tragic news? September 11 is to my children' generation what November 27th was to my generation and what December 7th was to my parent's generation. My parents told me what they were doing when they learned the news of Pearl Harbor. I told my own children about what I was doing when I learned about the killing of John Kennedy. Will my children tell their kids what they were doing when terror struck the USA?

Korean Christmas Gifts    return to top

It's that time of year again when we receive our barrage of Korean Christmas gifts. Every time my wife or I come back from a Korean party in December, we return with one of four things: a calendar, a book, a coffee mug, or a compact disc. These are useful items but we receive way too many of them. Recently we have noticed a new trend: all these gifts have become personalized and double as subtle advertising for the gift giver. Korean people are so sneaky about this.

So far this year we received about 10 calendars: art calendars, scroll cloth calendars, magnetic refrigerator calendars, church calendars, flower shop calendars, and laminated calendars. We usually display the three best calendars and then "re-gift" the remainder to our non-Korean friends. My relatives are not so bombarded with friendly calendars and they can't read the Korean advertising anyway. Every year we look forward to our allotment of Korea Times calendars. These make great re-gifts.

My wife also receives lots of books for Christmas. Some of these are good reading, but nowadays they tend to be self-published novels, memoirs and poems. Sometimes she thumbs through the books, but often these gather dust until they find their way into our dumpster. Books are very personal things. Please give a gift book only when you are confident of the tastes of the reader. The good news is that any Korean nowadays can publish their own book. The bad news is that too many of these self-published books find their way into our house.

Coffee mugs make great gifts. Of course, these gifts are often personalized with the logo of the giver. If you looked into our cupboard, you'd see gift cups going back 5 Christmases. We also place logo coffee mugs throughout our house to serve as pencil holders. When finally our house overflows with coffee mugs, we donate the older ones to Salvation Army. My wife also throw out a cup on occasion. Is there really a Korean rule that says a chipped cup brings bad luck?

This Christmas also turns out to be the year of the compact disc. I received a gift CD of jazz favorites. Because I opened the wrapper carefully, I was able to re-wrap the gift and pass it along to my son. I hope he appreciates it. My wife received a Janis Joplin CD from one of her college students. Apparently this student is a big fan of Janis and assumes that every else shares her devotion. (Would anyone reading this like a free CD of Janis Joplin music?). Yesterday, my wife came back from a Christmas party with a personal CD of music. I put the disc on the player and we both winced with laughter. The sound was terrible: reading poems to classical music, singing out of tune to pop favorites. These were performances that only a mother could love. Even the overbearing karaoke could not save the singing. My wife and I have decided to record our own CD for Christmas 2002. It could not be worse than the one we heard. We already have a title selected. We will call it "two stuck pigs singing".