The Family That We Keep

We don’t get choose what family we are born into, we start our lives according to an enigmatic predestination that many attribute to God. This harsh reality for many is one that often makes winners and losers in the socioeconomic ladder before we even realize the glass ceiling above or below us.

The few that transcend the dichotomy that is birthplace or birthright are the ones that refuse to allow fate to determine their destiny. They are the individuals who have become dissatisfied with the status quo and unimpressed with the hands that they are dealt.

My best friend is one such person whose struggles were predetermined. I admired him ever since he told me his story about growing up on his own as a young teenager. Throughout the turmoil and obstacles, he overcame his situation and went on to graduate college and now is a successful businessman with a beautiful house, wife and newborn baby.

The first time I saw a picture of his son, my heart melted. It was a feeling that I couldn’t express with words as I kept going back to look at his picture again and again. I fell in love with him immediately as if he were family. Sure, I know legally “uncle,” is not a title that is recognized under the law and nor would anyone confuse us as relatives. Still, in my heart I have as much love for my best friend’s son as I have for my own nieces and nephews. The peculiar thing about it all is that I haven’t even met him yet.

I didn’t choose what family was going to adopt me. Like most things, I just lucked out as I look back at what I consider the biggest "break" of my life. To me, family cannot be defined by blood lines, legal documents or physical resemblance. It is based on the quality of relationships and the loyalty to those around us.

As a young adult, I have chosen those family members that I wish to be surrounded by and whom I reciprocate my love for. Not surprisingly, not all of them are in my family tree. Family is not a term that I use loosely. Considering someone a family member means that I embrace them and that they have embraced me back. Even though it appears harsh to disown a relative, I cannot in good conscience accept everyone with my last name as family. To do so is ingenious and an undermining of my definition of what family truly is.

My best friend is my brother. I don’t need to see it in writing to believe this truth. He has been there for the ups the downs and everything in between. His son begins the first chapter in his life on good footing because of the sacrifices of his father and it is because of the relationship that I have with his father, that I consider him family as well. One day I hope to tell him a little about his father’s past and the admiration that I have for him, so that he can be as thankful for having a father as I am for having a brother. All together family is about those who have your back when everyone else has turned theirs. It’s about loyalty, love and mutual respect. I can’t say for certain if my own family will expand, all I know is that the family that I have now is the family that I keep.

Our Black History

I don’t know the exact time that I first saw the image of two black men with clenched fists upon a podium, but I absolutely remember the way it made me feel. Without knowing the circumstances, I knew precisely what their protest was about and why they used that platform as a mechanism to make their statement.

It wasn’t until later that I did some research and learned more about the 1968 Mexico City Olympics and the Olympians John Carlos and Tommie Smith. Few photographs are as meaningful and powerful as that of those two men at that moment. Few photographs evoke the emotions of discontent and freedom of expression and those that do are not nearly as memorable. The display was both justified and uncomfortable as they tip toed the line of what it means to be patriotic. And despite all of the controversy that followed to include protests and the stripping of their medals that single act taught me more of what it means to be American than anything else that I can recall.

February marks the seldom celebrated, black history month. Although Americans recognize it as such, I would argue few really know why we can continually learn from the African-American experience. Today in schools, students are taught the civil rights movement capped off with Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream speech,” as if that marked the end of the struggle. A minority of us truly know what being oppressed means and why the struggle for acceptance is a fight that continues.

I am a believer in “the dream,” not because I am American and not because I am Asian but because I am both. I believe we can live in a country that is tolerant enough to accept our distinct backgrounds and the unique history that we share. No notion embodies more of the core American principles of freedom and the desires of our ancestors than the vision that Dr. King embraced. The fact that it is called “black history month,” does not diminish the overarching theme that I believe it represents. Just because we celebrate the contributions of black Americans does not mean that I don’t have stake in it. Ask me how many times that I have been unfairly judged scrutinized or called names simply because of what I look like and then tell me if you think I can relate.

What is most exceptional about this month is not that it is the shortest of the year and ironically features President’s Day (the celebration of our founding fathers), but that it honors a specific group of individuals who have risen from slavery to the oval office of the White House. Along with these people, I would argue that Hispanics, Asians, women and other minorities be considered as well.

This month honors those historical figures that have persevered and sacrificed in order to keep a heritage intact, and yet it also should celebrate those among us who take the fight forward and advance the cause of equality. Those people are not just people like our President but reach farther. In order for us to expand this month and give it more meaning and more resemblance of the truly diverse heritage that we hold as Americans, we ought to embrace a wider range of people. For every Jackie Robinson there is a Roberto Clemente for every Rosa Parks there is a Sally Ride and for every Barack Obama there is a Daniel Inouye.

It is this last man that I believe best summarizes the point that I wish to make. Read Daniel Inouye’s biography and perhaps you too will see parallels and the black history that is within all of us: http://inouye.senate.gov/bio.html

Dreams From My Mother

I try to imagine how scared that young mother must have been as she walked up to that orphanage in Seoul, South Korea more than two decades ago. I think about the social pressures, mental reservations, spiritual battles and personal conversations she must have had to endure. It’s beyond my comprehension as to how much courage, morality and vision it took before she bravely let go of all responsibility of her child. Ironically, even though she walked away in a sense it was probably the most responsible thing she could have done.

A lesser woman would have probably opted for a completely different path altogether but instead, this young mother left her baby at the doorsteps of strangers without the slightest notion of reward or compensation. She most likely left with the hope that this boy would grow up in a world more privileged and better suitable for the ambitions that she knew she could not provide. Just where did her strength and fortitude come from? I hope one day to find out.

Until recently when I heard Barack Obama’s “Dreams From My Father,” on CD, I hadn’t given much thought to my Korean background. I often shunned it and poked fun of how separated I was both geographically and culturally. For most of my life I had thought less about my ethnic heritage and more about the family that I inherited through my parents. Too many times I have failed to see a connection aside from physical traits that would have tied me back to the place where I was born. After all, what could such a place teach me anyways?

Obama’s story gave me a deep appreciation of my background. His story taught me that one can come from many different backgrounds and still have stake in each of those places that have shaped him or her. His lessons on race and inheritance brought me to believe that there is another side of my story out there that I ought not to avoid, but embrace openly.

Obama took off to Kenya shortly after his father’s death and before he enrolled into Harvard Law School. To him, there was something incomplete in his life. He knew that he could not continue to grow and move on without knowing his entire family story. He chose to go on a fact finding mission to find out just how everything came to be. He eventually came across the answers to some of his most pressing questions and came to appreciate the origins that he had never known. It was through this trip that he was able to find the deeper meaning to his heritage that went beyond simply the color of his skin.

I don’t know if I will ever have a similar experience by meeting the lady who gave me away. Right now that seems like such a large request. And so rather than thinking such grand ideas, I put things into manageable terms that seem more within reach. I’ll often ask myself how old she might be today or if she had other children. I picture her in my mind, although her face doesn’t come to my imagination and I wonder if she ever thinks about the choices that she made and in particular if she ever thinks about where I ended up and what had become of me. I know it’s vain of me to think that my life is at the forefront of those who brought me up in this world. If she thinks of me even a quarter as much as I’ve been thinking of her lately, then I know I owe it to her to find out just where I came from.

I could very well be moving to Korea next year as I put it on my list of assignments. I don’t know if I’ll ever end up walking up to her door and meeting distant relatives. I’m not even sure what I’d say to her if I did get that chance. I might have to settle for the small gains of trying the authentic food or learning about the history of Korea. Heck, I’ll start off by learning the language!

To say that I owe my birth mother a debt of gratitude is an understatement. In fact, I can no more disown her than I could my real mother. For both sacrificed enormously so that I could be where I am and who I am today and that is the beauty of mothers. For the good, responsible and kind hearted moms think about their children before themselves. I have two great examples of them in my life. If there was ever a person(s) that I owed more in this world aside from God, it would surely be them.

I often wonder what most people think when they see me for the first time. A Korean kid with an Irish last name who speaks with a slight New England accent. I know in many parts of the world, that doesn't even make much sense. Whatever it is that people think about when they first encounter me, I hope it is both a combination of the characteristics that I inherited from both sides of my past that are known and unknown to me. I hope I can continue to carry on my family name with pride and conviction while still respecting and representing the Korean ancestry that consumes me. I can no longer pretend to ignore my much distant past, it is time that I own up to what I am. Hopefully, others will not judge me or stove pipe me into a category based solely on what I look like or how I speak. Rather, we must all work to find that rich history that is within each and every one of us. Once that is revealed, we will begin to live with much more meaning and perspective.

I think we can all appreciate the type of person it must take to give their children up for adoption. There’s not a better example of “doing the right thing,” than that act. If we could all make such brave choices, then there’s no doubt that this world would embody that place that these mother's must have dreamed for their children.

Forty Years

A lot has been been said about marriage; its virtues, relevance and sacredness. Through my parents I have learned that marriage is not the easiest bond to endure and along with the commitment comes disagreements or in my parent's case arguing and more arguing. And while there are millions of marriages that do not stand up to the vows that they were founded on, to my parents credit theirs is one that has been going on now, forty years strong. For everything that they are not...they are in fact still together and I am so proud of them for everything that they have accomplished. This video is of their trip to see me in Hawaii before Christmas and is a testament for all of those who believe in the ever lasting power of love.