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.

Know Thyself

I first heard this story during my freshman orientation in college. I often think about its meaning whenever I take a step back and look at the direction that my life is headed. While I'll readily admit that I have the mindset today more compatible with the tourist vice the fisherman, I hope that whatever adventure I embark on, I will end up knowing myself as well as the fisherman in this story...

MBA and the fisherman

A boat docked in a tiny Mexican village. An American tourist complimented the Mexican fisherman on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took him to catch them.

"Not very long," answered the Mexican.

"But then, why didn't you stay out longer and catch more?" asked the American.

The Mexican fisherman explained that his small catch was sufficient to meet his needs and those of his family.

The American asked, "But what do you do with the rest of your time?"

"I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, and take a siesta with my wife. In the evenings, I go into the village to see my friends, have a few drinks, play the guitar, and sing a few songs...I have a full life."

The American interrupted, "I have an MBA from Harvard and I can help you! You should start by fishing longer every day. You can then sell the extra fish you catch. With the extra revenue, you can buy a bigger boat. With the extra money the larger boat will bring, you can buy a second one and a third one and so on until you have an entire fleet of trawlers. Instead of selling your fish to a middle man, you can negotiate directly with the processing plants and maybe even open your own plant. You can then leave this little village and move to Mexico City, Los Angeles, or even New York City. From there you can direct your huge enterprise."

"How long would that take?" asked the Mexican.

"Twenty, perhaps twenty-five years," replied the American.

"And after that?" "Afterwards?

That's when it gets really interesting," answered the American, laughing. "When your business gets really big, you can start selling stocks and make millions!" "Millions? Really? And after that?" "After that, you'll be able to retire, live in a tiny village near the coast, sleep late, play with your children, catch a few fish, take a siesta with your wife, and spend your evenings having a few drinks and enjoy your friends."

Coming of Age

Three and a half years ago I saw her in that drive way tucked unassumingly in the shade underneath a sprawling maple tree. The first time I drove past I just took a glance as I inched slowly to inspect her. It was love at first sight and I knew I would be back. The second time I stopped and took her for a test drive. I knew just then I would return for a third and final time when I could drive away with the previous owners in my rear view mirror. The third time I did just that and not myself or my car had any idea of the adventure that we were to embark on.

I had looked for a car every weekend that summer. My father and I went to practically every dealership in the greater Lakes Region, before I finally made my choice. I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking for, although I knew that whatever car I bought, it had to match my ambition if nothing else.

The day I bought my used, black Audi A4 was a proud day for me. I handed over a $16,000 check to a man that I knew nothing about, other than that I wanted his car and that his records seemed meticulous enough to deem him trustworthy. It was a big commitment for me as big as anything I had signed my name for. I had never owned anything worth so much before. My previous car was a 1991 Saab Hatchback which while reliable had over 200,000 miles and was falling a part. I knew that whatever car that I bought I had to bring it with me to Texas across country and I couldn’t take the chance of it breaking down like the time I was stuck in the middle of a 4 lane tunnel on I-93 in Boston my senior year.

My Audi became an extension of me. I convinced myself that it was my reward for all of the work that I had put into getting my degree and commission and in a sense owning it made me feel as if I had made it in some small way. As I drove her off the lot that first time, my hands trembled as I felt the power of that mighty engine. For the rest of that summer I parked her far away from others when I made trips to the store, and inspected for scratches every time that I reentered. I took every precaution that I could. Before the rising gas prices I only put Supreme in. While in Texas she was professionally washed and detailed once a month, no questions asked. As the years past, so too did my treatment of her.

Almost four years later, I look back at the places my car and I have been. She has traveled across country and back again. Once adorned with the “Live Free or Die,” slogan, she now represents the “Aloha State.” While I still take her in every 3,000 miles to get an oil change or see to it that she is being serviced whenever something doesn’t seem right, I am no where near as scrupulous on car washes or interior detailing. Like me she has gotten older. Her paint no longer glimmers as brightly when the sun hits her. The scratches on the bumper are a result of my carelessness and the spilled liquid on the carpet happened without my knowledge. Since 2005, I have doubled the amount of miles on her from 35,000 to 70,000. The mechanics tell me that when I hit 100,000 we’ll have to replace the timing belt. I often wonder how many more years we’ll be together.

As the owner I almost feel guilty about the 52 mile commute that I put her through to get to work or that I bring her to Midas now instead of the Audi dealership to cut down on cost. It’s just that as the years have past and my car has gotten older so too have I. Together we have aged and each time I am about to open her door I have questions like; How many more miles do I have left on those tires, should I put more air in them? In a way, my car has made me think about my own life and how I too am growing older and am not the naïve teenager who once thought more about appearances than substance.

For me, growing older isn’t that drastic of a change. It might mean that I need a little more sleep if I want to stay out later or that I must stretch longer before working out. Most of all, it has given me an appreciation for everything in life that I never thought about before. Each experience that I have, I owe it to maturity. Aging does not upset me, rather it gives me the perspective that Earl Warren once had when he remarked, “never regret getting older, it is a privilege denied to so many.”

My car represents more than the lifestyle that I once wanted to portray to others who saw me driving around town. Now, it is a reminder of who I was back then; the optimistic college graduate who felt he knew everything. And now, heading into 2009 it takes on a different meaning. It’s no longer the flashy car that my friends once envied, as the newer models have out shined it. It is now just an ordinary car that has many miles and has been many places. As much as I would like a newer model, I wouldn’t trade the places I have been with her for anything.
This summer, I will embark on a new adventure as the Air Force is set to move me to another destination. I don’t know where I will be yet nor what I will see, but I know that wherever I go, my car will be ready to take me there.