The Never-Aging Guy

   Effective 1 September 2013, my husband finally reached the point where he outranked me.  No, not talking about being "the boss" of the house or anything (because we all know he lets me do that job), but I mean that literally, Andy now outranks me.  He got promoted to Major in the United States Army, a rank I never saw before I left active duty.

   Since our time together at West Point, Andy and I have always taken each "step up" at the same time.    From Day 1 when we were plebes, we had our promotion to "Cadet Private First Class" on the same day even though we didn't really know each other.  Then every promotion after that was together - including the one that made us commissioned officers on graduation day, as was the one in Iraq followed by the one in Germany.  

   Then just recently, Andy was all grown up and finally became a field grade officer and pinned all by himself.  The funny thing though - that is clearly evident in these pictures - is that he hadn't aged a day since his first day at West Point.

   Take a look and tell me this guy just will never get old.

Exhibit A) Andy as a brand new Plebe.  Year 2000.

Exhibit B) Andy as a brand new Yuk.  Year 2001.

Exhibit C) Andy as a brand new Cow.  Year 2002.  Terrible haircut, but still the same face.

Exhibit D) Andy as a brand new Firstie.  Year 2003.  *Note, glasses have been ditched, but still looks the same.

Exhibit E) Andy's next promotion during Firstie Year, second semester to Regimental Staff.  Year 2004.

Exhibit F) Andy as a brand new 2LT. (Hat head from the Dress Cap, but still looks the same.)  Year 2004.

Exhibit G) Andy as a new Medical Service Corps Officer.  Another short haircut.  Year 2005.

Exhibit H) Andy as a new 1LT.  Year 2005.

Exhibit I) For some reason I didn't have pictures of our promotion to Captain.  But here's one of us shortly after at his change of command ceremony when he became Company Commander.  Year 2007. (Kaylee apparently skipped all previous ranks and went right to 1LT)

Exhibit J) Andy as a brand new Major.  2013.

Exhibit K) 3 days ago.  2013.

Side by side, then and now.  

New Cadet Chung, Summer 2000 

Major Chung, Summer 2013

Except for the slightest bit of wrinkle forming near the corner of his eyes and the occasional request to pluck out some of his white hairs, this guy most definitely has youth on his side.  Though I am extremely jealous that he still gets carded every time we go out for drinks (or even at Rated R movies!), I'm fairly certain it's his spirit that keeps him so young.  And that is one thing I would never want to change about him.  Proud of this guy.

ABC's = Ga-Na-Da?

   I remember as a kid, some of my Korean friends from junior high were forced to take violin, piano, and go to "Kuman" (math enrichment courses) after school.  I prided myself on the fact that yes, while I took piano and violin, I did that by choice (or did I?) and that I had a genius big brother to do my math homework for me.  I certainly did some "Asian-y" things, like go to weekend orchestra practice and summer music camp, but I was far from the typical Asian-American kid growing up in the 90's.  I never hung in huddles of other Asians in my school, didn't dress nearly as well as some of the Asian girls at my school, and I certainly didn't speak exclusively (or at all) in Korean as some of the others did.  I wore Chuck Taylors, baseball hats, and unnecessarily large sweatshirts everyday, unconsciously avoiding the large Asian crowd and sticking with the few acquaintances I met through orchestra.  Some of the Korean kids that I did hang out with were busy on Saturdays attending Korean school, and I remember thinking how lucky I was to have dodged that bullet because I would much rather be cooler by participating in the discus at my track and field meet.  While I didn't speak much, I felt like I understood a whole lot more of the language than I led on, and for me that was always enough.

   Until now, that is.  Me not knowing the language was OK for me until the day my then-3 year old daughter approached me to tell me she knew Chinese.  And when I corrected her to tell her that we were, in fact Korean, she responded with, "What's that?"

   It was still OK for me then, justifying that I still had some time until I realized that my kids would have a stunted relationship with their grandparents simply because of the language barrier.  One of my biggest regrets in life was that I never got to sit down and just have a chat with my grandmother before she passed away.  This was the same grandmother that raised me, the one who taught me Korean before I knew any other language, the one that I promised I would visit after I graduated West Point.  Every month or so, I would call her and just say Hi, simply because that was all I knew how to say, but I was desperate to see her in person because surely she would know that I cared for her by my expressions and tone of voice (in English).  She ended up passing away 2 days after graduation and just a few days before I was going to visit her, and I promised myself that my kids, at least, would have a different relationship with their grandparents because at a minimum, their Korean would be like mine and my mom actually knows English fairly well.

   But witnessing Andy's parents struggle to communicate with the girls has been very tough to see, and I soon realized that their Korean wasn't just like mine - it was way worse.  They didn't understand a lick of it. No DVD or book would teach them the Korean they needed to know in order for them to be able to communicate with their grandparents.  And I was the weakest link in this mess.

   So the day has come - the day I never imagined I would bring upon the girls (or myself, for that matter).  We started Korean School.

Girls were all smiles...at first.  Balloons do that.

    I had to go register them because Andy was busy entertaining his aunts back at the house, so yes, this is a big "we".  This was a very big step for me.  I had emailed my mom the registration form and she filled it out and submitted it for me, so I thought everything was taken care of.  But when I showed up with the girls, I realized there was much more to it.  Everyone had started forming a line outside the school, and my blood pressure skyrocketed when I saw there were these little stations where we had to stop and fill things out, pick up envelopes, make a payment, write out name-tags, and introduce ourselves to the ladies working there.

Station 1 - I handed the lady a wad of cash, pretending to have pre-counted it. 

   Oh boy, was I in for a disaster.  I stood in line, following the blue tape on the ground, staring at the person in front of me.  Other Korean moms chatted away in perfect Korean, clearly evident that they were from Korea.  Two people ahead of me was this white elderly couple who had brought their mixed granddaughter in.  They were obviously getting a lot of help and I tried to strain my ears to hear, but they were just out of earshot for me to grasp any information.  When it was my turn, I just turned in a blank form, and my face was just as blank when the lady said to me, "You need to fill this out" in Korean.  I gave her my most sincere (apologetic almost) look as I said, "I'm sorry, I don't know Korean very well."  Eeek.  I always hate having to say that.
   The lady apparently knew little English, so she pointed to a corner where I realized she was shoo-ing me to so I could fill the forms out.  With the help of my iPhone and google, I was able to fill out most of the forms within 15 minutes.  By the time I was done, I was sweating, embarrassed, and needing to explain to my impatient children why they were still hanging out waiting for me instead of going with their "Korean friends."  They seemed to sense that I didn't know what was going on, and I could see the anxiety on their faces as well.  I just reassured them that next time Daddy will come and he knows everything in Korean and to not worry.  Then I went back to the forms and left them staring at all the other kids chatting away in the language that they never got the chance to learn.

   And that was only the first station.  There were 3 more.

Station 2 - Binder pick-up 

   Let's just say the other stations were not as bad, but each time I faced it with a new conviction that damnit, we're going to do this.  We're going to learn Korean.  So finally, when it was time to send the girls off, I turned them around, got down to their level and looked them straight in the eye.  I said to them, "Hey.  Check it out.  I'm going to practice this with you.  You'll learn this and so will I, okay?  Don't be afraid, just remember that you are smart and you can do this."

Off they go!

   And just like that, I sent my two brave little girls to face something that had been my biggest fear, challenge, and embarrassment for the past 25 or so years of my life.  The guilt that I felt, imagining them sitting there absolutely clueless for 3 hours, was so overwhelming that I literally apologized out loud as I saw them walk down the hall.  I felt like they were finally doing something FOR me, when I should have done it for them instead.  Nevertheless, I'm proud of them for taking this on, and maybe they will hate me for it afterwards.  But, at least they can resent me for trying instead of for letting them down.

"Chungs Never Give Up."

   There's a reason why people say that parenting just gets harder with time.  When your child is new, you are deprived of sleep and energy just trying to keep your baby alive.  Then come the toddler years when you are cleaning after their constant dribble of bodily fluids and your energy is zapped from ignoring all their temper tantrums.  Then there's preschool time when emotions start getting involved when your feelings actually get hurt when your child directly disobeys you and you have to lay down the law to show who is boss.  Then they start PreK and Kindergarten and then things get intellectual, where you need to outsmart your smarter-than-you child and convince them to do things not just because you said so but because it's the right thing to do.
   Obviously this can't possibly be the worst time - there's always the time in the near future when I can no longer help my kids with their homework or in the very far future when <*gasp*> boys will enter the picture.  I don't even want to think about those teenage years.  But currently, I'm stuck in the here and now - in the early school-age years when the biggest challenge for me is to instill a good foundation of character and values in my little people that will stick with them for years to come.
   How does one actually teach values to little minds?  What is the balance between setting the example and reinforcing by reminding them over and over again?  When does it become nagging and where their little ears begin tuning out your voice even before you open your mouth?  Can they even appreciate, at this young of an age, the meaning of confidence, perseverance, and courage?  And would they recognize it even if they saw it?
   The past few years we've worked on the basics - no lying, no cheating, no stealing (courtesy of West Point's Honor Code) - and I'm pretty sure we got that down pat.  There is no tolerance in our household for any violation of that code, as Kaylee learned at a ripe young age of 4.  

Kaylee's punishment after lying to Mom

But now we are working on other values to instill in our kids - things that both Andy and I like to believe we share in common.  These days, it's been that value of steadfastness and - for lack of a better term - guts.  This in particular has been a challenge to "teach" simply because to some degree, well, you either have it or you don't.  But for two West Point parents to have bred a child without "it" can be a very painful truth to accept, so instead we have parented with a style that just doesn't tolerate the lack of these so-called guts.  We've both been very callous through the years to falls, bumps, and bruises, responding to their cries of pain with some story of how we once got injured when we were kids and never shed a tear and then would ignore their requests for a bandaid.  I repeatedly told them stories of how I missed my hands on the balance beam but yet still got back on it to finish the routine in a competition, or how I got hit in the face with a baseball but never stopped trying to catch, and I even would show them my surgery scars and tell them I was cut open (without mentioning anesthesia) just to get them to shut their whiney mouths about their paper cuts.  But there's only so many stories we can tell, and eventually they will have to figure it out themselves.
   Kaylee learned that the hard way just recently when she crashed her new bike into a tree, badly scraping up her chin.  It took a few weeks, but Andy forced her back on her bike to face her fears, and she eventually passed the very tree that beat her up to ultimately build back that confidence.  I'm so very grateful that she is learning this lesson, one crash at a time.

   Lately Megan has been having a hard time in swimming.  She went from practically doing laps on her back by herself just a few months ago to being completely afraid of the water for the past 2 weeks.  Last Thursday she got a little spooked when her teacher let her get under water when she wasn't expecting it, and since then she has just been plain old frightened.  On Monday, Meg even expressed anxiety at school about her next swim lesson to her teacher and told me for the first time that day after I picked her up, "Mommy, I don't like swimming."  In fact, every day this week she reminded me that she "just doesn't like it", and my response was always the same: "Meg, I know you don't.  It's okay to be scared.  But I need you to try, because once you get it, you will like it.  And plus, our family doesn't give up."  Then on Tuesday it took some convincing to get in the water, and after a pretty decent lesson, I figured she was good to go.  But then today, two days later, it was as if she forgot she had overcome her fears on Tuesday and she had a rough start at today's lesson as well.  I had gone so far as to buy her a new swim suit to give her extra swimming "powers", and I even brought a donut to use as bribery if words alone wouldn't get her in the water.
   I watched carefully tonight as Megan somehow mustered enough courage to get back in the water.  For the next 30 minutes, I could see the anxiety just riding on her face.  She wobbled on the styrofoam noodle, reaching out for her teacher and struggling not to swallow too much water.  She would kick as hard as her feet would let her to just get to the other side, and at any hint of her teacher letting her go she would quickly flip over and grab her teacher's arm.  When on her back, she was pretty much floating on her side and kicking in circles because she was so insecure and wanted to lean in towards the teacher, and I could easily recognize the momentary relief when she would reach the wall and have something to hold onto.  
   At first I admit I was slightly annoyed.  Meg had reverted back and actually gotten worse in swimming, and to me it was silly that she was freaking out when her teacher is obviously holding her.  But when I really looked at her - standing from the bleachers - I could see her little eyes through her foggy goggles - and I saw fear.  It was definitely there, and no matter how silly it was to me, to her it was a very real, raw emotion.  Throughout the entire lesson, her expression never changed - she was terrified, but yet she managed to keep herself together and just push through it.  I was amazed - by changing the way I looked at the situation, my feelings went from annoyed to instant pride.  This thing called "guts" - my kid already has it.  She probably always had, but I just never gave her credit for it.
   When Megan came out of the water, she gave her teacher a high-five and she ran over to me smiling. I wrapped her in a towel and gave her a big hug, telling her how proud I was of her for doing it.  I said to her, "See?  Megan, you did a great job!  There's nothing to be afraid of!" to which she responded, "Yeah!  My last name is Chung.  And Chungs never give up!"

   That's right, Megan.  I know next Tuesday for your next lesson, you're going to be afraid again and I will have to remind you once again that you can do this.  But this time, I'll take your words to heart and remember what you said, that Chungs never give up.  So I will never give up on you.