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.