TALES OF A FIRSTBORN

I am an 이세. (ee-seh). A first born Korean-American. My mother was born in Korea on June 25, 1942. On June 25, 1950, the Korean War began. She had to flee her home with her mother and two little brothers to the southern coastal city of Pusan. They were war refugees who lived on the meager salary that my grandfather’s brother sent them from his army pay. My grandfather was in Hawaii at the time war broke out and separated from them for the next five years. He actually shares the same birthday as my mom. When my grandmother and her three small children were finally able to return to their home, there were bullet holes in the walls. My grandparents were eventually able to scrape together enough money to bring the whole family to Hawaii. They all learned to speak English and went to school, and eventually, all three went to college. My parents met in Hawaii and reconnected at BYU. My dad has great respect and love for my grandparents and the sacrifice they made to bring their family to America, even though Hawaii wasn’t a state yet, to have a better life. They wanted all of us to have an even better life. Even though I grew up with an English speaking mother, in so many other ways, I was a first generation American.

ALL-AMERICAN GIRL

What makes you American though? I don’t look ANYTHING like the traditional ideal of the fresh-faced “all-american girl”. But I don’t look like an Asian girl, either. I found it an odd place to be, not looking like all these blond people on the mainland when we moved here when I was 10; but then being mistaken for an adopted child or friend of the family because I looked NOTHING like my mother or my gorgeous, but clearly Asian sister.

I think I’m American because I was taught by my parents that I can do anything. If I can dream it, then it’s possible. Let me rephrase that; if they could dream it, it was possible! There was no discussion about IF we were going to college. It was MAYBE grad school might not be necessary, (Just for the girls) because we believed it was important to stay home with our children. But I was definitely headed that direction. Just so you know, all my brothers have “Dr.” in front of their name. So they have not brought dishonor on our family, or our cow.

However, my parents ideas of all-American are more like overachiever to the max/plus some truly odd things you must do. For example, my dad taught me how to change the tires, the oil, check all the fuels, give someone else a jump start. He insisted I run track. And I was 10 YEARS OLD before I realized nobody else I knew did not have “summer homework” every day. And it was super hard, by the way. Essay questions and everything! My mom has her own things. Play the piano and sing plus another instrument if possible. So by the time I left on my mission, I could slaughter chickens, cut firewood, change tires, kill and gut the antelope, go home and cook the antelope and serenade you with a concerto while you ate your antelope tenderloin. In a dress my mom taught me to sew.

(I’ve just realized that really doesn’t sound all-American girl–that sounds like doomsday preppers with a little culture built in to their doomsday scenario).

On the other hand, we can all fly fish, shoot, sing, play the piano, and cook. I’d say we’re pretty well rounded. And because of the example of my grandparents and parents, (and hopefully me, just a little), my children’s future is limited only by their imagination and ambition! That’s what being all-American is all about.

WHY FREEDOM ISN’T FREE

I don’t consider freedom to be without price, because I have seen the toll war took on my grandmother and her family. She didn’t just live through the Korean War, but the Japanese Occupation of Korea, all through her life and then a small respite before North Korea invaded, kicking off the Korean War. During this time,outside of home you had to have and use a Japanese name. And only speak Japanese in school. She was a school teacher, so this feeling of invasion was on such a personal level.

I know that my husband understands this. He is deeply patriotic and would have stayed with ROTC no matter what, because he wanted to serve his country. But boy was he thrilled to do it as a pilot. He has adored flying.

For one assignment he got a remote to Korea. Since I speak Korean (kind of) he put in for a command sponsored tour, which meant they would move us and we could live on base, etc. We were fortunate to have that opportunity to go as a family to the country where daddy and mommy had been missionaries. Our kids got to feel first hand that freedom isn’t a theory: it’s a privilege that not every country is blessed with. If you have never left Anerica, and been somewhere that you can’t understand the language, and realized that if anything happens, you basically don’t have the rights we have in America, you have not experienced TRUE FREEDOM. Because those moments help you to see how amazingly blessed we are.

One other thing about Korea. The ops tempo (schedule-24 hrs round the clock split in shift) was insane. Trying to serve at church was overwhelming. We were all doing two to three jobs at a time. But I had an epiphany there. We were helping people that I loved, just because we needed to.

I told my husband one day, that it was kind of surreal that my husband is now fighting to protect the country my mother loved, and we had grown to love. He asked me how I felt about. I literally had no words to describe my feelings. But I think I finally, 12 years later, have an answer.

I am astonished and delighted ( I shouldn’t be surprised by this guy, ever) that he not only loves the people there, not just because it’s a huge part of my heritage, and he loved them when he was there for two years on a church mission, but because he was able to serve them in a different way than as a missionary. Now he was patrolling the DMZ and whatnot. (Classified/schmassified). Words cannot express how deeply grateful I am that he loves not just me, but ALL of me, the Krazian, the traditions, the people, my mother’s country and that by serving others he is keeping the fight off our shores.

SO.Finally…Why isn’t freedom free?We value things we work hard for-things for which we put in blood, sweat, and tears.

My mother values her freedom because it opens a whole new world to her! (Dare you not to sing the song)

I value it because I know what it costs to maintain it. Even though Vaughn flies commercially now, everyday of his Air Force career, I was relieved when he walked in the door. Pilots don’t die anymore in combat. They die in training accidents. He spent a little over ten years training students. ⭐️ news flash ⭐️Students WILL try to kill you ALL DAY LONG! Maybe my husband didn’t give the ultimate sacrifice, but every time he got into a jet, he was willing to make it.

I think about the sacrifice-and then I flip it and think about privilege. I know my husband would have served his country no matter what. I think of my willingness to go anywhere with him. Of my children, having no choice, and yet making the best of it. I think we would agree : it’s a privilege to live without my husband and father of my kids, for days, weeks, months at a time, so that some idiot on Facebook or IG can post a rant about crazy veterans or the military in general. Or post a video of flag burning. Because my husband fights under that flag so we CAN have freedom of expression, freedom from oppression, freedom to worship where and who and what we want.

And to all those amazing military spouses and kids out there, you are serving just as hard as your military guy or gal. You are making sacrifices, some of you the ultimate one, but it’s an honor to keep freedom in this land as long as there are good people who keep it the “promised land.”

If this doesn’t get you feeling patriotic how about this:

My version of Texas lemon sheet cake found HERE at yourcupofcake.com. I just used lemon juice from two lemons in the icing and only an 1/8 cup of milk.

What makes you feel patriotic? Other than cake, obviously?🙄