This morning, my husband and I woke up, started making coffee and wondered out loud, “Should we make coffee and THEN walk, or walk and come back to coffee?” Since the Arizona weather has cooled, we’ve started a new weekend ritual: while our daughters sleep in, we go for a walk with Opal, our pitbull rescue. We have been going to a new park next to the elementary school in our community. The design includes a winding walkway, a water pump, simple signs describing wild life and cacti and of course, quail, jackrabbits, ground squirrels, roadrunners, gila woodpeckers, mourning doves, cactus wren and various cacti.
We’re out for an hour or so. Yesterday, we went to the new park. This morning, we walked in Usery Park. We walk down several blocks from our home and cross a wash and voila! Usery. It’s protected and the plants there survive without any irrigation, it’s xeriscape at it’s best. Opal darts in and out and inevitably catches cholla on her paws. But she’s in heaven and so are we.
Walking in nature, one feels a sense of peace unmatched in one’s daily life. The open, blue sky above….the vast landscape of untouched nature ahead….the utter joy of one’s dog leaping and chasing jackrabbits and then limping back to us, asking us to remove thorns from her paw. It’s times like these, where you feel you’re really looking at the Big Picture and you realize what is truly important: love and presence.
I couldn’t believe it. Where is the humanity? The abuse and absolute horrific treatment of North Korean civilians by their government is well-known so why would South Koreans greet them with anything but open arms? It’s clear that education and empathy are absent.
Enter an amazing South Korean TV program called, “Now On My Way to Meet You.” It’s an example of using media as a powerful medium for positive social change. The program first aired December of 2011 and, despite the tagline which alludes to “North Korean Beauties,” it does anything but objectify these escapees. You can read more about it and watch a clip here: Cari’s Blog. Basically, these women play games, laugh and recount their stories of life in North Korea for an enormous South Korean audience. The result? An empathetic reaction where South Koreans are understanding and seeing these women as people. The culture is slowly evolving into a supportive, loving one towards their sisters and brothers.
I have numerous cousins, aunts and uncles who live in South Korea and I have visited the country three times. In 1999, I was there for two months on an NSF research grant and I fell in love with the land and people. As news of the ferry disaster unfolded, there was a collective sigh of exasperation, shock, and anger all around me. How could this happen? The students were told to stay put? Why?!
If my father had not decided to immigrate to the United States, I could have been born and raised in South Korea. In fact, if that had happened, I would likely have been married with children a bit earlier (and who knows?) I could have had a high school student on the ill-fated Sewol ferry and be mourning his/her death right now. These connections and possibilities only make me ponder our roles in life. I’m a teacher and I’m proud of it because I can actually impact 32 young people per year. But… can I do more? The producer of “On My Way to Meet You” has created such a critical solution to an enormous problem. What if we all stopped asking why and started asking how? HOW can I help this situation? I think it’s a powerful question.
When I heard her stir, I’d come into the room and sing, “Good morning, my beautiful child!” I’d make up my own lyrics and melody, and she stood there, hands on the rails, lips pouting, curly hair flip flopped about her head. Then she’d lisp, “No thinging! No thinging!” I’d stop singing and carry her out of the crib. She had the Terrible Twos something bad. She threw temper tantrums daily and her jealousy of her newborn sister was immense. Finally, after a week of this, I decided I couldn’t be bossed around by my own toddler. I sang my song and she demanded I stop. This time, I answered, “Josie, it’s morning. I love you and I’m the mommy and you’re the baby and I’m going to sing if I want to and you’re not going to tell me no.” So I resumed singing. She stared at me incredulously. “NO! NO THINGING! NO THINGING!” She started to jump up and down, hands still on the rails. As she came down, her chin hit the rail and she bit her tongue. She cried her little lungs out. “Uh, I will come back later.” I told her. I felt the Mom Guilt all the time. Poor Josie was left to her own devices while I changed Ava’s diaper, 
fed Ava, took naps. I’d have to hand Josie off to her father a lot.
To this day, we rarely spend one on one time together. But today, I offered to go shoe shopping with the girls and Ava wanted to stay home while Josie wanted to go with me. So off we went. She found a red pair of Keds with wide ribbons. We joked around a lot. We laughed and ate chocolate. We bought a gift for friends who are expecting a baby, a baby carrier that can be worn in the front or as a backpack. I held my babies that same way frequently, enjoying their little bodies laying against mine, while I dusted furniture.
Josie wanted to hold my hand as we walked through the mall, this twelve year old who is now a half inch taller than me. I reveled in it, for I wondered, “At what age will she find it embarrassing to hold my hand?” She wanted nothing more than to just be with me. I’m a lucky mom.
I had been warned by numerous staff (secretary, Title I Specialist, other teachers….) that this class had no classroom management from their previous teacher. They walked all over him. They jumped on desks (yes, sixth graders), fought (yes, physically), ran in and out of the classroom at will, and showed disrespect to all adults. This class was created six weeks after the start of school, they went from one teacher to Mr. R., and as a first year teacher, he did not know how to manage them. And now I would be their third teacher. Mr. R. quit two days before spring break and didn’t even say goodbye to them. On my first day, a teacher walked up to me and said, “I will pray for you.”
I thought I would come in and teach them at least some of the sixth grade curriculum. Having taught previously for six years in the MPS system, I was confident I could get them focused and prepared for junior high. Of course, the students I had taught previously were in the highest socioeconomic bracket. These kids were in the lowest. I didn’t know how challenging it would be and how much I would learn.
At first, the students were quiet and listened to me. I introduced myself, and let them know that I was a teacher with experience and that I loved teaching. I was there to teach them for the rest of the school year, and I was not going to leave or call in sick. I told them about my family (naturally, they were very curious!) and then I outlined my expectations. “We will line up in the hallway each morning. You will no longer just walk or run into or out of the classroom. I will shake each of your hands and you will look me in the eye and say good morning.” I heard snickers and the students looked at each other. Is she serious?
27 students. 45 days. State standardized testing would take place three weeks after my arrival. Where to start?
The classroom was filthy. The carpeting was soiled with food and other spills layered over time. Posters and student work were stapled haphazardly on the walls. Rules for the classroom were published using a lot of words and not enough action. A woman from District came to visit me. “Boy, you sure do have a lot of work to do. I hope you don’t spend all of your weekends cleaning and organizing in here.”
I got acquainted with the troublemakers quickly: Bruno* who entered the room shouting profanities and telling everyone to “shut up.” Samantha* who I was told by several adults was “strange, very strange, but not mean. Just can’t stop talking to people.” And about five or six other boys who ran around the classroom and spent their days as if they were on the World Wrestling Entertainment channel.
They chided each other, talked incessantly while I was teaching and brazenly spoke back at me when I doled out consequences for such behavior. They received cherry tomatoes for snack time and when I turned my back, they had food fights. I stopped allowing tomatoes in the classroom. Each time I sent a child to another classroom (many teachers made this offer upon meeting me) or to the Principal’s office (for hitting), the culprit would yell, “Great! Thank you, I WANTED TO LEAVE!” I learned that it was much more effective to have them lose their recess for 1:1 tutoring with me.
One day, when I had been there just long enough to gain their trust, but still new enough to be deemed naïve, I made a startling discovery. We were in the computer lab, about to start some math practice when Jake* asked, “Mrs. Chung-Wipff, wanna see a picture of my dad?” I thought, How nice, I’d love to see his father’s corporate bio page. I wonder what he does? On Jake’s screen was a mug shot of a man whose unkempt appearance rivaled Nick Nolte’s close up. “Oh my,” was all I could muster. Jake said, “I haven’t had a relationship with him for nine years, actually.”
The kids around Jake had already seen the photo, had already heard the stories. “Mrs. Chung-Wipff, want to see my dad?” Diego* asked. I looked at his screen and saw another mug shot. “Over here, Mrs. Chung, over here.” Another mug shot, Rodrigo* beckoned me. It was too much. “OK, everyone, let’s get to work.”
I learned through the next few weeks that their fathers were mostly incarcerated for DUIs or physical violence. Their dads beat their mothers, stepmoms, and strangers in bars or neighborhood parties. One of my students, Bruno*, had both his parents in prison for violence. Bruno was living with his three older brothers (all gang members) and his stepmother. There was something a little off about his face and I couldn’t place it until one of the other teachers told me that his brothers had tied him down and shaved his eyebrows off. They never grew back the same.
These students did not choose their parents or their home lives. They want to succeed like everyone else does. But no one is telling them to go to bed at a decent hour, to eat nutritious foods or to even care about their homework and what they have learned. They have dreams of becoming veterinarians, football players, video game producers and they are smart. Boy, are they smart! But how to reach them? How to connect? I learned that the most effective thing to do is be there. Model the importance of learning, the passion. Listen more, speak less.
Love unconditionally.
*all names have been changed
My mom was here again, for another lovely visit. Although most of her visits are always quite pleasant, there is one time I dread: dinner. I have to be patient with my husband and my mom during dinner because she cannot shake the nasty habit of speaking to me ABOUT Willey in front of him. It is rooted in the depths of her Korean soul to speak as indirectly to him as possible. In so doing, she uses me as a communication vessel. It’s almost as if she feels the need for a translator, and it annoys Willey to no end. It’s like a scene from Groundhog Day: we just live it over and over and over again.
We were sitting down to a meal of sujehbee, my favorite dish of dumplings in spicy broth.
“Caroline, does he really like sujehbee?” My mother asks. I look at him. He is sitting directly across from my mom. I know what his line will be:
“Yooni, why don’t you just ask me? I’m right here.” He asks exasperatedly. My blood pressure rises. The girls look from halmoni to their father back to halmoni. She covers her face with her hands. She used to just cover her mouth, but lately, she covers her entire face, and giggles.
“Do you like it, Willeeee?” She leans forward and asks with a renewed sparkle in her eyes.
“I LOVE sujehbee!” He exclaims. “You can talk to me, you know. I’m Willey, remember?”
She laughs some more.
Such a brazen display of flirtation!
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Preparing for bed, mom pulls the covers down and holds the TV remote. I am in the doorway of her guest room, saying good night.
“Caroline, have you seen this show?”
I look at the screen. There is an angry black woman with enormous gold hoop earrings yelling at a man. I don’t recognize this program.
“Hardcore Porn, they call.” She slips her legs under the cover.
I take another look. What? Why is she watching porn?! I don’t see any nudity and realize after a few more seconds, that she is not watching porn.
“Mom, Hardcore PAWN, not PORN.”
“Ohhhhh!” Again with the face hiding and laughter.
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I love dogs. I miss my dog Maggie. Even though I notified my mother by phone when Maggie died – despite knowing Maggie was gone – the first time my mother walked into our home following Maggie’s death, she looked around like a little kid and with tears streaming down her face, and asked in Korean, “Where is Maggie?” They were best buddies. They reminded me of each other: kind and meek to a fault. My mom walked Maggie every morning and sometimes in the afternoons, too. And even though she swears up and down that she didn’t feed her table scraps, I know she did.
We had hugged each other and cried, missing that dog. Now we have Sadie, who is an oversized lap dog with a strong personality. We think she’s part Labrador and part Pit Bull. I talk to this dog for the benefit of the family. After I pet her, she always shakes her whole body and I say things like, “Sadie, don’t shake my love off!” And now I hear the girls say the same thing to her. In the guest room, the windows face the street and Sadie loves looking out and barking at rabbits, birds and leaves on the tree. Seriously, this dog is out of control. When she’s not barking, she’s whining. Compared to her, Maggie was a mute. I tease, “Sadie, look at the mess you are making on the windows!” And my mother echoes my fake consternation, “Sadie, look what you did with your lips!”
Self-pity. You can be there in a matter of seconds. Grieving is feeling sorry for yourself, because your dog is no longer around to show you unfiltered, undiluted affection. You still expect her to come running to you when you return home from work…shopping….a night out at a restaurant. You miss her quiet presence next to you while you type on your computer or read in bed.
Your dog is fine, she is no longer in pain. The cancerous tumor growing under her tongue and in her gums, pushing her tongue out the right side of her mouth can no longer hurt her. But you, you are left with loneliness and guilt. Why didn’t you stay home with her more? You should have walked her more often. You never took her to the dog park. Remember, you didn’t want her to catch any diseases, that’s why. Maggie was always the Beta dog. Cats were Alpha dogs compared to her. She quickly acquiesced to others. She hung her head low, shoulders cowered. She never harmed a thing. She could have been attacked at the dog park. You meant well.
When the kids were 3 months and 19 months old you took them and the dog for a walk to the post office on Mission Street. It was a daring undertaking with the infant in the Baby Bjorn, the toddler in the stroller and the frisky pup on a busy street, but you were going stir crazy with the diapers, the fog, and the boredom. You tied the puppy to a street sign post with a cement base. Just a few minutes in line and someone yelled, “There’s a dog running down the street with a post attached to her leash!” You looked outside and your dog was gone. You rushed home with two girls, not three. You cringe, expecting to hear screeching tires, screams. But they never come. You fight back the tears. You can’t lose her. When you get home, she is there, she took a different route, but somehow found your house. You are relieved and furious.
You miss her so much. The white snout, those sad eyes, even the stench of her infection. You miss those silky ears, the low growl of contentment she gave when you rubbed them. She jumped a foot off the ground when you came home. When you were recovering from your radical mastectomy, she napped next to you, choosing you over the rest of the family. Somehow, she knew you needed to rest. And while you worried about recurrent cancer, hers grew silently.
She loved bulgoki. Tennis balls. Hikes in the desert. She hated water. She would fetch when the mood fit. She was infinitely patient with children and other dogs. She was awesome.
You knew the end was near when she couldn’t eat. She loved to eat. And then she couldn’t drink water. Blood oozed from her infection, the antibiotics didn’t seem to have any effect. She drooled a thick, bloody mucous and you wiped her gently, frequently, sadly. How do you know when the time has come?
She was on the table, injected with a sedative. She looked so peaceful, striking her usual pose with one paw over the other, her eyes getting sleepy. You were grateful to see her comfortable. You told her you love her over and over again. Her eyes never left you. You bawled. The lethal injection worked quickly. You heard your husband say, “It’s OK, Maggie, you can go.”
And she’s gone.
I don’t have much to say these days. So I’ll let my daughter Ava have a few words. She’s been wanting to type her own story these days, while I give her sister Josie violin help. Next week, Josie’s story….Here’s Ava in her own words:
I am 6 years old. The date is 2009. I am in 1 grade. My teacher is Mrs. Jurkowski . who is your techer. My name is Ava. What is your name. I have many friends, their names are Brenna Sidney Sam Abagail Katie and that’s all. You guys can read a lot . I can play the violin. Can you. My birthday is May 23. When is yours. I have 1 sister her name is Josephine she is 7 years old. I was born in 2003. What year were you born in. I don’t know I only know min I don’t even who you are . you don’t know me do you?
This story I spechel. That’s 1 of my seckrets. What is your secret? I don’t know. I aspechily don’t know your secret. How meny people are in your family? I have a lepord geico at home Im at home now typing where are you? I like to make storys. My mom is making a story I think its called… I Do not know acsacly what it is called.
All I know is that shes making a story. And im in it! I am so eksided. I think im going to be great. Don’t you? Well I do … and im going to be a little girl my name is going to be Anna. Well you like it? Hope so. I want to ask you something do you like getting your face painted?
Today is Thursday. Today my grandmother will come. Do you like when your grandmother is coming? And she will go thrik or threeting. I am going to be a salit shaker. And Josie is going to be a pepper shaker. We are making our cotooms! Are you? I like making my costoom. What will you be? When my dad comes home he will bring my grandmother! I am SO happy! I havet seen my grandmother sins montes. All righ my dad is going to be heer eny second now wait wait. Oh darn there not heer I new I never hrde the grath door opning. Whith I thot but no. Sigh you know whishes never come ture. I wish I hadet said that. Darn my magic dint work. I new it hey now I know 2 tinings yay im lerning! I know lots of things! Now need ennything now?
Yesterday was Haloween. I got lots of candy. And yummy candy. Bursept the butterfinger. I don’t like butterfinger. Do you? Well I don’t. Allright back to the candy. Wait a minet I LOVE candy right so dose that mean I can have 1 just 1. Pleas!!!!!!! Il give you $500 so do I get my candy? Hope so and I mean it! Eeee ichy! Scrach my back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh ichy! Just kidding! That’s how I joke people! HAha so funny. Im not even lafing are you? I bet you arnt I bet you $500 for that one.
Things that have been satisfying recently:
Kismet 