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Kimchi & Calamari(26)

By:Rose Kent


“I don’t know the whole truth, Mom,” I said. “Sometimes I look in the mirror and wish I knew more about the kid staring back. It’s nothing against you and Dad.”

“Mom! We’re out of toothpaste!” Gina yelled from the bathroom.

“You want to know more about yourself, being Korean? Is that it?”

I nodded and thought about the Internet posting. Wondered if I should’ve told Mom about that too.

“I understand that, honey. And deep down, your father can too. He has a heart bigger than the ladder on his truck, but he’s pigheaded. You’re his oldest and only son, Joseph. I swear, sometimes he forgets that you’re adopted.”

“It’s not like I got a vote,” I said.

“Joseph, adopting you was one of the most wonderful days of my life. Your father’s, too,” she said, and her eyes filled up with tears. My hands trembled against my comic book.

“Your father…well, I know he’s hard to talk to sometimes, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t accept you for who you are,” she added.

“But you’re speaking for him, Mom. Dad never talks like that, and that’s part of the problem.”

“Well, maybe I am speaking for him, but after being married to your father for twenty years, I know his every thought.”

“Will someone help me? I need toothpaste!” Gina shouted like she was drowning.

“Stop yelling! Geez Louise, it’s on the shelf under the sink,” Mom snapped. Then she flipped on my night-light.

“I wish you’d talked to me about your essay,” she said, a bit softer. “We could’ve figured something out together. I would’ve tried to help.”

“Will you talk to Mrs. Peroutka for me?” I asked. “Explain how I’m adopted so we can fix this?”

“Joseph, my job isn’t to fix everything for you. My job is to help you deal with life’s messy parts. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to talk to your teacher yourself.”

Ugh. Just thinking about walking into Mrs. Peroutka’s class made my stomach hurt again. Facing her. Facing everyone. Like how Susan Amber must have felt last year when she got caught rigging the yearbook’s “cutest smile” vote for herself.

“Capisce?” Mom asked.

I nodded. “Capisce.”

“No more stolen relatives. Go see your teacher on Monday morning with a big shovel and dig yourself out of this hole.”





Essaygate




Forty-eight hours without TV and video games felt like cruel and unusual punishment. And what made it even worse was dreading Monday, my day of reckoning. I kept rehearsing what I’d tell Mrs. Peroutka. I even had a nightmare that after I’d fessed up, a CNN reporter stuck a microphone in my face and shouted, “So, was being adopted what corrupted you?”

After social studies ended, I waited until the last kid left the room to come clean. Mrs. Peroutka was erasing the chalkboard when I approached her. Shoving my sweaty hands in my shorts pockets, I plunged right into my confession of how I made up the Sohn Kee Chung story.

When I finished, I put on my sorry face I use when I lose the house key or forget to throw the clothes in the dryer for Mom. Mrs. Peroutka was ancient and demanding, but I could tell she cared about her students. I didn’t like disappointing her.

But Mrs. Peroutka didn’t raise her eyebrows or reach for her red pen and grade book. Instead she barraged me with a bunch of deep questions.

“Out of all the famous Koreans to be related to, why did you choose Sohn Kee Chung?” she asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. “He seemed brave, a cross between a jock and a rebel.”

“How so?”

I told her about Korea’s occupation, and how Sohn Kee Chung had to run wearing a Japanese jersey. “Some Koreans were upset with him for running. Like it was his fault that his country got invaded.”

“That was a difficult time for Korea,” she said, nodding.

“But even with the Japanese threatening him, he never missed a chance to tell reporters that Korea was his mother country,” I added.

Mrs. Peroutka kept asking questions, and I had answers. I was surprised how much I remembered from that library book.

Then she kicked in with the self-examining stuff. “Why do you think I assigned this essay, Joseph?”

“So someone from our school can win the contest?” I was joking, sort of.

She frowned, and I wished I’d zipped my lips.

“I want my students to spend time thinking about their families, living and deceased. Sometimes it feels like the here and now is all that matters, but we have legacies that help shape who we are. I think about my relatives on my mother’s side. They were Polish Jews who came to America to escape persecution. They never took for granted the freedom they made a difficult journey to discover.”