I gulped down a mouthful of fries. “As in Robyn’s mother?” Guess Mom knows who I’m taking to the Farewell Formal on Friday!
“Robyn’s grandmother.”
“I meant to tell you that I asked Robyn to the dance, Mom. It just happened today.”
“Don’t worry, I knew before my two o’clock appointment showed up. Robyn called Mrs. Carleton from the school pay phone, and her mother called Donnalee on her cell phone while she was sitting under the dryer. The Carletons are nice people. Donnalee’s a great tipper, too.”
Dad winked at me. “See? You were yourself and you got the girl.”
“Yup, I let my true colors show. Like Caruso.”
“How ’bout we go to the mall after school tomorrow and get you a suit?” Dad asked.
“Works for me,” I said, with my mouth full.
“Get a dark color,” Mom added. “The way things are going with Aunt Foxy and Dominick, you might need it for a winter wedding.”
I nodded. “Dominick can marry Aunt Foxy as long as he gets me tickets to a Yankees game.”
“Gets us both tickets,” Dad said, and I high-fived his good arm.
I grabbed a handful of Mom’s fries, and she pushed the rest over to me.
“I was telling Mom that I checked out the college library today,” Dad said.
Dad likes libraries as much as I like comic book stores, so that was nothing new.
“And while I was there, I did some research on Korea and adoption searching,” he added.
I stopped chewing.
“Turns out they offer these group tours, for families and adoptees wanting to visit their birthplace.”
I started chewing again, but quietly, so I wouldn’t miss a word.
“The tour groups don’t guarantee they can reunite adoptees with birth families, but they can connect us with Korean agencies that do these kinds of searches. Korea used to be close-lipped about this stuff, but that’s changing.”
“So we’ll go to Pusan?” I asked. Whoa, was this my dad or an alien impostor?
“That’s right. We’ll do our best to track down your birth relatives, and we’ll see the city you’re from.”
“With other adopted kids?”
“Sure, kids and their families. These tours aren’t cheap, but I’m thinking we’ll go the summer before your junior year. That’s only two years out, and by then I’ll be halfway done with my bachelor degree and ready for a vacation. Just think, you and me—Pusan bound,” he said, grinning.
In my whole life, Dad and I never traveled anywhere together, just us.
“Count me in.” I looked over at Mom. Her eyes sparkled in a way that said it all: See, Joseph, he does care.
“You’re in, son. Start saving your allowance for kimchi dinners. I read that Koreans have their own version of calamari, too.” Dad snatched some of Mom’s fries from my pile.
He remembered about kimchi. We’d love kimchi and calamari!
“Before you two jet-setters book airfare, I want dates and times so I can check the astrology charts,” she said. “Laugh all you want, but no way are you flying on a bad day for a Taurus or a Scorpio.”
My déjà-vu dream returned that night. Only this time, there was a guest star. A man running up ahead on the dirt road slowed down and called me. “Joseph!”
I stared at him. Finally a face that wasn’t fuzzy. It was Sohn Kee Chung!
“Good work,” he said, jogging in place beside me now and gesturing toward my wagon. “You’re almost there. Keep pulling.”
“But where am I going?” I asked.
The sunlight flickered against something around his neck. His gold medal. “Where do you want to go?” he asked.
I shrugged, confused.
“Pusan is waiting for you, Joseph. Naples and Florence, too. You don’t want to miss any of it. I’m glad I went to Germany.”
“But…”
“Happy traveling, Joseph,” he said, patting my back before he took off again.
“Thanks, Sohn…Grandpa,” I called in the faintest whisper.
A small brown package came addressed to me in the mail on the day of the Farewell Formal. Mom was out running errands when I opened it. The St. Louis return address gave it away: I didn’t know anyone who lived there but Jae.
Inside was a small envelope, wrapped in bubble wrap, and a letter written on flowery stationery.
Dear Joseph,
I know we’re not blood related, but I haven’t been able to let you go. The thought of being your cousin brought me great joy.
It’s a Korean tradition for parents to have a dojang made when a child is born. A dojang is a rubber stamp using Chinese characters that represent your name. Chinese characters are often used on important documents when a signature is needed. Dojangs are used to sign official letters.