Being Korean American 1: Redished

I don't really know when I was aware that I was Korean-American. I think when my parents and I first moved to America, I thought of myself as a Caucasian. I knew I was Korean, but I was pretty much a "blank" inside. I thought I could be anyone I wanted to be. All I knew was that Caucasians looked so much brighter, so much more angelic, so much more happy than I did. America, in Korean, is Me-Gook "The land of the beautiful people." People looked way too beautiful, including the boys. I was 9 years old back then, an FOB (Fresh off the boat), in the new world. Even while on the Pan Am Airline, awaiting touchdown in Philadelphia, the bright lights of the city resembled a blanket of stars that had fallen from the sky. Those lights were magical with possibilities. Not that life in Inchon, South Korea had been so awful. It was magical too in the way that childhood can be magical. I remember the smell of kim-chi-chi-gae in the morning. The delicious smell of the spicy stew with tofu, kim-chi, and whatever else was in the stew. I had a really idyllic childhood to tell you the truth. I was a loud-mouth. I know that. I just loved to talk for no reason at all. I would talk and talk until a girl noticed me. She would always give me one of those sly looks. I had friends or at least I remember having friends. My friends and I would catch dragonflies and tie strings to the tails of dragonflies and let them fly in the air like kites. We would also catch bees by the wings and watch them. I remember teachers, yes teachers. I don't think I ever studied for anything. I stuffed all my tests behind the refrigerator. I was given grades like 35, 62, 47, etc. We had a maid and she would catch sparrows by looping a string and tightening it when the bird's feet would fall in the loop. When I really think about it, I really loved my childhood. My father would come home late at night, singing drinking songs and bringing beef. Sometimes he would. Most of the time, he was MIA (Missing in Action). SO why did I think of myself as a Caucasian, not a Korean-American? It's hard to say. I now think it was my inability to distinguish myself from my environment. I think of the childhood tales. Childhood stories are full of mistaken identities. A tiger gets mixed in with the sheep and believes he is a sheep. The ugly ducking turns into a beautiful swan. The environment can convince you that you are someone you are not, but you convince yourself too. It is a form of self-brainwashing. So I was convinced I was Caucasian and I hung around mostly Caucasians. I remember my first football game. They deliberately passed the ball to me and I caught it. It was a victory for everyone. I felt so special and I looked down on Korean-Americans.They were ugly. I was one of the beautiful ones. I became friends with some of the most popular boys and girls at the school. I believe it was in the Germantown part of Pennsylvania. They seemed to accept me, and help me out. School, 2nd grade, was a daze. I couldn't speak English very well. The teachers finally brought some math addition or multiplication problems. I was able to solve them. They were very happy. I had an ESL ( English as a Second Language) teacher, Mrs. D. She was very nice and kind also. I really liked her, even had a crush on her.