Heritage

From the site: I Am Korean American

It’s funny. Or maybe it’s sad. Only as a wife and mother, have I started to appreciate what it means to be Korean-American. I came to the U.S. as a toddler. And even though I grew up in Seattle, Washington, a culturally diverse city, we didn’t do much with other Koreans. My mother wanted us to learn English and “fit in”. But I never really did. Other Korean children accused me of not being Korean because I didn’t “look or sound like one.” I had a lot of friends, but was always the only Asian in the group. Maybe I just felt more different than they perceived me, but it was always a struggle. Now, as I look at my children, I try to share with them, what it means to be Korean. My husband is Caucasian, and we live in a community with few minorities. The difference now? As a grown woman, I understand the world better and my place in it. “Fitting in” isn’t an issue. But my three kids won’t realize their ethnic diversity, unless I talk about it. And talk, I do. Because if I don’t, who will? That’s funny, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s sad.