Now to the meat of the meal. I will start this post with some real shit. I mean, tangible, real-world, cross-culture shit. The fabric that really makes Oprah's shot successful day-in-day-out. Starting with FINALLY having a parent/blood relative visit me in Long Island this past weekend. My mom and stepdad, Tom, made the dissent downstate to deliver some long-distance love, groceries and to partake in the annual Korean-American Parade Day in Manhattan on Saturday. For the 27th time, thousands of Koreans and non-Koreans gathered for food, entertainment, and unexpectedly hot weather.
But somewhere in the first 15-20 min. of the parade, my family and I lined 32nd and Broadway with all the spectators. I looked down at my mom who was covering her mouth and turning away from parade, as if she had a nosebleed. However, she was actually crying and for a few moments, she realized this slice of Korea that was transplanted in mid-town NYC was too close to the real deal. The people, the camaraderie, the urban closure and business-as-usual attitude of everyone there but with only Korean spoken drove my mom to tears. As the parade marched on for an hour and a half, everyone from R.O.K (Republic of Korea) veterans of foreign wars, local high schools/academies, even the Korean members of the NYPD were all equally represented because they belonged. There was no standard to age, as seniors walked the 20 block distance, often proudly strutting hand-in-hand with toddlers and children who only knew to wave back to the crowds. And the drums? Oh, the traditional attire and dancing that came with one drum corps after another... it was almost too much stimulation. Just the colors and movements that made people clap insatiably, waiving their paper American and Korean flags. I finally realized something that I might have pushed into my mental subconscious closet for 28 long years; packed away because I never thought it was a part of my life or identity.
Being Korean means a lot. In New York, even more.
For as long as I can recall, I've always made jokes about being half Korean, half white (And yes, in my world, you can use the term white without stepping on toes). Whether its cause it makes for an easy ice breaker with strangers in a party or people see the contrast in my height with a shorter asian race, I really wanted nothing more in my life than to be as un-Korean as possible. Just like any other ethnicity, there is unkind stereotypes that always came with being Asian-American:
"Don't they all eat cats? Or they all know kung-fu? Why do they all work in nail salons and of course, all the women love sucky-sucky. I know all those guys have small dicks... or you can say whatever you want to them cause they don't fight back. They're all pussies."
I realize that stereotypes are often rumors and misnomers that are created because of ignorance. But the whole point of this blog entry lies in what I saw this past weekend and how there wasn't any division among people within a culture, but even more so, the backbone of BEING a Korean-American lies in celebration, pride, respect and how you have the best of both worlds. I have been neglecting a very huge part of who I am for so long because I thought it only came with baggage that I didn't want. But being a second-generation Korean-American bears so much more history and depth than the U.S. can even begin to offer.
I'm referring to thousands of years of culture, folklore, food, traditions, holidays and respect. There is such a high standard that comes with being a Korean-American, and it's always seen when you cross someone who is also the same. I also believe that in the Korean way of life, just as things are here in the U.S., the pace of society and how one generation's norms and status quos change the next at such a rapid rate these days makes for an impromptu understanding of something "old school" and "new school." But when I was hugged by a elderly man and his wife during the parade this weekend and he said it in the poorest annunciation, "I love you, I love you. Korea! Korea!" he knew that what we were a part of is what allows us to embrace as strangers, but still be bound by a common bond of sharing Korean tradition in this wonderful American country.
To wrap it up, I don't want people to think that I'm going to start eating my morning cereal with chopsticks or wearing traditional gowns instead of polo shirts. You won't even find me standing on a soapbox, preaching about how awesome Hyundai cars are. But I felt ashamed on 32nd Street at that decisive moment, that I host myself to jokes and VALIDATE that each one will someday lead me to a perfect world where I won't be judged on my straight black hair and narrow eyes because being Korean isn't serious. Instead, I'll still keep my sense of humor, but personally I want to learn more about how I got to be who I am. When I meet/greet other Koreans, i want to be able to speak to them just as well as any other person can in English or try to someday see South Korea for myself so I can see what made my mom want to leave 30 years ago, but also, what makes her cry when she's reminded of it.
Kings used to roll in this kind of entourage.
R.O.K. Veterans who served in foreign wars.
Traditional musicians marching down Broadway.
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