“Dear Mom and Dad:
Do you remember when I was invited to a Persian Bat Mitzvah in seventh grade? You got a call from certain parents, asking if you were going to send me to the party. They weren’t sure if it would be okay because of the “different culture.” And you firmly told them that regardless of the culture, I was going because the girl was my friend. Thanks to you, that night I fully enjoyed a completely new custom. I got to try shish-ka-bobs (exotic to me) and dancing.
I also noticed that my friend was allowed to do certain things I couldn’t. I did not understand why her parents let Sara wear all that makeup and that kind of dress when boys were around. Why were her parents so free with her, but not you with me? Sara simply said, “Well, Persians are strict too, but you see, I’m a third-generation kid.”
We are used to a different style
Not until last summer at the youth program you sent me to, did I begin to realize that you and I are accustomed to a different style. During one workshop, a handful of other second-generation kids and I were asked to draw a picture depicting our cultural identity. After sitting there dazed for a while, I finally sketched a heart pumping blood all over an outlined human figure. The arteries were labeled American, the veins Korean.
When we were asked to define ourselves as a group, I was confused. As children of immigrants, we were constantly changing faces, depending on whether we were in the cultural environment of our parents or an American one. The two simply did not blend in our minds. We left the session agreeing that to be a “cultural American” was to live with a mix of cultures, but my heart was not settled.
It was only when I began to mature during those culture workshops that I began to see who I was—a Korean-American. The two cultures were not like oil and water, but they could never be a smoothie either. My identity is more like a salad—each ingredient distinct, yet together they are better tasting.
Because of the workshops, I am able to see your point of view. As I woke to the Korean traditions you have always showed me, from the rich 5,000-year-old folk tales to the hangul language, spicy foods, conservative habits and customs of our daily lifestyle, I formed an appreciation for my heritage. Though you have always provided me with these experiences, I for some reason did not include those experiences as part of my identity as a Korean American.
There were times when I wished you were more American or I more Korean. But once I understood where you were coming from, I realized, contrary to my previous opinions, how similar we are. Maybe if you and I had understood that sooner, we would not have had all those long, dreary fights, especially those arguments over my physical appearance. I am sorry I have caused you that pain. It must have been hard for you to raise me, since the values you grew up with are different from the potpourri of values in my childhood. Now I understand how hard it must have been to accept not only the apple-pie American culture, but the other cultures you came across when you set foot on this land as immigrants 17 years ago.
Thank you for helping me understand who I am
I am glad our relationship has improved. Thank you for helping me understand who I am, and embracing me even though my Korean-American multicultural styles don’t please you in many ways. To see your open-mindedness toward America’s tapestry of cultures has enabled me to judge not with a closed mind, but with closed eyes. Thank you for broadening my horizons and opening up the world by taking me to visit several countries where communities have embraced different cultures. How else would we have been able to eat our best Chinese dinner in Canada, a scrumptious French meal in Japan, or a superb Mexican meal in Korea? This wealth of diversity that you have shown me, I wish to share with my friends, who still feel uncertain about their next-door neighbors, even though they’ve lived in this city their entire lives.
Sometimes it still frustrates me to see you labeling and creating lines between groups of people that you don’t understand, whether it be over sexual orientation or social class. You are the ones who told me that everyone must respect and cooperate with each other in order for society to function. Hence I wish to lead you out of this darkness and show you what you showed me: that we are all indeed a part of each other.
Love, “