[9] I LOVE YOU MOM AND DAD!

An Op-Ed about my mom and my dad; sort of an expansion to "blueprint" and "scaffold" articles (now deleted) from around a year ago.

An easy approach to this article would be to list the things that my parents have explicitly done for me. Since my birth, throughout the most impressionable years of my life, and up until now, the impact that my parents have had on me is unmeasurable. And I know they’ve had an impact on me because, everyday, I discover new things about myself — such as my way of thinking or specific habits — that clearly formed their roots with my parents. 

I remember this time back in kindergarten when my teacher told me I could win a “special, sparkly sticker” if I donated some of my toys to an orphanage. I thought this was a “share for a day” type ordeal, but it turned out to be a robbery in broad daylight. 

When I told my mom about it, she explained the situation: that it was the last time I would see those toys. Yeah, of course I freaked out. She told me to wait in the car. She snuck into the classroom, — lights off and teacher absent — recouped my toys, and reunited me with my prized possessions. 

I don’t really know why this memory stands out when I think of what my parents have done for me. I mean, my parents have done SO MUCH MORE than scam my teacher out of a sticker. 

My mom quit her job before I was born, even though she was only twenty-five and thoroughly loved her job. My dad used to leave for work at five in the morning, work overtime for underpay, and return home around nine in the evening. And whenever we watch movies together, my parents read Korean subtitles while I enjoy the dialogue in English. 

It’s not that these things aren’t worth mentioning. In fact, it’s those very sacrifices that paved the path that I’m on today. And yet, I feel like it would be a disservice to relegate my parents to their actions. In other words, it was their presence on my life, not their actions, that shaped who I became. 

Taste — in the films, music, clothes, and food that give us depth — is acquired, and it seems that I’ve acquired my taste from my mom. I can hear it in the music that I listen to. I can feel it in the art that I find to be meaningful. I can see it in the movies that I fawn over. I notice it in the fashion that I envy. I can sense in it the pictures that we take. 

It is this very taste that then manifests itself in habits. My mom and I are so similar in how we approach our lives. The capability to listen to others in their time of strife, knowing WHEN to abstain from giving advice or WHEN to remind them of their value. The tendency to have our attitudes easily swayed by whatever mood we’re in. The sessions of overthought reflection that we torment ourselves with. 

When life becomes abrupt, and I’m thrust into this sort of “autopilot mode,” it feels as though my mom speaks and acts through me. Thorough, empathetic, and direct. 

The subconscious ways that I act or speak or engage with things may be influenced by my mom, but the intentional choices that I make with my life are inspired by my dad. 

To make things clear, the relationship that I have with my dad isn’t any less meaningful, nor is it any less transparent than that I have with my mom. And yet, it’s an inherently different dynamic. My mom is someone who has traits that I admire, but my dad is someone who I aspire to become. 

He’s meticulous and observant, from knowing which flowers to choose for my mom’s birthday bouquet to catching minor discrepancies in my lies. He’s calm and composed, knowing how to assert his disappointment without resorting to insult or injury. He’s hardworking in this (frankly, unhealthy) “redemption” mentality — meaning that he feels that he must atone for his past. He’s supportive of who I am and what I do, and yet he makes clear that he has his expectations of me. It keeps me driven while feeling validated. 

It’s so comfortable talking to my mom because we’re such similar people. We think in similar ways, and so I’ve always found it easy to share my thoughts and my worries with her.  And though I’m as transparent with my dad as I am with my mom, it’s definitely more difficult being vulnerable around him sometimes. I guess it’s because I’m afraid that he won’t understand how I’m feeling. 

And yet, my dad reminds me time and time again that he most definitely understands me. He does this through these bursts of wisdom that he shares with me, usually the night before I fly back to New York for school. Sometimes, the things that he tells me are reminders to keep me on track (life isn’t a short sprint; it’s a marathon. I'm not telling you to slow down, but I am telling you to keep going), but most are novel realizations that help guide my life (don’t bring conflicts that you have with one person affect all other relationships that you have). Sure, he’s not the most expressive, but he more than makes it up with these dense monologues that highlight that my dad is not only impressive in his accomplishments but also in the wisdom that he's accrued.

This all brings me to this point of utter gratitude. Everything that I have achieved — the nuance in my taste to the attentive care I have for others to the work ethic I employ — has been enabled through them. 

And I can’t help but wonder, what was it all for? What purpose do parental responsibility and unconditional love serve? 

I’ve always known that it boiled down to something along the lines of giving me opportunities that they never had. For the longest time, I thought those opportunities meant that I needed to be better than them. I assumed that I needed to build off of what my parents had given me. That I needed to make more money than my dad. That I needed to be a more caring parent than my mom. 

But I think that that’s the wrong approach. It’s not about being BETTER than them. I think that their sacrifice encourages me to strive to be happier than them. The time to find fulfillment. The money to discover passions. The choice to DECIDE who I want to be. And for that, I’m eternally grateful. 

And yet, I think I’m bad at showing gratitude. I can’t even imagine what my life would look like without their unconditional love. 

So, I keep telling myself that I have tendencies of being a bad son, but I now realize that it’s not THAT simple. I mean, I have a completely transparent dynamic with my parents, from how I share my secrets to how I express unfiltered emotions. And yet, I feel conflicted, because maybe the basis for being a “good” son is SUPPOSED determined by my parents. And, who knows, MAYBE they sometimes think of me as a bad son despite what I think I offer to this family. 

It seems to me that my parents demand a collection of “bare minimums.” And to be fair, I don’t always meet those minimums. And so, it feels like they want to tell me that my tendencies and vernacular are rooted in indifference and disrespect. But then again, are my parents not aware that their constant desire for “more” in our relationship could be a detriment? That it might make our interactions inherently less genuine, less honest…more careful, more strategic?

Without a doubt, there’s a balance to be made here. both in how I approach this relationship and how my parents should. It would be selfish for me to approach this invaluable relationship with only my own interests, but it would also be unhealthy to fold to their desires. 

But maybe, it doesn’t really matter HOW I feel. I deeply care about my parents, and THAT should be enough for me to ALWAYS try my best with them. I don’t like the “blood is thicker than water” adage because it makes it seem like I’m only close with my parents because heredity dictated that I NEED to be close with them. Every day, I feel privileged to have the mom and dad that I have, and I firmly love and admire them, so I should learn to express my love and gratitude better. Not that I’m not already doing a decent job, but most definitely I could be doing better. 

There’s no guarantee that I’ll embody this same mentality in the next weeks, months, or years to come. But, at this point in my life, I’m so extremely thankful and content with the relationship that I have with my parents, and I would NEVER forgive myself if it was MY unwillingness to contribute to the relationship that killed it.