Or did he?
He was standing in front of the small apartment building where he had grown up, in Albany Park. It still looked like it always had: the brick walls, the trees out front shielding it from the street. He hadn’t been here in a very long time. He usually met his parents on neutral ground, somewhere near work, downtown. Just looking up at the facade of the house brought forth memories long forgotten, and the rush of images from the last time he’d left this house—the day his parents had kicked him out—suddenly flashed across his retina, causing him to take a step backward and bump into his own parked car. The alarm went off, and within seconds, he saw faces at the windows, staring at him.
Adam fumbled for the keys to the car, to unlock and re-lock it, to shut off the alarm. He felt his face burning with embarrassment. Luckily, his parents’ apartment faced the backyard, but he was sure people would talk anyway. Yet the question was, would anyone remember him? What had his parents told their neighbors about the disappearance of their only son? He knew that at least two of the other families belonged to the same church.
He decided to get it over with and headed to the main entrance and rang the bell to his parents’ apartment. They immediately let him in. He hadn’t announced his visit, and he wasn’t even sure if they were home, although on a Sunday afternoon, chances were good they would be. Adam took a deep breath and opened the door. Inside, the house smelled exactly as he remembered it, even though it was almost twenty-eight years since he had last set foot in here. Cautiously, he climbed the stairs. Heck, even some of the stains and graffiti on the walls were still there, or so he thought. His parents lived on the second floor, and the name on the door was barely legible: Kim.
Adam had to smile at the notion. So many Koreans were named Kim; it was as common as Smith or Jones in English. Half the people in the building were Kims. Suddenly, Adam had a newfound sense of appreciation for the postal service’s insistence of using apartment numbers. Without them, how would they know which Kim to send the utility bills to?
He raised his hand to knock on the door but heard the lock turn before his hand had touched the wood. His father peeked through the small gap in the chained door. “Hwan? What are you doing here?” he asked in Korean.
Adam felt it odd that his parents always insisted in addressing him in Korean, even though they’d lived in Chicago all their lives, and spoke English just as well. His own grasp of Korean was sketchy at best. He never used it, not at work and certainly not in his free time, and when in public, Adam insisted his parents speak English.
To hide behind a language that other people didn’t understand was rude to him, and he’d conditioned his parents a long time ago that if they wanted to talk to him in public, they had to use English. He’d simply refuse to answer to anything said in Korean. But this was different. This was their home, their house, their rules. Plus, he’d come here to potentially ruin the last of what was, at best, a tenuous relationship. To tell the people who’d thrown him out for being gay that he’d found love in another man and that they—together—were fostering a gay child… What am I thinking?
Adam responded his father in Korean. “I have something to tell you.”
His father closed the door to unhook the chain and let him in. Adam hesitated. He hadn’t set foot in this apartment since he was sixteen, and he had no idea what to expect. Just peeking into the small hallway showed that everything looked just the same. It was like a time capsule. The furniture was still largely the same, the wallpaper, too. The only thing that had changed was the vid-set: a wafer-thin, sixty-inch screen attached to the living room wall. Even his parents had eventually given up their TV. His father led the way into the living room and gestured for Adam to sit down.
“Mom is making tea. You’ll have some?”
Adam felt like a child again. Being in this environment, among these items, the furniture… Even his father looked different, younger somehow than he did when they met in public.
His mom walked into the living room, carrying a tray with a teapot, three cups, and a bowl of traditional Korean candy. Adam jumped to his feet to help her put it down on the coffee table. The tension in the room was running high. It was tangible, and everyone was walking on eggshells, or so it seemed. His mom poured the tea and sat down next to his dad on the couch. An awkward silence permeated the room.
Adam took his cup and sipped the tea, and new memories flashed across his mind, memories of a time long gone, childhood memories, good memories. He’d always enjoyed Sunday afternoon tea. It was a ritual in his family. No arguments, no talking, just sitting quietly, enjoying the aroma and flavor of the tea, one of the few items that came directly from “home.”
Home? Adam had never even considered Korea home, he’d never been there as a child. Chicago was home, the United States was home. Yet during their weekly tea-drinking ritual, Korea became home, at least for a little while, a dreamy distant place, filled with magic, stories, and unfulfilled promise of a better life.
Times had changed, and rather than observing the silence, Adam’s father unceremoniously said, “It’s good to have you back home, son. I take it you have something important to say?”
Adam looked at his father and saw the expression in his eyes. No fear, no hatred, not even curiosity, simply a gentle look from a very old man. Instinctively, Adam bowed his head.
“Yes, Father. I do.”
His mother looked down at the floor, as she had back when they’d had arguments in his youth. She never got involved, never said anything, just sat there, next to her husband, demure, silent, the perfect Korean version of a Stepford wife. For a moment, Adam studied her, how she held the teacup, how wrinkly her hands had become. Indeed, it seemed as if his mother had aged more than his father had, and in that instant, she looked so old, so fragile.
Adam wanted to reach out to her and hug her, tell her he forgave her. Yet he didn’t even know if she’d forgiven him. After all, his mother was as devout a Christian as his father, if not more so. It had been her own father, Adam’s granddad, who’d come to America as a pastor to preach to the local Korean Pentecostal congregation. It was where she’d met Adam’s father. I don’t even know if she’s willing to listen. Dad? Yeah, I think he’ll listen. But Mom?
Adam cleared his throat, and in his best approximation of formal Korean he said, “Father, Mother. I’ve come here today to tell you that I have met someone. I know you do not approve of your gay son, and I have long ago accepted your choice, but since we have been on speaking terms for a few years, and since I do not wish to hide anything from you, I wanted to tell you about him. His name is Marc. He’s Belgian. We’ve been seeing each other for some time now, and after his home burned down, he moved in with me.”
Adam sighed, not sure how to interpret the silence from his parents. “And there is one more thing. Marc and I have recently taken in a young boy. He’s fifteen years old and—like me once—he was on the streets when we found him by accident, looking for someone else. He’s officially in our care, as a foster child, and we would very much like to adopt him, in time. His name is Josh.” Done with his confession, Adam got ready to be thrown out again, or to at least face the wrath and disapproval of his parents he knew he had coming. But there was nothing. Just silence.
His father picked up his cup and drank from it, slowly. Then he set it down again. His mother was still clutching hers, not looking up from the floor, but Adam noticed that she was trembling a little. The silence was almost unbearable, so very different from the silence of his youth. There was nothing of the meditative ambience. This was worse than Chinese water torture, and it went on for what seemed an eternity, before suddenly, Adam’s mother put down her teacup and looked up, her eyes full of tears. Adam feared the worst.
“Hwan, son, I have only one question: does he make you happy?” Her eyes held no condemnation, no hatred; just wonder and love.
Adam’s resolve broke, and he began to cry. “Yes, Mother, he makes me very happy. He makes me a better man.�
� Adam felt ashamed for his reaction, but the emotions had simply been too strong, too forceful.
His father picked up his cup again, and in another breach of Kim protocol, asked him in English, “Do you think we’ll get to meet your man and your son?”
Adam nodded, unable to speak, and they spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in silence, drinking their tea, savoring the snacks, just as they had when last their family was one, all those years ago.
On his drive home, Adam tried to piece together what had happened, but he was unable to. They never discussed anything that resembled a change of heart on his parents’ part or that they had suddenly embraced him. But it seemed as if something had happened, as if they had—at long last—reached a point in their lives where their relationship with their son was more important than long-held religious or cultural beliefs and convictions. Unsure as to why, Adam felt it unnecessary to ask; he didn’t want to pry. He was just happy, and incredibly relieved, that the conversation had developed in such an unusual and positive way.
***
Two weeks later, it was time for Adam to introduce his family to his parents. He’d tried to warn and prepare Marc and particularly Josh for the intricacies of Asian family life, the necessary behavior, the dos and don’ts of how to behave and not offend anyone. It was strange for him to return to this house so soon, after all those years away, but there he was, with Marc and Josh, which felt even more surreal.
This time, they didn’t even have to ring the doorbell, as the outer door beeped open as they approached it. Nosy neighbors, I presume. They climbed the stairs to the second floor and reached the door to the apartment.
Marc’s face revealed nothing in particular, but Josh’s was full of amazement. Adam hadn’t shared a lot of his own life experiences with the teen, but since Josh had a similar background, he wasn’t sure what was going through the boy’s head.
The apartment door stood ajar, but Adam still knocked. “Mom? Dad? You home?”
“Sure, son, come on in. We heard you were on the way so I opened the door.” His father spoke English, much to Adam’s surprise.
“Mrs. Kim in 121?”
Adam heard his father laugh inside the apartment. “That’s the one. Some things never change. Please, come in.”
Adam gestured Marc and Josh to go in and closed the door behind himself. He heard clatter from the kitchen, and his father was standing in the hallway, helping Marc and Josh with their coats.
“Let me take these. I’ll put them away in the bedroom. We don’t have much space in the hallway. It’s a small apartment. Please, gentlemen, why don’t you go ahead and make yourselves comfortable in the living room. My wife will be out with tea momentarily.”
Adam watched his father carry the jackets to his old bedroom. He’d never seen his dad do anything remotely domestic, but given the conversation two weeks ago, it seemed as if he’d have to reconsider a great many assumptions about his parents. English in the house?
Marc and Josh took their seats on the couch—oh my god, that’s my parents’ couch—and his dad sat down in one of the reclining chairs, without even flinching. Seconds later, his mother came through from the kitchen and asked to pass by.
Adam was still standing in the hallway, staring stupidly at the picture in front of him. Never had he seen anyone else sit on that couch before. His father had always sat on it whenever they had visitors, and so the visitors had to sit in the chairs instead. But Marc and Josh obviously didn’t know about that particular Kim tradition and had found it sensible to sit together, unconsciously seeking out each other’s proximity in this unknown and potentially hostile environment.
Adam’s mom set the tray with tea and cookies—cookies?—on the table and sat in the other chair, forcing Adam to take a seat next to Josh on the couch. It was a bit crowded, but then again, he gathered strength from being next to his family. My family? What about my parents? Aren’t they my family? Adam’s mind reeled.
All the while, Adam’s father and Marc made small talk, about the drive out, the weather, and Marc’s work.
“Oh? You’re a massage therapist? Maybe I’ll schedule an appointment with you. My back has been giving me trouble lately.”
Adam looked at his father as if he’d just confessed to murder. Dad? Massage? Unheard of.
His mother was pouring tea and asked Josh if he wanted milk with his? Insam cha with milk? Unheard of. His mother would’ve grounded him for weeks for simply entertaining the thought.
Luckily, Josh declined. “Thank you, but I prefer my chai as it is. What is it made of?”
Adam’s mother smiled benevolently at Josh. “It’s ginger tea, the way we traditionally make it in Korea. We take fresh ginger and boil it for a few hours. We then add a bit of honey to sweeten it, just a little bit for perfection. It’s very good when you’re low on energy, or against colds.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Kim,” Josh said. “It’s delicious.”
“Please, don’t call me Mrs. Kim. If you are to be Adam’s son, you should call me either Grandma or Joeng. That’s my given name.”
Adam was about to lose it. “I’m sorry. Would you mind explaining me what’s going on here? You’re speaking English. You’re treating Marc and Josh as if they are royalty, and now you want Josh to call you ‘Grandma’?”
Adam’s father sighed and locked eyes with Adam’s. “Son…Adam… This isn’t easy for us. Quite honestly, we don’t know what to do, how to behave, what to say. But your mother and I are doing our best. I don’t think there’s a handbook written for this particular situation.”
Adam felt a sense of shame overcome him. “I’m sorry, Dad, that’s not what I meant. And I mean no disrespect. It’s just, in my mind, I have all these conflicting images, of my childhood and youth, and now this. I apologize if I made you feel uneasy.”
His mother made her way over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “If anyone is to apologize, it is us. I don’t think we really ever understood you, who you are, and what a wonderful gift you are to us. When you came out to us all those many years ago, we panicked. We made a huge mistake, and we lost you, for years. Our expectations of having grandchildren, of you bringing home a beautiful bride, all those things I fantasized about as a young mother, all of it was shattered in one single sentence.
“And we were young, Hwan, we were young and we clung to beliefs that were out of time, out of place. And we’ve lost the last twenty-something years of our son’s precious life because of it. So please, it is we who have to apologize, and we are truly sorry, Hwan. We really are. We just hope that it’s not too late for us to make amends. There isn’t much time.”
Adam was alarmed. “Not much time? What do you mean, Mom?” She sat down on the last available chair and looked at her husband.
“Son, I know this isn’t why you’ve come here.” He looked at Marc and Josh and added, “Please forgive me if I ruin your first visit with us here, but this is important.” He turned to Adam again, looking him straight in the eyes. “Your mother and I are unwell, son. We may not have much time.”
“What do you mean? Unwell? Is it serious?”
“Cancer, Adam. I have cancer. Pancreatic stage four. We caught it too late to really do much. I may have a few months, at best. And your mother was recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.”
“Why haven’t you told me? We’ve had lunch together a few times, and…” Adam was in shock.
“Again, this is our wrongdoing. We assumed that you only spent time with us out of a sense of obligation, after what we’d done to you. We didn’t want to further complicate your life, add more guilt or shame. Please forgive us. It wasn’t out of ill-will we didn’t tell you earlier.”
Adam’s mom cut in. “Your father is right. Assumption is the mother of all misunderstandings. We were wrong. My disease is progressing slowly, and I’m taking medications to further slow it down, but your father’s cancer was only recently discovered. When you came by a couple of weeks ago, we didn’t know why you had
come, and when you told us about Josh and Marc, we began to reflect on some of the decisions we had made in the past. We have many regrets, and the way we treated you is our biggest one.
“Please, Hwan, your father doesn’t have much time, and as for my mind, it does have an expiration date. We cannot afford to waste any more time clinging to beliefs that we don’t really think hold true. Being in our situation affords us the unique ability to reflect on what is truly important in life. You are important, Hwan.”
Adam noted that she continued to use his Korean name while his father had switched to using his English name. He got up to go to his mother, falling to his knees and resting his head on her lap, crying. It was all surreal.
Marc butted in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but with modern cancer treatments, surely there’s something that can be done?”
Adam’s dad smiled benevolently. “Yes, Marc, there are amazing treatments available, at least for the earlier stages. But I’m a stubborn old mule. After my heart attack a few years ago, when we met Adam again, I vowed never to return to a hospital, and so, by the time my doctor caught the cancer, it had already progressed too far. It’s inoperable, it’s spreading quickly, and even with chemo and the new drug treatments, it is eating me up from the inside. Don’t feel sorry for me. This is my fault. I just feel sorry that I won’t get to spend as much time with my future son-in-law and grandson as I would’ve liked to.” There was genuine sadness in his voice.
Adam’s mom tried to change the subject. “Let’s not dwell on the sad news. Hwan, go sit down, let’s have tea and get to know each other.”
Marc tried hard to oblige his future mother-in-law, talking of his work, his application for an Illinois license to work as a massage therapist, and his plan to open a day spa. They spoke of Josh and school, the fire and the reconstruction of the house, and the need for an apartment, soon.
Jonathan's Legacy Page 13
