My Essay-1

04-09-2008 19:17


Grasp My Hand Tightly, Father!



By Chung In-sung

An old Korean saying says, ``Parents' sacrifice is higher than a mountain, and deeper than the bottom of the sea."

For a long time Korean society has regarded filial piety as the highest virtue. I would like to express my thanks to my late father for the love and sacrifice he showed me through my whole life. The word ``father" has special meaning in my inner world: he was a spiritual teacher and strict disciplinarian; a great guitarist and social drinker; a good teacher and friend. But above all it was his incessant love and sacrifice that I remember him for.

My father had a very unfortunate boyhood. At the age of fourteen he became the head of his family when my grandfather suddenly passed away and had to support his three brothers, two sisters and mother, a young, naive widow.

One day he told me about his youth. ``I was very poor and couldn't go to the school run by the Japanese. Instead I learned Chinese characters at Seodang, the old Korean school of the village, for only fourteen months.'' One day he chose to stop learning in order to devote his time to supporting his family. All day long the young boy had to work at a sand mine to excavate gold. After three years of arduous work, he realized he couldn't sufficiently support his family. He decided to travel to Manchuria (North East China) to make money in his late teens or early twenties. He spent one year there. Next was Japan, where he spent three years at risk of the dangers of mining coal deep underground.

In the Second World War, Japan surrendered. Korean, Chinese, and American soldiers were captured. One Chinese explained his situation to an American soldier dispatched to Japan as an American representative for treating war criminals. ``We Chinese were forced to dig coal deep underground and were treated like animals.'' The next day, an American helicopter dropped relief goods into the Chinese miner-camps. However, no relief supplies were dumped at the Korean camp, as nobody could speak English. My father realized that he should learn to speak English in the future.

After returning to Korea and freedom from Japan, he began a new life. He decided that he would support his sons' study of English.

I was born three years before the Korean War broke out. I was his only future. When I was five or six, I broke my right arm while playing in the rice paddies with friends. My right arm was badly swollen and I came home crying. My father took me to an herbalist. The oriental doctor treated me with acupuncture. That night I couldn't sleep at all and spent the whole night crying in terrible pain. The next day father took me to a Western clinic. The surgeon advised my father to have me undergo an operation. After surgery, my pain abated to a considerable extent. Every day I had to have the gauze dressing changed on my arm, and he walked more than two miles with me on his back. I cried loudly and protested that I did not want to go to a clinic any more, for I couldn't stand the pain during the change of dressing. My father embraced me tightly and comforted me. He said ``You will be healthy soon, my beloved son!'' and bought me candy. In those days, he was a very poor farmer finding it difficult to support his family. But I, as a child, didn't appreciate it at the time.

One early morning in 2005, I received an urgent phone call from my mother. She said, ``Your father has lost consciousness.'' He'd had two strokes, probably related to excessive alcohol-induced dementia, and Alzheimer's disease. I thought he might not recover this time. I rushed to Woosuk Hospital in my hometown. He'd completely lost his consciousness more than a week. His friends and relatives told me, ``Your father can't possibly recover.'' I was very sad. I didn't know what to do.

Two weeks passed. My brother and sisters began to agree that we carry him home to prepare for funeral. I was desperate and frustrated. It was the time for me to decide whether I would take him home or not. But I hadn't given up on his recovery even though he was in a vegetative state. I wanted him to stay at the hospital longer. I couldn't help but appeal to him with my hand on his. ``Please grasp my hand tightly, if you are listening to me, please, please…'' At first he didn't show any reaction. Again and again I appealed to him, ``Father! Father! Please squeeze my hand!'' And finally a miracle happened. He gripped my hand a little. He returned home after two months of medical treatment. Last October he passed away.

The writer is a trainee at the Intensive English Teachers Training Program at Korea National University of Education in Cheongju, North Chungcheong Province. His email address is flesung@yahoo.co.kr.