"Are we having a counselling session?" I chuckled and said when he laid on his bed as I entered the room with a laptop. It was Saturday night, and I was about to conduct the interview with my father at his room. Because he was lying on the bed and I was sitting on the desk next to him, it oddly seemed like we were doing some sort of a counselling, like I am his psychiatrist. However the mood was not that serious. Though it was a bit awkward because I've never conducted an interview and it was my father's first time to be an interviewee, the mood was soft and eased with comfort especially a third person, my younger sister, in the session with us. She didn't really speak but occasionally she would laugh as she listened to dad's talk.
He mentioned one or two about his childhood before, but I didn't have thorough explanation about him as a child. I know that he went through rough childhood just like most of the South Korean children in the 1970s. So I started from there. "How would you describe your childhood? You said you had a rough childhood." "It was a hard time. My family lived in the countryside. You, a girl living in this huge metropolis would never even imagine. We were always hungry, always lived in unsanitary environment."
When I asked him if he has any specific event he remembers which happened in his childhood, he sat up and paused for a long time, tracing his memory back. While deep in thought, he said that he was always famished and most of the time he was miserable, because his family was so poor and there were so many family members that no one cared about a little child who wasn't even the oldest boy in the family. Then he asked me, like some memory came up to him, if I know a rice puffing machine. I have never saw one by myself but heard about it so I answered yes. A rice puffing machine is literally a machine that puffs rice or other grains into popcorn-like treats. It used to be a common thing on the streets of South Korea until about twenty years ago. When he was young, the peddler with this machine occasionally visited the village and did the puffing in exchange for money. However his mother gave neither grains nor money to my father. So every time the merchant visited, he just sat there with bunch of other kids who also failed to get grains and money from their parents, and waited until it makes a huge pop sound to pick up and eat some of the puffed grains fallen on the ground. "It was one of the few occasions where I can eat some treats." He said smiling lightly. "But that is not what I am going to talk about—something really bad happened one day."
Just like other days, he was sitting next to the rice puffing machine waiting for the machine to make a pop sound. When it finally did, he rushed with other kids to grab some on the ground and that was when he got his back burned by the machine. My sister and I gasped at this part. "Were you burn badly?" "Yes, it hurt like hell. I screamed in panic." It was moments after that he finally was able to stand up. If it were not for his friends, he wouldn't even have gotten home by himself. His mother saw his son coming home crying, leaning against his friends, and scolded him for being so careless. However she was the only one who actually cared about my father, so it was her who also treated him, even though the treatment was nothing but applying soybean paste on the wound. "We didn't have proper medical institution, and even if we did we couldn't have afforded it. Soybean paste was the best medication we could get." Obviously the wound didn't heal well and it ended up lasting unhealed until the next winter came. He said that summer was an agony because of the unhealed wound, and he still has the big scar on his back. He showed it to me and my sister as if it was nothing, in fact he told me the whole story like it was a common thing, like he has overcome those hard days, but I frowned as I watch the ugly scar on his back. "Oh, you don't have to frown like that." "But it sounds and looks really bad." He smiled and said that actually that memory is a fond one because he could feel his mother's warmth. I realized the memory was both sad and beautiful for him. I let him trail back his memory of his mother for a while after the remark.
My father had three siblings. He had one big brother and one small sister and small brother. That is actually relatively few compared to other families in the 70s. I, born in 1994, have only one small sister. When I asked him how it was to have three siblings, he laughed and said it was terrible, especially when you are in a big family. "I always fought with my older brother. He was the oldest son, so he got all the respect and that made him cocky. My sister was the only girl, and my younger brother was the youngest one, so they were treated not that bad. As for me, who was nobody, no one cared about me." "You always fought with your older brother?" "Yes, much like you and you." He pointed at my sister and me. We blushed a little and chuckled. When asked if there were any occasion he felt really angry toward the discrimination between the siblings, he answered right away, that it was when he said to his great-grandfather that he'd like to enter a university. His father, my grandfather, died when my father was only 9 years old, so the great-grandfather was the head of the household back then. My great-grandfather didn't want to spend money to send my father to university because he was not the first son, so he refused. He actually said my father should work at the factory than study. "But you graduated the university. How did you manage that?" "I persuaded him." He answered simply to my question. When I urged him more specific answers, he sighed and explained how hard it was to persuade his grandfather, who was so hardheaded and stubborn. "I asked him again and again, and he finally gave me one chance. He said if I cannot make it on the first attempt, he will send me to a factory." It must have taken him lot of time and effort, of course pressure too, to finally be able to enter the university. I felt awe towards him.
I asked him the final question, "How do you feel towards your childhood? Do you feel happy? Regretful? Or angry?" "To be frank, I feel nothing now. I do not believe that going through bad childhood means ending up as failure. Yes, sometimes I felt furious towards the things I cannot help with. But soon I realize it is wise to relinquish the anger and find out what you can do." He explained to me that what he experienced in the past is who he is today. Though the experience cannot always be pleasant, from it the strength to go on comes, like patience and courage which eventually becomes your asset. "I know these days it is different and somewhat more difficult. In my days poverty was the biggest problem. Now other things like getting a better job are the biggest problems. But do not let those difficulties drag you down. I learned it through my life."
He looked tired at this point, with his eyes half closed. I could see that he would like to end the interview here and go to sleep. I stood up, thanked him for the interview. He said it was nothing, and was surprised how much time had passed. "It took almost an hour." "Yes, it did. Goodnight, dad." I left the room with my sister, who turn the light off and closed the door behind her.
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