MetroDad

Burying The Lede

This post is long overdue.

The only reason that I've put off writing it for so long is because I remain unsure as to what extent of my personal life I want to reveal online. The internet's ability to allow us to bare ourselves to so many people is uncharted territory and I'll be the first to admit that it kind of scares the crap out of me.

Let's face it. Whether consciously or not, the persona that we project online is merely how we choose to present ourselves to the world. Whether you write a blog or maintain a Facebook page, everyone is undeniably conscious and guilty of a certain level of character manipulation. We all want to structure the perception of ourselves in a way so that it reflects favorably upon us.

I once read an interview with David Foster Wallace where he said that the interesting part about this is that none of it is new. This manipulation of persona "was the project of the Sophists in Athens, and this is what Socrates and Plato thought was so completely evil. The Sophists had this idea: Forget this idea of what's true or not—what you want to do is rhetoric; you want to be able to persuade the audience and have the audience think you're smart and cool. And Socrates and Plato, basically their whole idea is, "That's fucking bullshit. There is such a thing as truth, and it's not all just how to say what you say so that you get a good job or get laid, or whatever it is people think they want.""

Amen, brother.

I'm not going to delve into how closely my online "persona" is aligned with my "real-life" personality. That's an abject lesson in futility that serves no real purpose. However, as I read through my archives to get a better understanding of that persona, I realize that there's one important aspect of my personality that rarely surfaces in my writing; I am a deeply private person.

Additionally, the fact that this blog has a small modicum of popularity isn't really helping matters much. Schadenfreude is trading at near-record levels these days. We don't root for people's success as much as we quietly revel in their failure.

And look, I think it's pretty obvious to everyone that I don't write here because I want to be popular and never in a million years would I ever want to be famous.

Why? 

Primarily because it would fucking kill me to visit the dentist, see a photo of myself on the cover of some magazine, and realize that some douchebag has drawn a dick and balls on my chin. 

All joking aside, what I'm trying to say is that I don't write here hoping for a slice of admiration pie. In fact, I often struggle whether to even maintain this site because, due to factors beyond my control, my goal of retaining anonymity vanished long ago.

In the beginning, my primary motives for starting this site were simply twofold. One, I wanted a place to chronicle my journey into fatherhood. Two, I just wanted a creative outlet to practice my writing.

The one thing I never predicted was how much this site would impact my life personally. The social compact of the community is far greater than I imagined. I've become invested in your lives and you've become invested in mine. More than anything, I'll never regret starting this site because of the close friendships it's given to me. 

That's why I feel compelled to tell all of you that BossLady and I are divorcing. This is nowhere near a recent development. We spent many hard and painful months in marriage counseling before making the final decision. Needless to say, it wasn't easy.

I've said many times on this site that a good relationship is like a duck. Everything may look smooth on the surface but underneath you've got to paddle like hell. This should come as no surprise to anyone who has ever been in a serious long-term relationship. As everyone knows, good relationships take work. 

We simply couldn't make ours work.

I won't go into the details of why our marriage didn't work. Out of my deep and sincere respect for the BossLady, that part of it remains private but like life itself, every relationship is complicated. Besides, to put the reasons for our failed relationship into words would require a writing talent that I simply do not possess.

But let's face it. Conversations about past relationships are rarely about what actually happened. They're mostly about what we think has happened.

Thankfully, the divorce has been extremely amicable and we remain close friends. Most importantly, the Peanut has adjusted to her new situation amazingly well, proving once again how resilient kids can be. It helps tremendously that BossLady and I share extremely similar views on parenting. We're also both extremely alike in the extent of the personal sacrifices we're willing to make for our daughter. The most important thing is that the Peanut knows that she will continue to remain the most important individual in each of our lives.

As for me? I'm fine. The decision to get divorced seems like it happened ages ago and I haven't looked back since. I'm a firm believer that every exit is an entrance somewhere else. Besides, good friends, good booze and good therapists should never be undervalued. Divorce has not destroyed the romantic in me nor has it ruined my optimistic belief in love. While I regret that our marriage failed, I wish BossLady only the best and I sincerely hope that she finds true happiness with someone else. In all honesty, I know that she hopes the same for me too. We have the utmost respect for one another and I hope that you will as well.

Some people think that it's holding on that makes one strong. In reality, it's letting go.

Thanksgiving: A Family Comedy

Growing up as the eldest child of Korean immigrant parents, I was usually our family's conduit to the intricacies of American life.

Between school and my friends, I could often be found running home to share my latest discoveries: "Mom, have you ever tried peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?" "Do you know about this fat white guy named Santa Claus?" "Ever hear about this weird lady called the Tooth Fairy who pays cash for old teeth?"

As a young child, I distinctly remember learning about Thanksgiving for the first time. School taught me about the Pilgrims, Native Americans, and the first feasts at Plymouth, MA. However, from my friends, I learned about the annual family reunions centered around such exotic foods as turkey, chestnut stuffing, cranberry sauce, gravy, and pumpkin pie.

Koreans, as a general rule, never eat turkey. Either turkeys never made it to Asia or my carnivorous ancestors adopted the belief, "Why eat turkey when you can eat steak (or dog)?"

Anyway, at some point, I remember my brother and I begging my mother for a "traditional" Thanksgiving dinner, replete with turkey, stuffing, gravy, and sweet potatoes. To her credit, my mother was always willing to give anything a try in order to make her two sons happy. In many regards, she found adjusting to life in America as exhilarating as we did.

The only problem was that cooking is not my mother's strength. And really, if you've never cooked anything before, it's probably not a good idea to start with a turkey. Hell, even experienced chefs have been known to struggle with it. How else to explain that awesomely unique American phenomenon known as the Butterball hotline?

The first turkey we had for Thanksgiving tasted like it was boiled in water. I didn't watch my mother cook it so I can't actually verify that it wasn't. All I know is that I've never had anything grosser in my entire life. Thank God for Chinese delivery food.

Our second Thanksgiving dinner was catered by a professional chef. To this day, I've never had a Thanksgiving dinner that tasted as good. Sadly, the idea of the four of us sitting quietly at a table in our own home surrounded by strangers serving us didn't really fit my idea of a traditional Thanksgiving.The deliciousness of the food was matched only by the sadness of the ordeal.

Gradually, our family came up with our own versions of Thanksgiving. Sometimes we ate out a restaurant. Sometimes we had food delivered. Other times we'd have a Thanksgiving buffet at the country club. For the past few years, our Thanksgiving dinners have been centered around giant Peking ducks.

But now that the Peanut is four years old, I'm all about the traditional Thanksgiving. In many ways, Thanksgiving is just another example of how I strive to give my daughter all the things that I didn't have growing up.

So today, we cooked up a turkey with all the fixings. While all the adults were in the kitchen, my daughter ran around yelling "gobble, gobble" and was constantly peeking into the oven to monitor the progress of the turkey. You've never seen a child so excited about eating a turkey.

And although I personally would have preferred a fat steak, seeing the deliriously happy look on my daughter's face was worth the tryptophan-induced coma that ensued.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! May we all realize how lucky we truly are.

You Never Forget Your First Fish

When my father-in-law was diagnosed with interminable cancer, I spoke to several child psychologists and read various books on how to approach the subject of death with my daughter.

Simply put, it's virtually impossible for an infant or toddler to fully comprehend a human's death. Up until the age of seven, many children believe that death is a reversible condition.

The experts advise you to never say that a loved one's cause of death was sickness or old age. The reasons for this are fairly straightforward. If you ever get sick or a loved one gets old, your child will be petrified with fear that death is impending.

We explained to the Peanut that death means one's body stops working. Grandpa can no longer eat, sleep, walk, read books to her, or go fishing. Naturally, this brings up various questions like "where did Grandpa go? or "what happened to his body?" These are issues that may involve your faith or sense of spirituality and it's ok to have those conversations with your child.

As most of you know, my father-in-law was diagnosed with cancer in April. From that moment on, we flew from New York to Texas on a weekly basis. Each weekend, we rented a small fishing boat so we could not only indulge his passion but also so we could create as many wonderful memories as possible together.

Ironically, we caught very few fish this summer. 

Since he passed away two weeks ago, my wife and brother-in-law have been staying with their mother to help her grieve. Every night at 7:00 pm, the three of them hike over to a local lake and silently fish for a little bit. It's partly just to get out of the house but it's partly as a way of remembering dad.

This weekend, the Peanut and I joined them for the first time. Although the lake is filled with striped bass and catfish, we were just fooling around near the shore. I bought Peanut a cheap little toy Dora fishing rod at Wal-Mart and my brother-in-law rigged it up so it could actually cast.

As we sat there quietly in the darkness, the Peanut suddenly yelled "I see the fishies moving." As we ran over to her, we yelled at her to reel in her line. Sure enough, at the end of the hook, was the Peanut's very first fish. She was so excited I was sure that she was going to piss all over herself.

Now, when it comes to bugs or insects, we have a very pacifist approach to all God's creatures. If we catch a fly in the house, we'll release it outside. If we see a spider, we'll escort it into the woods. Sure, we'll beat the shit out of another toddler but, when it comes to animals, we firmly believe in the sanctity of life.

However, we'd never had the fish discussion with the Peanut before. She loves fish so she knows people eat it all the time. However, we also tend to be catch-and-release fishermen. So, as we all gently crouched around her, we asked her what she wanted to do with her fish.

She thought about it very carefully before she said that she wanted to take it back to Grandpa's house and put it in his little pond. That way, whenever she came to visit Texas, she could look at her fish and remember all the fun times that she had while fishing with Grandpa. She then looked up at us with her big bold eyes and said, "Do you think that would be a good idea, guys?"

Yeah, kiddo. We think that would be a great idea.

Lonely is the night

You miss your wife and daughter terribly.

It's late at night. Your apartment feels cavernously empty. The silence seems to echo off the brick walls and reverberate noiselessly. How is that possible? The TV hums in the background. You sigh heavily and, as you gaze upon a photo of your wife and daughter, you pour yourself another scotch.

Things changed so quickly. Only a week ago, you and your family awoke to one of those beautiful spring mornings in Manhattan, the kind of morning that always rekindles your unabated love for this city. Your daughter is practically bursting at the seams with excitement. "Isn't it a beautiful day, guys? When you pick me up today, let's all go to the park for a picnic. Hooray! Picnics!" You and your wife smile and laugh at your daughter's unbridled enthusiasm. Together, all three of you walk out of your apartment building. Rays of golden sunshine warm your faces.

Three hours later, you leave the office briefly to get another dose of that midtown sun. You chat amiably with the Pakistani newstand owner downstairs as the two of you share a cigarette. You both agree that it really is a beautiful day. Despite your yearning to flee from work and enjoy the outdoors, you return upstairs to your office.

Immediately as you walk in, your co-worker runs up to you. "Call your wife. It's an emergency."

In the seconds that it takes for you to dial her number, your mind races. Since your wife is the one calling, you assume that nothing bad has happened to her. What else would constitute an emergency? Has something happened to your daughter? Your heart is racing.

When your wife answers, all you hear are the anguished sounds of her sobbing uncontrollably. Between choking sobs and gulps of air, you hear only isolated words. Father. Liver cancer. Inoperable. Tumor. 8 cm.

Your gut wrenches. A sickening feeling falls into the pit of your stomach. For some strange reason, you're reminded of that tragic morning of 9/11. Another beautiful day that started out with so much promise yet ended with so much pain.

The next 24 hours are a dizzying combination of activity and emotion. Phone calls are made. Tears are shed. Sympathies are laid bare. You learn that everyone reacts differently in these situations.

We all do what we have to in order to get by.

Your wife decides to get on a plane immediately so she can see her ailing father. You agree that it will be easier for everyone if you and your daughter stay at home. You both think you have it all figured out. However, when you telephone your mother-in-law to inform her of the news, she pauses for a moment and then tells you that it's great that your wife is coming to see them. However, the doctor said that her husband needs to enjoy life as much as possible now. Things might get worse soon. That being said, your mother-in-law tells you, do you think the Peanut could come to Texas also? Nothing would make him happier.

You and your wife look at each other and agree wholeheartedly. Knowing how much joy can come from being around a fun-loving toddler, you both know that this is one of the best (and only) things that you can do for her father right now. You also know it's hard to cry when you're laughing so hard. And one thing your daughter does do is provide lots of laughter.

So as you sit alone in your apartment missing your family and thoroughly depressed over your father-in-law's illness, you decide to watch some videos that you took last week. In one, your daughter is demonstrating how if mom and dad will not give her a baby sister, she will make one by herself. And as you sit there with tears in your eyes, you cannot help but start laughing again.

It's true. Laughter really is the best medicine.

I'm having a baby sister from Pierre Kim on Vimeo.

We love you, Dad, and we're thinking about you all the time.