My father-in-law moves quickly, with the posture and sense of command of an aristocrat and the body of an old solider. He sits down with precision, taking inventory of the food on the table. His old clothes are fraying at the edges; he will wear the same pair of old socks until my embarrassed mother-in-law surreptitiously discards them. My father-in-law's grandfather was a wealthy landowner who served in the court of the last king, but my father-in-law's life of privilege shattered at the age of 18 when the Korean War began.
Hated by the communists for his background and persecuted for his older brother's prominent position in the communist army he was left without parents, friends, and resources. He survived and raised his younger siblings on scraps and odd jobs. While his family background cultivated ambition, his experience cultivated paranoia and self-reliance. He trained himself to think only of the future, to postpone indefinitely his own comfort and satisfaction.
Now he leans forward over the table, ignoring his own food, and devours the sight of my sons eating. Mealtime is, for my husband and me, a time to connect and communicate; but for my father-in-law every moment is an opportunity for teaching, conservation, or hoarding. “W! Don't eat so fast! Chew each bite twenty times! One. Two. Three...” He nods his head and taps his rough finger on the table for emphasis. “Yobo [wife], give him some kimchee! No, you have to cut it up first.” He takes the scissors and bowl of kimchee from her hand and begins to cut it himself, grunting a little and completely oblivious to my mother-in-law's miffed expression. My husband and I exchange glances. “Gentlemen eat slowly, talk slowly. They sit up straight, like this!” He demonstrates by sitting poker-straight in his chair, face in some caricature of fierce, manly toughness. The kids laugh. My father-in-law presses on. “What did you learn in school today? Can you say the times table up to 13? You can't, can you?” Now my husband and I are getting quietly upset, shifting in our seats and taking deep breaths. My mother-in-law, always the diplomat, suggests, “Why don't you go and lie down a little while?”
He abruptly leaves the table, a man of action and efficiency and little social grace, deflated and defeated, understanding that we consider the knowledge he won through sweat and blood so irrelevant to our own lives. My husband watches him go, wishing his father could just enjoy a moment with the few remaining family he has left.
My father-in-law turns to enter the bedroom and, spying the empty bowls in front of my son, breaks into a smile that infuses his whole face. “W! You're the best! Come here!” W grins and runs at my father-in-law, almost knocking him over. After the steady entrenchment of the meal, we reach armistice.
“Hating any kind of waste, his old clothes are fraying at the edges.” Dangling modifier.
I really enjoyed this post. It paints the situation nicely. I can totally see how your father-in-law acts and carries himself. Actually, it reminded me of my grandfather before he passed on. There was aways a light tension between him and everyone else. He always wanted to remain the master of the household, even though his own grandchildren have kids now and even his youngest grandson was in his mid-20s. He always wanted to remain the relevant one at the table - his words should be more powerful than the law that rules the land. Even after his second stroke, he still displayed such tendencies - even though it was harder for him to communicate them by then.
I had to read it twice to make sure it wasn't my father. It's sad the experience we accumulate at such great cost is so rarely of benefit to others when we try to pass it on.
I saw my father, too, in many of the details of the sketch. Living in the US, my father felt a special responsibility to impart what he thought were essential Korean values (necessarily superior to American values) not just to me and my brother, but to anyone we brought home. The price of a delicious home-cooked meal from my mother was an emphatic cultural lesson from my father, which often began with, “In Korea . . .”
It does seem a sad paradox that the sacrifices that make the success & comfort of later generations possible also render the lessons of those experiences less relevant.
Fixed the dangling modifier and the split infinitive. jkcohen, are you providing free editing services for ignorant bloggers?
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