Lessons learned

I am close to my parents. My mom and dad live only 3 miles away from me and we see them at least 2-3 times a week. I talk to my mom on the phone nearly every day, even if it's just for 5 minutes. Dad emails frequently. These emails usually aren't too personal, but they're important because they're about issues that are important to him. I don't take for granted that mom and dad are nearby or that they're so very involved in my life and the life of my children.

There are things that have happened in the lives of my family these past 2 years that have shown me that though my parents are great parents, they are not perfect people. I've surprised even myself with how much I've struggled with this revelation. All of my life, I've viewed my mom and dad as just that - my mom and dad. I’d never thought much about the other roles they play in life - the husband, son, wife, daughter, sister, friend, co-worker, etc. And though I feel I've now seen the man behind the curtain, it's only recently I've begun to push past some of the events that transpired.

It's when I consider the lessons I've been trying to teach my nearly 6 year old daughter that help me the most. I hear the clear echo of my parents' voices in my head as I think about how I want to teach Sydney the hows, whens, and whys of life. It reinforces to me that yes, my parents aren't perfect (whose are?), but what they've sacrificed for me and taught me as they raised me, is more important, more valuable, and more worthy of my consideration than any mistakes they have made or could make.

So, I share with you now a few of the lessons I've learned from my mom and dad.

1. Dumb Pollock jokes aren't funny. When I was a young kid, it was popular for my school chums to tell "dumb Pollock" jokes. I didn't understand what racism was, so when I heard and remembered what I thought was a funny joke, without hesitation, I approached my dad. I remember telling him I knew a joke and I started out with, "There was a Pollock, a Mexican --", and before I could continue, he held up his hand and said, "Anne Marie, stop right now. Those kind of jokes aren't funny." I tried to assure him the laugh was worth the joke, but he never did let me finish. He explained to me that it was never funny to mock someone because they are different from me. After all, my mother was from another country and I wouldn't think it was funny if people made fun of her just because she was Korean. He was right. The lesson stuck.

2. Know what you're saying before you say it. I recall being junior high aged and saying to my dad, in irritation, "What a crock!" It surprised me how sternly he looked at me and then asked, "A crock of what, Anne Marie?" (Are you picking up on the fact that when I was in trouble, I was no longer "Annie" but "Anne Marie?") He then explained to me that saying "What a crock" was only part of the quote and that the crock was indeed filled with something distasteful. There was also another incident (much worse) which involved me calling my sister a name which I will not repeat here. How do I say this delicately? I thought I was calling Mia a DILL pickle which was WAY off base from the noun I used in front of my dad. So, like dad said, "Know what you're saying before you say it."

3. Talk to your kids about premarital sex, even if it's awkward and uncomfortable. During my high school years, my mom would prep food at the kitchen table on Saturday mornings. She would snap bean sprouts, de-vein shrimp, julienne vegetables, and whatever else she needed to do to make her awesome Korean meals. And it was during this time, she would often call me out of my room with an "Annie, come here. I want to talk to you for a minute." I would drag myself to the table, and in typical teenager fashion, I would sigh loudly, roll my eyes, and ask impatiently, "What?" If at that point, she told me to sit down, then I knew I was going to have another talk about boys with her. She would point blank ask me questions like, "Do you know what happens when a boy and a girl are together?", "Do you know how you get pregnant?", and "You know you're not supposed to do that, right?" At the time, I could have died right there in the chair. The conversations usually ended with me nearly yelling, "Yes! You already told me this! I KNOW!" while I attempted to escape as quickly as possible. But in retrospect, that healthy fear of my parents and God kept me pure for a long time. I totally respect my mom for being that blunt with me. I was incredibly embarrassed at the time, but I always knew where my parents stood on the subject.

4. Family is important. My parents transplanted to the Dayton area because dad was in the Air Force, and after coming back to the states from Korea with mom, Mia, and me “in the oven”, he was stationed at Wright-Patt. My dad’s parents lived in Cincinnati. My mom’s father had died before I was born and her mother was left behind in Korea. In the most recent years, my dad’s mother, my Grandma, and my mom’s mother, my Halmonie, both moved to the Dayton area to be close to my parents as they got older. My parents have sacrificed so much in taking care of my grandmothers. They have shopped, cooked, cleaned, bathed, made midnight hospital runs, made house calls to fix VCRs, managed all finances and bills, and done everything and anything in between to keep my grandmothers healthy and happy. Their tireless efforts, without words, have shown me the incredible importance of family. When Grandma died last August, I think my parents took a lot of solace in the fact that while she was here with us, they did all they could for her – no regrets. Halmonie is still hanging in there with my mom and dad right at her side. I know, without a doubt, when the time comes and my parents need help, I’ll be there for them – continuing the tradition in our family.

Though this is by no means an exhaustive list, it’s enough to help you see why I say I have great parents. And though they’re flawed just like I am, they inspire me because I’m trying to be a great parent myself.

Do you have any valuable mom and dad lessons you’ve learned? I’d love to hear them.

God's love

This is from a note I posted on Facebook a few days ago, but I think I should have posted it here instead. It seems a more appropriate venue. Anyhow, here it is.
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I’ve been a Christian for most of my life. And even so, I sometimes have a hard time grasping the fullness of God’s love. How could anyone, willingly and knowingly, go through what Jesus went through on the cross for our sake? In my mind, I know why He did it. Years of Bible study and church have educated me as to the reasons. But my view of the crucifixion became something new to me this Easter.

On Friday, my 19 month old son, Aiden, had a severe allergic reaction to peanut butter. Aiden had eaten his first serving of peanut butter shortly before I picked him up, and by the time I got him home, he was suffering terribly. When I determined he was in respiratory distress, I called 911 for help.

Those minutes leading up to the 911 call and waiting for the medics to arrive are hands down, the scariest of my life. And that fear had absolutely nothing to do with my own physical self and well being. I was fine. It had everything to do with the love and concern that I had for my son. Your mind takes you funny places in the midst of an emergency. You picture the worst while simultaneously praying for the best.

Aiden ended up being just fine after some Benadryl, breathing treatment, and now, a peanut-free diet. I watched his condition improve in the ambulance, hospital, and then at home. My relief was and still is palpable.

And after reflecting on this ordeal time and time again since Friday (and many times to come, I’m sure), I have a better understanding of Christ’s ultimate sacrifice. My cerebral comprehension regarding the necessity of the crucifixion really engaged with my heart.

If someone had told me, in those moments when I literally feared for Aiden’s life and well-being, that healing him would cost me my life, I would have given it. I can say, with that feeling so fresh in my mind, that I know I would have done anything to help him, no matter what it cost me. And the reason why I could put Aiden’s life before my own is because of my incredible love for him.

I’m sure you see where I’m going with this. If God’s love for me is on the same level as my love for Aiden, then just like my example with Aiden, of course Jesus would die so that I could have eternal life in Heaven.

I picture Jesus’ concern for His lost children. He well knows the consequence for those who reject Him. I imagine that He is desperate, like I was but magnified, to save those lives. I envision His anxiety, worry, and tears over those that might be forever lost. And I get why He didn’t stop the crucifixion – why He went to Calvary without fighting it. I really get it.

By giving me children, I certainly have a litmus test by which to compare God’s love for me. And oh, how I appreciate that He cares. I didn’t do a thing to earn God’s love – just like Sydney and Aiden didn’t do a thing to earn mine. It’s just there. It’s real. It’s powerful. It’s unending.

I do attribute Aiden’s recovery to God’s intervention and I am grateful. So in spite of Friday’s “excitement”, I had a blessed Easter weekend….even if we did throw away the Reese Cups and Butterfinger eggs.