Taking a job offer from a law firm in Seoul nearly three years ago was an important event in my life, but I knew even then that leaving Daegu would not be easy. In fact, I have never completely left that city in southern Gyeongsangbuk Province. I return periodically, and the main reason I do so is children. I am prompted to write this because of the recent scandal in the USA involving Jerry Sandusky, the former Penn State assistant football coach who was just a bit too fond of young boys. The story has been covered in depth, and everybody and his second cousin has offered a comment. Some of those are more perspicacious and eloquent than others, of course.
While I loathe Sandusky and what he is alleged to have done, I wish him well in what is left of his life. I also want to refrain from contrasting him and me as the evil and the good, the dark and the light although we have for many years had something in common. He loved kids, and so do I. But Sandusky crossed the line when he started abusing and molesting them in Happy Valley, PA. I would and could never do any such thing. I love a number of Korean children in a fatherly, protective way. I listen to them speak, play with them in the park, buy them ice cream and other gifts and—paranoia alert!—even hug them. We sometimes walk down the street together, holding hands as I encourage them to jump. God knows I am no angel, but this is the pure love of an adult for young ones. It is based on respecting them and caring about their current and future lives. Unlike Sandusky, I have no deep and dark secrets about kids.
I took the KTX to Daegu on Friday morning, December 16, 2011, got a room in the Windsor Hotel near Yongsan Junction and walked up to Pizza Bingo, an emporium I have patronized many times in the past. I ordered five pizzas (two veggie, two pepperoni and one bulgoggi) and waited for Seon-Mi Kang. She had been one of my students at LIKE School, and I was happy to give her one of the many “I Love Korea” T-shirts I had bought at Namdaemun Market a week earlier. Seon-Mi and I then walked two blocks to LIKE and met another former student, So-Mi Lee. She had come with a friend. Both of them got T-shirts as we headed upstairs. It can be a bit frenzied when I come in and tell ever-hungry kids that pizza is served, and this time was no different. As they ate, I saw several other former students and talked with them. It’s an entirely natural process, but I am always amazed to see children getting taller and more mature. Additional T-shirts were given out, sometimes by means of the ancient “kai-bai-bo” hand game. I left a package behind the front desk for Ji-Hyeong Choi, a bonafide sweetheart who used to come into my classroom and scribble loving words on the blackboard. In my last week there, she wrote, "Richard, don't go."
Seon-Mi and I returned to Pizza Bingo for five more pies, bringing them back to the school. While there, I spoke with one of the current foreign teachers, a young man who graduated from Florida State University. It is his job to deal with non-stop noise, chaos and problems, all of which bring back memories of my 14 months at LIKE. Seon-Mi and I left, and I said goodbye to her as I greeted my trusty fruit-seller, Jae-Hun, on the street. He got an extra-large T-shirt.
Later that night, I met with Hee-Man Kim (director of the Yongsan LIKE School) to have dinner and a little beer. I told him about Andy Weiler being in Kuwait, and he told me about Robert Chambless having returned with his Korean bride and their little boy to the USA. Hee-Man has had a lot of foreign teachers at his school over the years but never one like me who just keeps coming back to visit and certainly not one who walks in loaded with pizza and other presents. This is nothing new, since I gave candy, fruit and socks to the little darlings from November 2007 until my last day at LIKE in January 2009.
I ran two miles the next morning in sub-freezing weather. But it had warmed up somewhat when I checked out of the Windsor and began walking toward my second destination—the Jo family apartment. I was interrupted because the half-day of classes at Yongsan Elementary School was over, and kids were pouring onto the sidewalks. One of them recognized me from the night before at LIKE and addressed me as “teacher.” I pulled out a T-shirt, and let him and his seven male buddies contest for it via kai-bai-bo.
I arrived at the Jo home across the street from Jangsan Park shortly before 1 p.m. Eun-Seo, Min-Seo, Yeon-Su and Eun-Su were kind of pleased to see me. Hyun-Ju (mom to the first two) had prepared a nice Korean meal, which we ate sitting on the floor. I unveiled the plastic Dangun piggy-bank and let them sort out the coins and a few bills, which came to 29,000 won plus change. The four of them divided it equally. I requested a mini-concert from Min-Seo, although little sister is also quite adept on the keyboard.
The five of us went to the park, the site of so many sublimely happy moments over the past few years. Despite the chilly weather, we just had to go down the street to the convenience store run by Ja-Young’s parents. She was there, looking splendid, as a 20-year-old Kyungpook National University student should. After another 30 minutes of indoor interaction with the kids, we walked half a mile to a store where they would be using some of the money from the Dangun piggy-bank for school supplies. I waved goodbye to them before going to the Lotteria next door to LIKE School. I was to meet another former student, Min-Ji Kim, there. While waiting for her upstairs, I observed the laughter and play of five girls whose average age was 10 or maybe 11. By some means, we met. What could I do but give each of them an “I Love Korea” T-shirt?
Fourteen-year-old Min-Ji soon arrived and came upstairs for a 15-minute chat. I had not seen this girl for three years, and my how she has grown. We exchanged a few memories of our days at LIKE, and she told me of her plans to become a doctor. She got a Christmas present, too. Her mother was waiting in the car on the street. I insisted on a quick introduction which gave me the chance to say that she and her husband are doing a fine job of raising their daughter.
Riding the KTX back to Seoul that night, I was a bit tired. Most of all, however, I felt happy to have had those 36 hours of giving and sharing. And yes, I pity old Jerry Sandusky. He lost his way somehow, profoundly misunderstanding what the love of children is all about.
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