Despite her modern beliefs and behavior, my mother is still a very traditional Korean mother at heart.
Anyone growing up with a Korean family can probably attest to the extreme pressures put on by their parents; my mother was never so forward with it but there was always that drive to be better than everyone else, to play as many instruments as possible, to ace every test, to graduate with honors and go to a prestigious college.
In middle school, when playing the flute became a big part of my life, my mom only agreed to flute lessons if I would also take piano lessons; there was a kid in the Korean community who played beautifully and I must naturally shine brighter than that child by playing two instruments instead of just one.
I am my own worst critic thanks to years and years of exaggerated disgust and angry lectures if a simple mistake was ever made.
In short, I was encouraged to become a neurotic over-achiever. I never got in trouble, never failed a class, never had a single bad thing mar my perfect record. I was brag-worthy.
It’s pretty typical in Korean moms; I would expand that to all traditional Asian mothers but I obviously have no experience with them. They’re kind of like your typical suburban wives; they smile and have dinner together and play cards but underneath, they’re secretly comparing their kids and smugly ascertaining that their offspring is clearly superior and thus, they are more successful than the other moms.
When I called my mom to let her know I had graduated, she was excited and kept asking me if I was going to walk in the ceremony. I told her no, that I didn’t care to sit through a three hour ceremony for my five seconds of glory where you strut across stage, shake hands with a dean you’ve never met, and sit back down. They don’t even give you a fake diploma like they did in high school.
(And for what they charge for tuition and books, they should at least give you the Hope Diamond.)
For whatever reason, this crime against humanity — not attending my own graduation — was more important than the fact that I had just earned my Bachelors.
“So, I should get my degree in the mail —”
“But you’re not walking.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a long-ass ceremony that is boring, monotonous and totally not worth a quick walk across a stage in front of people I don’t even know.”
“But you have to walk.”
“You left after they called my name during my high school graduation.”
“So? Do you have any pictures of you in your cap and gown?”
“I didn’t rent one because I’m not walking.”
“SIGHHHH.”
Of course. Without any physical proof, how else would her Korean friends know that I have achieved something their kids have yet to do? And that she is a Total Success as a mother?
Don’t get me wrong. My mom is proud of me and knows I’ve worked hard and waited a long time for this. If she didn’t live out of state, I probably would have indulged her in the torturous academic pomp-and-circumstance.
It’s just that, no matter how progressive she is, some things will never change.
