by Pamela Morsi
"I just hate having the Maynard name associated with such a déclassé enterprise," Mom continued. "It was bad enough when Sam was in the oil business. Oil is necessarily dirty. But food service? And not even a nice restaurant with tablecloths. He actually sells food in brown paper bags."
It was true. Fresh tamales were sold at the door and the only change in the packing was that the bags now had the Okie Tamales name and logo. Even the vacuum-sealed packs that went into the grocery stores were designed to look like brown paper.
"And the jabbering that goes on in that factory," Mom continued. "Well, I know that's as much your father's fault as your husband's, but it is just so off-putting."
The jabbering that she referred to was Korean.
Though business in the drugstore was doing much better, my dad decided that he was as recovered as he was going to get and that he much preferred semi-retirement to the headaches of owning the store.
He sold Maynard Drug to Hye Won and her older brother, Song, a thoracic surgeon in Tulsa. They turned around and hired Dad to be her part-time, backup pharmacist. It was just a few hours a week and perfect for him.
Hye Won bought a nice big home in Lumkee and moved her parents and her two youngest siblings in with her. Mr. Chai had been a gardener and Mrs. Chai, a housewife. Sam hired them both to work for him in the tamale factory. It was mostly sit-down work and they were right next door to their daughter every day. As the business expanded, the Chais brought along relatives, friends and acquaintances. Sam hired them on as he needed them. Mr. Chai was the natural manager and kept everybody on time and on task. Okie Tamales was the only downtown Lumkee business where Korean was the spoken language.
The Chai teenagers, Jin and Chano, helped after school both at the tamale factory and in the drugstore. Jin was Nate's age, cute, popular and the brightest student in her class. Chano was just starting out in high school. He made good grades, although he was not considered as smart as his sister. But he was athletic, which guaranteed him success at Lumkee High.
I liked the family. At the university, I'd met lots of different people and I thought diversity was good for our community. It was Sam who'd accomplished that. It was just another reason for me to be annoyed at him.
I tried to work through it—to rationalize my way through my irrational envy. I concentrated on my thesis: Designing Classrooms for Optimal Learning. My idea was to assess student-task completion in classrooms designed to be psychologically positive for specific age behavior and contrast those numbers with classrooms of traditional design that focused on workplace needs of teachers. It was a daunting undertaking, forcing me to create the test environment, formulate the assessments and then do them, both in the new classroom and the traditional one.
For the first time in all my studies, the Internet became my prime source for research. The computer had been part of the library for years now. And with a certifiable geek in our midst at home, I was certainly familiar with the World Wide Web. But it was not until this thesis that I learned so much of the latest and best was out there at the touch of my fingertips. I was able to contact teachers with experience in classroom design from all over the country. And by connecting with them, I quickly discovered that my ideas were in the forefront of new thinking on the subject.
I also discovered some software programs online that were used by dot.com home-decoration sites and could be modified for use in classrooms. In fact, I became very excited about some of the knowledge base I discovered in home decor and how flawlessly it could be transferred to learning spaces.
I quit competing with Lauren and Nate for computer time and went out and bought myself an updated, high-powered, high-dollar laptop. Doggedly I pursued my own interests and concentrated on my goals. And tried not to compare them to those of Sam or Okie Tamales.
I was rudely jerked out of my personal quest and preoccupation with a bombshell dropped by my daughter.
Lauren, with her perfect features and long, chestnut hair, had grown into a tall, lean beauty, the kind you see staring back at you from all the fashion magazines. She was not the number-one student in her class, but she was easily in the top five. A National Merit Scholar, she made 1420 on her SATs. We were thrilled. Along with her extracurricular activities, volunteer work and social activism, she was as incredibly impressive on a college entrance application as she was in person.
Sam and I had high expectations. Certainly we expected a scholarship from some good local colleges. We might even get some from distant, more prestigious institutions. And we were both agreed that if she was accepted at some fabulous Ivy League school, we'd see that she got the education she wanted, no matter how we had to pay for it.
With all the paperwork in the mail, we waited to see what would happen, what she would decide and where she would go.
Sam and I were on pins and needles. And when letters came from all over the country from universities wanting her to attend, we were thrilled. All that was left was her decision.
I was torn between wanting her to stay close to home where we could see her often and wanting for her the adventure of a faraway school where the educational standard was phenomenal and everyone and everything was a brand-new experience.
"I've decided," she said one evening when it was just the three of us at home.
"That's wonderful," I told her. "Your father and I are so excited and anxious to hear."
Truly, we were both on the edge of our seats.
Lauren hesitated, as if she was loathe to share the news with us.
"Mom, Dad," she said, first biting her lip and then taking a deep breath for courage, "I've chosen the Latin American studies program at Living Waters Bible College in Earline, Mississippi," she said.
For a long moment there was a complete stunned silence in our family room.
Sam and I looked at each other.
"Is this a joke?" Sam asked.
"No, Daddy," she said. "There is nothing to joke about."
"Bible college?"
"Earline, Mississippi?"
Our questions bordered on the incredulous.
"They have the most intensive program in the country," she said. "I can get a bachelor of Bible degree in three years. And with my major as Latin American studies, well, the opportunities are tremendous."
"Latin American studies?" I asked. "You're planning to teach?"
"Oh, no," she said, and then corrected herself. "Well, on some level you could say that I am." Lauren took another deep breath and gave us a bright smile. "I've received my call."
I couldn't imagine what she meant.
"This Living Waters Bible College called you?"
"No, no, God has called me," she said. "He's called me to tend his sheep, his poor forgotten sheep in countries like Bolivia, Ecuador and Paraguay. I'm going to be a missionary."
"A missionary?" Sam and I responded in unison.
"I'm taking up my cross and following Christ's admonition to go unto all the world and teach the gospel," she said. "I've been called to take the message of Christ to the people of South America."
"I thought the people of South America were all Catholics," Sam said.
"Catholicism may be the state religion," Lauren corrected him, "but most of the poor people, the native peoples, still worship as they did a thousand years ago.
Sam shrugged. "If it's worked for a thousand years, why mess with it?"
Lauren was in no frame of mind to appreciate humor.
"I knew that you wouldn't be accepting," she said with a sigh. "I've put off telling you for months because I was afraid you'd be like this."
"It's just such a shock," I told her.
"Why is it a shock?" she asked me defensively. "Did you think that I would follow along in this clean comfortable place I've always been sheltered in? That I would never have the courage to look out to a broader world and say, 'Where can I do some good?' Do you just want me to marry some nice fellow from the next suburb over, and drive a couple of overindulged, overprotected childre
n around in a minivan? Is that what you want for me?"
"No, of course not, Lauren," I assured her. "Have your father and I ever suggested that we didn't want anything but for you to fly as high as you can? We want you to reach your potential. You are a bright young woman. Of course you want to make a difference in the world. But there are a lot of ways to do that. A lot of ways that don't involve Bible college or mud huts in the Andes."
"Think of what a smart mind like yours might be able to come up with in a research lab or behind a telescope," Sam said. "I'm not saying that what you're proposing isn't a good thing, but with all the brains and talent that you have, you could be put to better use in a broader way."
"This is where God wants me," she stated adamantly. "You're my parents, I love you and honor you. But I must go where God leads me. The harvest is truly heavy, but the laborers are few.”
There is never any way to have a rational discussion with someone who answers all questions with biblical quotes.
"You may think I'm wasting my life," Lauren said. "But Gram would be proud of me. I know if Gram was here, she'd be proud of me."
"She would," Sam agreed. "She was always proud of you. And we are, too."
That night as Sam and I lay in the bed in our new, spacious master bedroom suite at the back of the house, we tried to shore up our disappointment by being philosophical.
"She's barely eighteen," I pointed out. "If we give her some space, then somehow she will find herself and her own direction."
"Our children are truly amazing," Sam said. "One tries to be so bad, we never know what he might do.
And the other one tries to be so good, we never know what she might do."
"I'm afraid for her out in the world," I admitted. "I'm afraid for both of them."
Sam nodded. "Me, too. When they were little I thought that if they could just get big enough then I wouldn't worry. The worries get bigger as fast as the kids."
"I don't think that ever stops," I told him. "I remember having a talk with Gram after Floyd Braydon came to town. She was worried, but she had faith that you'd turn out all right."
"I guess that's something to hold on to," Sam said. "We haven't been perfect parents, but we've tried our best. I suppose we just have to hang in there and hope that it was good enough."
I sighed in agreement.
"I loved what you said about her brains and talent being used in a broader way," I said.
"I believe that," Sam said. "I've never been as smart as you and the kids. I'm not an idiot, I read a lot and I can figure things out. I've got common sense and I'm a hard worker. But I just don't have the same level of intelligence as the rest of you. Making tamales is good, honest work. I like doing it, it keeps me close to home and it pays the bills. But I want more than that for my kids. I'd want more than that for you."
"And I have more than that," I pointed out. "I've wanted to teach. Now I've achieved that. I have my class and my little guys and girls. It's a real dream come true for me."
There was a long moment of silence between us.
"Then why have you seemed so dissatisfied with it lately?" he asked me.
"I'm not!"
"You are," he insisted. "At first I thought that you were angry at me for something. Then I realized I hadn't done anything. You're angry at yourself and I don't know why."
I didn't try to deny it further.
"I don't know what's wrong," I told him. "I guess I'm just plain old jealous. You've become such a grand success and everybody's talking about you. And I'm the little wife, an average, ordinary elementary school teacher. It sounds pretty blah."
Sam laughed at that.
"It may sound that way to you," he said. "But that's not the way it is. I see how the other teachers, especially the younger ones, come to you for advice. Everybody admires the way you think through your classrooms. Your students do better because they love to come to school. This classroom-design thing you do—it's unique and special."
"Oh, you're sweet, Sam," I told him, waving away the compliment.
"I'll never forget that fishbowl you put together in that very first classroom in Candy Cane School. Remember that?"
"How could I forget it?" I answered. "It got me fired."
"But it meant so much to those kids," he said. "I know that they learned more and loved learning more because it was such a cool place to hang out."
"Thanks."
"It's just too bad," Sam went on, "that it's only twenty kids a year that get the benefit of the way that you look at a room. I wish there was a way that you could design every classroom in the country."
That fall we drove Lauren down to Mississippi to start college at LWBC. And I started up my own part-time classroom-design firm, EducationEnvironments.com.
26
Sam
1997
Corrie started her dot.com business. That was good news. I started branching out Okie Tamales all over the state. That was good news, too. By the end of our first year of wholesale/retail production we were providing jobs for ten full-time employees and cooking 10,000 dozen per day. I retired my makeshift sausage maker for a shiny, stainless steel $45,000 tamale maker imported from Mexico. For that authentic Okie Tamale flavor, every one was still hand rolled and cooked in cornshuck.
Nate started his last year in high school. He was even more secretive than usual, but we kind of knew he was dating. He started showering before he went out on Saturday nights. And although he was still far from preppie, his oversize jeans and T-shirts were more often clean and fairly new. He never said a word to us. I'm sure he thought it was none of our business. But Lumkee is a very small town and secrets don't stay secrets forever. I thought Nate having a girlfriend was great until Hye Won broke the news to me that it wasn't.
“My parents are very upset” she told me. “They won't approach you directly, because you are their boss. But they are very upset and want you to put a stop to what is going on."
"What's going on?" I asked her, completely clueless. "Everything seems to be running smoothly. Is it the production increases?"
"It's not about work," Hye Won assured me. "My father would speak to you if it were about work. It's about your son, Nate."
"Nate?"
"He and my sister, Jin, have been dating," she said. "They tried to keep it a secret. But Chano knew that he had an obligation to speak to my father about it."
"Nate and Jin are dating?"
I admit I was delighted to hear it. Jin was smart and hardworking, as well as sweet and personable. I would have loved for those qualities to rub off on Nate. At the least, I was delighted that he found those qualities attractive.
"I haven't heard a word about it," I told Hye Won.
I was grinning and realized that she wasn't. I immediately became serious myself.
"Your parents don't like Nate?" I suggested.
"We do not dislike him," she assured me. "My family has no opinion of your family at all."
I doubted very seriously that could be true, but I didn't call her on it.
"But you don't want Nate dating Jin," I said.
Hye Won was very straight-faced, obviously trying to be diplomatic. "My parents are a traditional Korean family," she explained. "They love America and take great pride in their American citizenship and the American citizenship of their children." Here she hesitated. "But among traditional Korean families... we do not date non-Koreans."
"Ah” I said.
"It is not about Nate," she added hurriedly. "We would feel exactly the same about her dating any non-Korean boy."
I nodded, accepting her explanation.
"But you know, Hye Won, there's not a whole lot of Korean boys around here," I pointed out. "If she only dates Koreans, then basically, she doesn't date."
She didn't immediately respond, and with sudden unexpected insight I wanted to slap myself in the head.
"Of course! That's why you don't ever date," I said.
Hye Won shrugged. "I just haven't met the righ
t guy," she said.
"The right Korean guy," I amended.
"Yes," she admitted quietly. "My older brother has a friend who knows someone. They are hoping to arrange an introduction for us very soon."
Her offer of information was defensive. It pricked my own conscience.
"I understand," I said.
"Many Caucasian Americans don't want their young people dating Asians," she pointed out.
"Yes, for some families that's true," I told her. "I'll
talk to Nate. I can't promise anything, but I'll do what I can.”
"If you order him not to see her, then he won't," Hye Won told me with certainty.
"I'm not sure that'll work," I admitted. "We'd probably have more luck at keeping them apart by trying to fix them up. But I'll talk to Nate. Please tell your father that I'll talk to him."
Before I did, of course, I talked to Corrie.
She was defensive. "So the Chais don't think our Nate is good enough for them!"
"Corrie, you sound like your mother," I told her. "Mr. Chai is trying to do what he can to help his children."
"By not allowing them to date whomever they might fall in love with?"
"We don't know that these two are in love," I said. "All we know is that they're dating."
"Well, kids ought to be able to date anyone they want," she stated firmly.
I grinned at her. "And if Nate comes home with a hopped-up cocaine addict with six tattoos and five illegitimate kids, can I quote you on that?"
She stuck her tongue out at me.
"It's some kind of reverse racism or something," she said.
"I don't think it's racism," I said. "I don't think they hate us or our son. I think all Mr. Chai wants is a happier, easier life for his children than he's had for himself. Dating is ultimately about marrying. And marrying somebody that doesn't share your culture, your religion, your history, even just your background is just plain harder. He doesn't want things to be harder for his kids. As a father, I understand it. But it's like trying to hold back a river flood with a rope and a couple of pieces of plywood. I'm sure he's looking for any help he can get."