by Rose Kent
Mrs. Peroutka was spreading the compliments so thick I felt bad for all the times I’d slept in her class. I vowed never to doze off in social studies again—at least not in the remaining two weeks.
Just as I charged out of the room so I wouldn’t miss the bus, Mrs. Peroutka called me back.
“One more thing, Joseph. I’d like to display your essay on the bulletin board, if you’re okay with that. The unit is over, but I think your classmates would enjoy reading what you wrote.”
“Sure.”
“Your writing showed courage and honesty. Even Sohn Kee Chung would be pleased,” she added with a smile.
“Hey, Mrs. Nash, is Pete home?” I shouted from the driveway after school. He hadn’t been on the bus, and I really wanted to talk to him.
Mrs. Nash was watering the flowerpots on her front stoop. She was still dressed in her nurse’s uniform. “He’s out back, cleaning the pool.”
I unlocked the gate. “What’s up, bro?” I called.
“I’ve got strange but true news, Joseph,” he said with a grin.
“What, did Frankie get a date for the dance?”
“Believe it or not, he did. Molly Palanski said yes on a dare, poor girl. But that’s not it.”
“I give up.”
He was grinning. “I just got back from a doctor’s appointment. I cracked the case of what’s causing my migraines. Even my neurologist thinks I’m right.”
“What is it then?”
“Potatoes! Plain old potatoes. Can you believe it?”
I thought about all the gallons of mashed potatoes that he’d eaten over the years. I could only imagine his mom’s shock at the news.
“Talk about a cruel twist of fate,” I said. “But it could have been worse. What if you’d been allergic to candy?”
Nash said he was registered for summer baseball for the first time in two years. “And I might even be able to play hockey next year if I lay off the taters.”
“Awesome! I’ve got news too. You and Ok-hee better save room on the dance floor for Robyn and me.” I jumped on the picnic table and started doing my best macarena moves.
“You won her over?” Nash’s eyes twinkled.
“Yup. And I didn’t use one single joke,” I said, patting my own back. “I owe you, too, man. For talking me up with Robyn.”
“Both our dates were collaborative efforts,” Nash said, using a deep spy voice.
“Never use that word ‘collaborative.’ It’s too teacher-ish,” I said, and we both laughed.
Nash said that he and Ok-hee would be riding to the dance with her brother. “You’ll never believe who Yongsu’s taking,” he said.
“Whitney the Wordless Word Queen?”
He nodded. “Did he tell you?”
“Just a hunch. Yongsu didn’t say a word. And we both know Whitney’s a good speller but a lousy talker!”
Nash finished cleaning the pool and tossed the skimmer on the grass. “Want to swim?”
“Sure,” I said. Nash belly flopped in and I followed, causing a tidal wave that drenched the picnic table.
I was wearing jean shorts, but I didn’t care. In fact, we made so much noise acting like caffeinated dolphins that Mrs. Nash came out and offered us snacks just to get us out of the water.
Close to dinnertime, I dried off and put on my sneakers.
Nash crossed his arms over his chest, hesitated, and then spoke. “I’m sorry about the search, Joseph. That it didn’t work out.”
I shrugged. “It’s not your fault, Nash. The odds weren’t with us that the right person would read my posting.”
To use Mom-speak, I’d taken a chill pill. I wasn’t even mad at my birth mother anymore, whatever her name is. I mean, it’s not like I got shipped to Slumsville, USA.
“It’s up to you, Joseph. But if you want to keep searching, well, I’m here and I charge reasonable rates.”
I smiled and told Nash I’d keep that in mind.
As I walked up my driveway in my dripping wet shorts, I figured out why I’ve always loved Spider-Man. Throughout his whole life Peter Parker tried, but never uncovered, what happened after his parents disappeared behind the Iron Curtain as spies. It always bugged him that he couldn’t get to the truth, and, yeah, a couple of times he followed false leads, thinking he’d found his parents when he hadn’t. Still, it didn’t stop him from being the coolest. Even better than Superman, if you ask me. Sure, Superman is invincible—nothing but a wad of kryptonite can take him out. But Spider-Man, well, he started out human like the rest of us. And he rights the world using his web slinging and wisecracking.
Besides, my birth mother didn’t go behind the Iron Curtain. She probably never even left her village in Korea. Someday I might find her. And this time I’ll be sure to ask what religion she is first.
Why Not Both?
“Don’t drop those Whoppers,” Dad called that evening as I followed him to a table in the back of Burger King, where Mom was waiting with Gina and Sophie. Since Dad still had his cast on, I was the designated carrier. And this was the mother of all fast-food trays, piled high with supersized drinks, burgers, fries, and lots of ketchup in paper cups.
“Where’s my fish fillet?” Sophie asked, scanning the wrapped burgers.
Mom dug it out from under the pile and passed it to her.
I looked at Sophie’s sandwich and grasped at my chest. “How dare you eat a fish that was so cruelly hooked, skinned, and fried!”
“Not funny, Joseph. And neither is killing cow mothers in front of their puppies.”
“Calves, Sophie,” Dad said, biting into his burger. “If you’re going to be an animal rights activist, at least get the names straight.”
Sophie was still on her animal cruelty kick. Was she a born-again vegan or was this a passing second-grade fad? Only time would tell. Time and Mom’s risotto and sausage, which so happened to be Sophie’s favorite meal.
After they’d finished, Sophie and Gina ran over to play on the indoor jungle gym. I got up to get more ketchup. Like Dad, I use tons of the stuff.
“By the way, Joseph. Nonna and Nonno Calderaro are flying up next week for your moving-up ceremony,” Mom said.
“Great! We haven’t seen them since Christmas,” I said.
Dad sipped his shake. “Nonno wouldn’t miss your last drum solo in middle school. He bought himself a digital camera so he could e-mail your picture to all his golf buddies in Florida. Don’t be surprised if he makes copies of your report card and that terrific essay to show off too. Those old fellows like to one-up each other.”
“Ah yes, Competitive Grandparents Duke it Out in Florida. Now that’s a reality show,” I said, drumming my fingertips against the edge of the table.
Dad laughed. “Nonno’s proud of you, Joseph; we all are. What a way to end the year: a band solo and high honors for your grades. High school will suit you well.”
“Speaking of suits, I permed Donnalee Carleton’s hair this afternoon,” Mom said.
I gulped down a mouthful of fries. “As in Robyn’s mother?” Guess Mom knows who I’m taking to the Farewell Formal on Friday!
“Robyn’s grandmother.”
“I meant to tell you that I asked Robyn to the dance, Mom. It just happened today.”
“Don’t worry, I knew before my two o’clock appointment showed up. Robyn called Mrs. Carleton from the school pay phone, and her mother called Donnalee on her cell phone while she was sitting under the dryer. The Carletons are nice people. Donnalee’s a great tipper, too.”
Dad winked at me. “See? You were yourself and you got the girl.”
“Yup, I let my true colors show. Like Caruso.”
“How ’bout we go to the mall after school tomorrow and get you a suit?” Dad asked.
“Works for me,” I said, with my mouth full.
“Get a dark color,” Mom added. “The way things are going with Aunt Foxy and Dominick, you might need it for a winter wedding.”
I nodded. “Dominick can marry Au
nt Foxy as long as he gets me tickets to a Yankees game.”
“Gets us both tickets,” Dad said, and I high-fived his good arm.
I grabbed a handful of Mom’s fries, and she pushed the rest over to me.
“I was telling Mom that I checked out the college library today,” Dad said.
Dad likes libraries as much as I like comic book stores, so that was nothing new.
“And while I was there, I did some research on Korea and adoption searching,” he added.
I stopped chewing.
“Turns out they offer these group tours, for families and adoptees wanting to visit their birthplace.”
I started chewing again, but quietly, so I wouldn’t miss a word.
“The tour groups don’t guarantee they can reunite adoptees with birth families, but they can connect us with Korean agencies that do these kinds of searches. Korea used to be close-lipped about this stuff, but that’s changing.”
“So we’ll go to Pusan?” I asked. Whoa, was this my dad or an alien impostor?
“That’s right. We’ll do our best to track down your birth relatives, and we’ll see the city you’re from.”
“With other adopted kids?”
“Sure, kids and their families. These tours aren’t cheap, but I’m thinking we’ll go the summer before your junior year. That’s only two years out, and by then I’ll be halfway done with my bachelor degree and ready for a vacation. Just think, you and me—Pusan bound,” he said, grinning.
In my whole life, Dad and I never traveled anywhere together, just us.
“Count me in.” I looked over at Mom. Her eyes sparkled in a way that said it all: See, Joseph, he does care.
“You’re in, son. Start saving your allowance for kimchi dinners. I read that Koreans have their own version of calamari, too.” Dad snatched some of Mom’s fries from my pile.
He remembered about kimchi. We’d love kimchi and calamari!
“Before you two jet-setters book airfare, I want dates and times so I can check the astrology charts,” she said. “Laugh all you want, but no way are you flying on a bad day for a Taurus or a Scorpio.”
My déjà-vu dream returned that night. Only this time, there was a guest star. A man running up ahead on the dirt road slowed down and called me. “Joseph!”
I stared at him. Finally a face that wasn’t fuzzy. It was Sohn Kee Chung!
“Good work,” he said, jogging in place beside me now and gesturing toward my wagon. “You’re almost there. Keep pulling.”
“But where am I going?” I asked.
The sunlight flickered against something around his neck. His gold medal. “Where do you want to go?” he asked.
I shrugged, confused.
“Pusan is waiting for you, Joseph. Naples and Florence, too. You don’t want to miss any of it. I’m glad I went to Germany.”
“But…”
“Happy traveling, Joseph,” he said, patting my back before he took off again.
“Thanks, Sohn…Grandpa,” I called in the faintest whisper.
A small brown package came addressed to me in the mail on the day of the Farewell Formal. Mom was out running errands when I opened it. The St. Louis return address gave it away: I didn’t know anyone who lived there but Jae.
Inside was a small envelope, wrapped in bubble wrap, and a letter written on flowery stationery.
Dear Joseph,
I know we’re not blood related, but I haven’t been able to let you go. The thought of being your cousin brought me great joy.
It’s a Korean tradition for parents to have a dojang made when a child is born. A dojang is a rubber stamp using Chinese characters that represent your name. Chinese characters are often used on important documents when a signature is needed. Dojangs are used to sign official letters.
We have a small Korean shop here in St. Louis, and I ordered this one with your name. Did you know Duk-kee means “virtue” and “profit”? A perfect Korean name for a young man I have come to admire.
Use your dojang proudly, Joseph. And know that being Korean isn’t something you have to prove. You are as real Korean as you can be.
Fondly,
Jae
I held the dojang by its smooth wooden handle, and my fingers touched the ridges in the rubber mat.
This is my name. What my birth mother called me. I thought back to that wave of joy that hit when I first learned about Jae’s aunt. I really believed I’d found my birth mother.
I sighed. Then I said my Korean name out loud.
“Duk-kee.”
And for the first time, it sounded just the way Yongsu said it!
I carried the dojang upstairs to my room. My suit was already laid out on my bed. Dad had polished my black leather shoes and pre-knotted my tie. And Mom had picked up a wrist corsage for Robyn, which was sitting on my dresser.
Just before I took a shower, I reached behind my bed and picked up the corno box.
I unclasped the chain and put it around my neck. Just like Dad and Nonno Calderaro and Uncle Biaggio, I was as real Italian as I could be too.
I’d wear the corno to the dance. And I’d use the dojang whenever I needed to sign my name in a fancy way. Maybe I’d bring it to the Jiffy Wash to show Mrs. Han, especially now that I could say my name like a real Korean.
Why not do both? There are worse things than being an ethnic sandwich.
Special Thanks
It takes a village to raise a children’s book, too. Family, friends, fellow writers, children, teachers, librarians, and adoption advocates have left their imprint on my story. I am grateful to you all.
My parents, Theresa and Harry Kent, whose love and commitment teach me everything I need to know about creating the story of a good life
My four superkids: TJ, wise teen editor and comic book connoisseur; Kellyrose, my sounding board who made sure I “wrote it real”; Connor, the original Buddha Baby; and Theresa, the cutest cheerleader I could have on my team
Patricia Reilly Giff, mentor and friend whose “You will publish” words echoed through the dark
Jae Kim, my Yale angel who enlightened me on Korea’s proud history
Young-jung Yoon, who filled in the cultural blanks and patiently educated me on Korean ways
Rachel Orr, savvy editor extraordinaire, for following “the signs” and believing in a boy named Joseph
Writers on Wednesday Nancy Castaldo, Liza Frenette, Lois Miner Huey, Coleen Paratore, and Kyra Teis. You are the best writers group on this side of the Hudson River. And another book with our word in it, WOW!
Tom Henery, who answered every band question I could e-throw at him. Go Navy!
Jennifer Groff, literary goddess, whose passion for children’s books inspires me
Sal Primeggia, for Italian historical perspective; Sandy Dagliolo, for Italian translation; Abby Curro, for her calamari recipe; Jeanie Orr, for insight on the dojang; Ben Falge at the Japanese Connection, for the beautiful dojang artwork; Jean and Tom Spiegelhalter, for “showing me” St. Louis; Virginia Horn and Barbara Restivo, for constant encouragement; and Laura Garrity, for the New Jersey geography lesson
Finally, to the many caring birth mothers, adoptees, and adoptive parents who graciously shared their stories, sometimes with teary eyes. I am blessed to have heard it all
And to Tom, who opened the windows and let the fresh air in.
About the Author
ROSE KENT turned to kids for help in writing this novel—her own kids, since all four have Korean heritage and two are adopted. She and her family live in Niskayuna, New York, where they have frequent flyer points at Korean restaurants and Italian bakeries. This is her first novel.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Copyright
KIMCHI & CALAMARI. Copyright © 2007 by Rose Kent. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transf
erable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition DECEMBER 2008 ISBN: 9780061974007
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