Kissing Outside the Lines

by Diane Farr

  But after talking with Sonu and Jennifer, I do feel more secure in my right to stand up for myself and my instinct that there must be a balance between respect for an elder and my own self-worth. I just don’t know where my balance lies yet with Seung’s family, and it’s particularly hard to imagine with people I don’t yet know.

  Sonu didn’t find this awareness overnight either, though. Even before Jennifer, he had some history of being the “Indian/brown/red/ dark/one of them” guy.

  Sonu grew up in Chicago until the third grade. As urban a city as Chicago is, its Midwestern location might explain why Sonu was the only nonwhite student in his school. But Sonu says he never felt out of place. Today’s educational literature does confirm that skin color and what holiday you celebrate on school break seem to have no importance to boys until roughly fourth grade. For girls, the safety zone closes in earlier, at around second grade. Sonu moved to the southernmost tip of Virginia in fourth grade, and that is where the differentness began. There were a few black children in his class but no other variation of the white majority. He remembers classmates telling him stories about American Indians, trying to befriend him. No one seemed to know there was a country called India where Sonu’s parents were from and he was born.

  He says middle school was more challenging “for the odd brown man out,” but quickly adds that by high school he could fit in any group. “I could hang with the nerds or the skate rats, and I was a jock. I didn’t think I could possibly have had any more fun than high school till I got to college.” I believe Sonu because his confidence is palpable. Because his childhood was not entirely defined by his race—even though he was the only person of his color in all his school settings—Sonu never even realized there might be issues having mixed-race children until they were born.

  Jennifer and Sonu got pregnant on their first wedding anniversary. Jennifer wanted to name their daughter something unique, as Jennifer was the most popular name of the year twenty-seven years before. When their daughter arrived they called her Matisse.

  In the early days of Matisse’s life, Jennifer’s mom frequented their home, as did Sonu’s. Both gave advice and both went home. There was no fabulous awakening between Jennifer and her mother. There were no particularly loving moments that helped heal any of the actions from the past. All new mothers have questions and overwhelming feelings and a need to make urgent calls to someone they trust. Even though Diana was present, Jennifer still did not have the opportunity to reach out to her. But as she had been for years, Kusum was always there.

  “She is a very ‘huggy’ person. She always has been. And I just couldn’t be,” says Jennifer. She has a lot of anxiety about her relationship with her mother-in-law. Despite Kusum’s dedicated interest in Jennifer as her own person, Jennifer still does not feel that close to her. Jennifer identifies the feeling that prohibits their closeness as “guilt,” and she still feels it today. Simply put, Jennifer finds it hard to share things with Sonu’s mother because she feels guilty not sharing them with her own. She says with sadness that she has always kept Kusum at an arm’s length. I can’t help but think of other words to describe why Jennifer might be hesitant to bond with another mother. Words like fear and loss and judgment and abandonment stick in my mouth as I bite my tongue and just let Jennifer talk. She continues to bravely share her experience, not looking for any assurances from me, as much as my heart wants to give them to her.

  One afternoon when the Jaasmas were visiting Matisse, Jennifer’s father asked Sonu if he worked from home. Sonu’s business had over one hundred employees by this time, who, needless to say, did not work out of his house. Sonu was home because he knew his wife needed his help with her parents. The Jaasmas’ perpetual lack of interest in their daughter’s life never fails to shock Sonu. He took this opportunity to lay down boundaries, as he realized they were all playing house but had nothing familial between them.

  “I have always been decent, barring this one conversation about religion.”

  With his wife present, Sonu forbid the Jaasmas to ever speak to his child about religion if they wanted to continue to see her. He also told the Jaasmas that they shouldn’t bother comparing how his parents would be involved in Matisse’s life. “We have faith and trust in my parents. That is not something we feel with you.” Jennifer’s mother got upset, but her husband stepped in. Mr. Jaasma told his son-in-law that he understood. The conversation has never needed to come up again.

  Four years after Matisse came to them, Sonu and Jennifer welcomed Seychelle Singh. “I found her name on a map,” says Jennifer with candor. When Seychelle was born, Jennifer and Sonu had a plan ready for their family of four.

  “In our home we celebrate Divali (an Indian holiday) and Christmas (with no Bible references) and Martin Luther King Day.” Matisse has been to India already and there are plans for another trip to include Seychelle. The family plans to move somewhere more diverse when Seychelle turns five. They would like their kids to have a better idea of the world than just what their horse ranch presents. They are considering Singapore as their first option.

  “We see our children as American and are raising them as such” was the quote both Jennifer and Sonu independently gave me. To address “what they are,” Sonu tells his girls, “The good news is that Dad was born in India and Mom was born in America and they have the best of both!”

  IN THE LATE SUMMER of 2007, Jennifer’s mother asked both her daughter and Sonu to come to the Jaasma home. Jennifer’s father’s health was declining and his memory was leaving him. On the Jaasma family’s front deck, Diana spoke for both her and her husband as she apologized. She apologized for seventeen years of bad choices. She apologized for everything they had ever done. Everything that was ever said. Diana admitted that they had grown to hate their actions and the way they treated both Jennifer and Sonu. They stopped short of saying they approved of the union, because they just don’t. But everyone felt that what Sonu said the morning after the wedding had come true—and the Jaasmas finally wanted to change that.

  At the end of this story, as it has transpired so far, Jennifer wants to be respectful to her parents. She feels there are extremists of all kinds and that there is no arguing logic with them. Today, Jennifer does not want to regret her own actions if she doesn’t try to form a relationship again. So she is continuing to show up and rebuild with her family, all these years later, before her dad has no words left to speak to her when he is finally willing to.

  Jennifer’s life, ironically, seems to me to be a perfect example of being a good Christian. She shows love and empathy toward everyone. I also can’t help but wonder if Jennifer’s actions are a true example of what it means to live without prejudice. Acceptance, in any situation, is the eventual goal, right? Her family loved Jennifer when she was in their good graces, and I do see evidence that they still loved her even when they failed to be kind to her. But Jennifer’s actions show love without judgment during all her family’s actions. She distances herself from them when they hurt her, but she crosses back to them every time she is invited, without expectation. I wonder if Jennifer’s kindness is more of what I need to be feeling when dealing with people whom I feel judge me. That is, if I’m not too prejudiced to extend a kindness to someone who I feel has already hurt me first.

  Sonu feels that Jennifer is fantastic at being the bigger person. He thinks this change of heart came because the Jaasmas finally see what a minimal relationship they have with their granddaughters, as well as their “dynamic, whole-life-successful daughter.” Sonu adds, “I’m supportive [of the reuniting] but ... I still think they’re nuts.”

  “I wish you could see these snowflakes coming down. They’re enormous.” It’s January and even the South is feeling the winter. Jennifer is standing in her kitchen talking on the phone with me. Her now sevenand four-year-old daughters rush in from the cold. She offers them hot chocolate. I only want to ask Jennifer one last question so she can get back to her family and her real life, where seemingly
peaceful philosophies don’t ignite like lightning when they meet at her dining room table anymore. Where there is more laughter than heartache in their home and in their story than I have room to comment on here. I ask Jennifer what she hopes for in the future with her mother.

  “Gosh, I never even thought about it. I haven’t gotten that far. I’m just taking it day by day. I don’t think I want to set a goal and then possibly fail at it. I guess if I can improve the relationship incrementally, every year, I’d be okay with that.”

  CHAPTER 5.

  MEETING THE PARENTS

  “Kimchi very spicy in our house. You pour water on, if too much for you.”

  —YOUNG JA CHUNG

  ALL THE VETTING is done. Seung is flying to D.C. and I am meeting him there in one hour—to meet his parents.

  I am on a train coming from New York, where I am finishing my job—which I just quit! I play a firefighter on the TV show I’m vacating. The part is backbreaking and smoke-filled and not something I could do if I were to get pregnant in the next few years. So, I have asked to be written out. This is in direct contrast to everything I have been programmed to do as a workaholic child of the 1970s and ’80s. No less, I’m quitting this job to move back to Los Angeles and be with Seung. Leaving a job to further a relationship with a man—excuse me, I just threw up a little in my own mouth—makes me feel like the victim in a Hallmark TV movie.

  On top of which, actually quitting a TV show is like leaving a cult. After I talked to my producers about my decision to leave, at length, I then began the arduous task of telling fellow actors and crew members. Their reactions made me wonder if I had left part of my mind on the A-train. Most people on a set are actually kind of miserable during shooting because the hours are abhorrent if you are looking to maintain a life or relationship. But the work is so hard to get that many of us forget what we were looking for when we began in the business and now, we just want to keep a job. Maybe it’s because my mortgage is small (and it costs me almost as much to keep a second home in N.Y. to do this role as I make doing it) that I have none of those fears. My fears, rather, are all based on the love/guy/marriage/ babies fairytale. Perhaps I just made a huge mistake on both fronts and only my gut (which is continuously churning) is aware of it so far.

  However, amidst the adverse reactions, I have one friend on set who keeps reminding me to keep my head out of the swirl of fear and ego that might be driving other people’s advice. This colleague keeps saying that I didn’t make the decision to leave this job from fear, but rather from a place of love, and that no bad could come of that. Uh-huh. I listen to her, but also google her name late at night to make sure she isn’t part of some love cult. If I can just find some evidence that she is crazy, then I can jump back on the codependent bandwagon, which is much more populated than the express train to marriage and family that I am nervously trying to board.

  All these fears aside, I told Seung I was quitting this job to be with him and he immediately asked if I would come meet his mother and father this weekend, who both happen to be in America at the same time. Seung and I have been together nine months, and I am less than one hour away from the final frontier in Chung family introductions at their home.

  Even with all the advice I’ve gotten from other mixed-race couples, I still have no game plan for today. No one else’s path seems to fit mine. I’m not a “wing it” kind of person, but hey, it only took me thirty years to even want to be married. After which I spent four years voraciously looking in all the wrong places for a life partner, and now I’ve invested three-quarters of another year trying to figure out what to do if I’m the “wrong” race for the right guy. So I only have a lifetime of evolution and years of therapy at stake if I blow this, right? (All of which is a circuitous way of saying—I’m very nervous.)

  I like parents, though. I have many, many (many) shortcomings, but my mother raised me to do well at how do you do’s. Of course, Korean culture has rules of etiquette that Westerners could never guess. You can insult someone while handing them a gift if you’re not careful. But remember all the traveling I talked about when hitting on Seung at the engagement party? It has benefits beyond picking up guys at bars. I’ve been around the world enough to know the following about entering an Asian household:

  I know to accept anything that is passed in my direction with two hands—both being crucial, as it shows humility and thanks. I will make sure both of my feet are always on the ground when sitting, just in case the Chungs are Buddhist. (Seung thinks he’s Catholic, but all the holidays they celebrate are Buddhist by my account.) I have brand-new socks for every day of the weekend, as I’m sure their home is shoeless. I have a pashmina that matches every outfit in my bag, to tie around my waist—preventing a whale’s tail of pretty underwear from breaching out of my jeans—if I am asked to sit on the floor. I have a gift of tea for Seung’s parents: traditional and yet not alcoholic, since I fear my ancestral background might imply I am one if I waltzed in toting the other traditional gift of alcohol.

  Yeah, I got this. And I shouldn’t forget that I have met almost every aunt and uncle of importance. Although no one is particularly warm, friendly, or even nice to me, Seung says I’m doing great. Of course, Seung is not telling me the whole story.

  While I thought we were fighting this good fight together, Seung has been working a simultaneous and private campaign of his own throughout our relationship. First, with his mother. He started telling her about me, the way most sons tell their mom about a person they care for, with little tidbits that he found endearing. But the information Seung is choosing to share is all leading his mother along a very calculated path—actually making her chase a very specific carrot. Because at this point in his life, Seung believes he has one card to play that, if used right, could trump all the other quotas he is meant to meet. Take a big breath and read this romantic statement:

  Seung believes his mother is more worried that he is not married to anyone at thirty-five years old than she is about what race a possible bride might be. Ten years after Momma Chung’s comfort zone expired, grandchildren trump race. Meaning, as long as Seung brings home a uterus that can carry this woman’s grandchild, and do it soon, she will get on board. Now, this uterus does not have complete carte blanche—a) it must have at least gone to college, b) it should not have been utilized on any other children before Seung’s, c) nor should it be too big or too small in size, for breeding purposes—but that’s about it. If you bring these three things to the table, along with fervor to make a baby, you just might find yourself in the rose circle with Mom Chung cheering you on. Isn’t love grand?

  In Seung’s first talk with his mother about me, he told her some of my more impressive traits but said he was worried because “Diane really wants to have children and I’m not sure I’m ready.” Which was and is true, but not something either of us spends a lot of time on. Saying this unspoken thought to his mother, though, was like firing the starting gun at the eight-hundred-meter dash.

  To further this cause, there were gifts. At Seung’s mother’s and sister’s birthdays and again at Christmas, I went shopping with him. Before my debut, Seung had always bought his family lavish gift certificates. When I began suggesting actual items, which were less expensive but seemingly fancier, it was a win for all. And because these women also have uteruses, as well as estrogen running through them, they quickly figured out it was me who was picking their pressies.

  Seung’s mother talked incessantly about the dresses, hats, purses, gloves, photos, frames, coats, et al. ... while on the phone with her husband in Korea. Which apparently caused a few run-ins between husband and wife—as well as full-on “Don’t you dare” conversations regarding her support for this union. But it seems this is what motherhood, in a patriarchal society, is all about.

  Seung’s mother was doing her job as an advocate of her son by trying to absorb and exhaust most of her husband’s anger, in order to move Seung closer to his goal with me. If she could take on the bulk
of her husband’s volume and rhetoric, she hoped it might soften both the men she loves for their coming battle. Like most mothers, she loves her son in a mighty way, but as a Korean mother in this family, she is also culturally disposed to throw herself under the bus if necessary, in order for Seung to carry on the family bloodline.

  All that was left was for Dad and son to discuss me face-toface—which, I didn’t realize, had also already happened before my trip today.

  SEUNG SAW HIS FATHER in Oregon four weeks ago, when his whole family met because Seung’s sister underwent surgery there. The moment the only daughter of this family was put under anesthesia, Seung’s father turned his head from the gurney she was lying on and said to Seung, “Who is this person buying your mother all these gifts?”

  That sentence can be imagined a whole host of ways. (Even though it’s hard to imagine at all when your baby girl is semiconscious on a hospital bed.) But don’t fool yourself into thinking there was any leading or inviting tone like: “So, Seung Yong ...” at the top of it, or any rib-poking, elbow-bumping, pat-on-the-shoulder “Huh, son?” at the end. Rather, it was asked in the tone of most questions between an elder Korean man and a junior Korean man—like an accusation from a superior officer that might come with a harsh punishment if answered incorrectly. Which Seung says is “just tonal to the language.” While I think Seung “just” has a generous spirit.

  Seung had already prepared an entirely different plan of attack for his father. He told his dad next to nothing, so nothing could be used against him. To this first question, alongside his drug-induced sister, Seung evenly said, “Diane.” To which Seung’s father repeated my name, in a convoluted distortion of vowel sounds. Seung said my name again for pronunciation and so did his dad. They did this until the older male got frustrated and said, “Well, who is she?”