I’ve gone through different phases of parenthood. Of course, there is the “overwhelmed stage” as a young parent. We had our two boys 11 months apart. That was physically taxing, especially for my wife. I quickly realized how different points of views can be about child rearing. We had a Korean live-in “nanny” when the boys were babies. Once, when my older son, Jeffrey, cried and wouldn’t go to sleep, I left him in the crib and restrained the nanny from picking him up. Next day, she was packing her things, saying she would not stay around and watch a baby die from the cruelty of his father. My wife pleaded with her to stay, promising that I wouldn’t do that again.

I wanted to teach my sons independence in the Western way. The women in their lives wanted to nurture them unconditionally in the Asian way. That unconditional love, of course, has a price later of tremendous family pressures and obligations.

As my kids grew older, I was completely absorbed in my career, especially in building ARIS. I traveled constantly and played only a minor role to my wife in raising our boys during their elementary school years. I remember hearing somewhere that a mother’s role is make children feel nurtured and safe, and a father’s role is to prepare them for the real world. I took that too literally. For their elementary and pre-teen years, I was a strict disciplinarian.

My younger son, Jeremy, especially had a hard time with my approach as he was very sensitive. Even as a big chasm developed between us, I was determined to treat both boys the same. That was a big mistake. After all, I was an adult and he was a child, and I was being unreasonably stubborn.

As the boys hit teenage years, Jeffrey became everything that I tried to instill, a very independent person — but to an extreme. He got into the punk culture while living in London. He played in a rock band. He got in trouble in school and with local authorities. No parenting method worked. By then, I had matured enough to know that the cold disciplinarian tactic did not work. I was trying be a more engaged father. Even that, I messed up in my typical fashion, getting too involved with his band and giving input that wasn’t wanted, nor needed.

Looking back, the problem was that my boys weren’t meeting MY expectations. I initiated most of the conflict. Now, I agree that parents need to set guidelines, but we need to determine whether our expectations for our children are good for them or for the parent. If it’s only good for the parent, then the problem obviously is the parent.

Here is a story that changed my perspective. There was a young man who had social anxiety issues and met with a psychologist. He was raised by a single mother who never let him out of her sight. She developed her whole life around him. She drove him to school, picked him up at school, even as he was going to high school. When asked if he perhaps thought that his mother had acted selfishly, the young man responded, “Oh no, it’s because she loved ME so much.”

Obviously, real love would have been to let her son grow and develop the skills necessary to function in society, regardless of how painful that may have been for the insecure, single mother. Letting go sometimes is the truest form of love.

We just finished a family vacation over the holidays in Southern California. While we had the usual moments of conflict when trying to coordinate a group decision, our time together was very pleasant. My perspective on parenting has changed a lot over the years. I’m not big on imposing my will on my boys anymore (it never worked), but now want to find their individual strengths and nurture those. I’ve learned to appreciate the personalities of each.  I must say that they are both very street smart, despite all the craziness I had injected into their lives.

Front entry into Yonsei University Campus

Twenty-four years ago, I was but a young man just finished with college in the states, studying at Seoul’s Yonsei University to rediscover my ethnic culture and learn Korean.

Korea, at the time, was just developing into one of the Asian “Tiger” economies, and preparing for its coming out party, the 1988 Seoul Summer Olympics.  The country was bustling with rapid change, but persevering poverty and third-world status was evident everywhere.

At the time, I was a poor student, living on my parents’ generosity and by teaching English here and there. As a young man, I was a bit awkward, lacking self-esteem and confused about my identity as a Korean-American. While the Korean people were curious about me, my Western attitude and poor Korean language skills made me an outsider. Still, being able to lose myself in a sea of black-haired people, all around my height, was an amazing and uplifting experience. My personal growth in Seoul established a solid foundation for building my self-esteem in the ensuing years.

A few years later, Korea hosted a successful 1988 Summer Olympics. Sure, there were some strange manifestations of the country’s insecurities during the ’88 Games, such as protesting against American teams because of Hustler magazine’s write-up on Seoul’s red-light districts and a reference to  ”kimchi-breath” ladies of the night. The most embarrassing moment was when a Korean boxer lost to an American fighter, but protested by sitting in the middle of the ring, which incited local fans into nearly storming the ring to assault the referee.

In the end, however, the positives far outweighed the negatives. Seoul never looked back and continued on a torrid pace toward modernization.

It was during this awkwardness in my life and the development of Korea that I met Shari, a Korean-American from Chicago also studying Korean at Yonsei University.

In general, I’m not a very romantic person. However, on a rather chilly day, I ventured into one of the wooded areas on Yonsei campus to carve our names on a tree, and to hide a picnic basket full of  fruits. When I finally lured her to the magical spot, she laughed, telling me that I had misspelled her name.

Through fate, good luck, along with lots of effort on both our parts, we’ve survived 23 years of marriage and raised two  college-age sons. I’m definitely less awkward now.

Last week, I was in Seoul again to visit my sister who lives there now. Seoul, I must say, is no longer awkward either. It is a city that has come into its own. Its people are now chic and cosmopolitan. There are no signs of the old poverty. Everything is new and modern. Seoul boasts one of the best road and mass transportation infrastructures in the world.

In the 80′s people blatantly stared at every foreigner. Now, most foreigners are pretty much ignored. The hip places now cater to the young locals. There are many promenades of boutique shops, hopping cafes, chic bars and people strolling in the latest fashions from Europe, America and Japan.

More than one million foreigners now work in greater Seoul, many filling jobs that the locals are no longer willing to do.

While modern Seoul is truly impressive, I was at times nostalgic for the “old awkward” Seoul. One day I visited Yonsei campus, secretly looking for my tree from 24 years ago. I wanted it to know that Shari and I are still together, that the markings still meant something.  Try as I might, I could not find the tree.  In the end, it mattered not, as the journey itself stirred so many amazing memories of my awkward and naive youth.

I left Seoul for Seattle the day of our 23rd wedding anniversary. I shared with Shari my adventure looking for “our” tree and how I wanted to bring back a picture of it as an anniversary present. Then, we reminisced together and laughed and laughed.  It was quite enough, really.