Momma’s Boy
If I pour myself a drink at her house, she’ll check me. “Ma, I’m a grown man. I can have a drink.”
“I don’t care if you’re 50, I’ll always be your mom and still tell you what’s what.”
Chun Ok Hui was born in Pusan, Korea on December 25, 1948. She absolutely loved school, but after her third grade year, she had to drop out to help on the family farm. Later, she married my father, Joseph McWhorter, and had three children: George Louis, Leigh Adrian, and Catherine Anastasia. She was a full time mom, worked at a restaurant as a server, and studied her ass off to become a US citizen all by the time I was four years old. After my father drank himself to death, she took on another job and did her best to make sure that we always had everything that they needed. From football cleats, basketball shoes, and track spikes to piano lessons, I never went without. She did the same for my brother and sister. A tall task for a mother of biracial children. All three of her children graduated from college: one nurse and two teachers...Badass single mom shit.
My mom never sat down. She always had to be doing something: cleaning, cooking, yard work—always something. When I was a kid, I didn’t appreciate her like I should have. I just figured every mom was that way. Why was she always so busy?
Our talks consisted of me jumping into whatever chore she was focused on at the time. At the beginning, my timing was off. I had to figure it out. Talking to my mom took split second precision. Find the rhythm like shooting the pocket in double dutch. Holding the trash bag while she was sweeping or washing the dishes while she cooked. She’d explain the steps of her recipes while giving me stories from her childhood. (I’m a pretty good cook, by the way.) Those were always the best conversations. That mom thing...whatever it is, she has it.
I was five and we had just moved to the section of El Paso affectionately known as the Northeast. If you’re from El Paso, you know about the Northside. If you’re not from EP, don’t go to the North without a guide. The kids on my street were a little older and different than what I was used to. They instigated a fight between a boy named Joey Baker and me. Joey was a couple of years my elder. I had never been in a fight before. I didn’t understand what was going on. Why were we fighting?
I walked home, nose bloodied. My mother saw the blood and asked what had happened. I pieced it all together for her like I was on the witness stand but she didn’t need an explanation. Even though she never graduated from high school, she had a doctorate in the streets. With the prowess of Judge Judy, she surmised exactly what had transpired. My tiny 4’11” Korean mother proceeded to walk me down to his house. It was like the hospital scene in Malcolm X. The kids were still out front playing. “Go beat his ass.” Because her English was limited, my mom didn’t mince words; she was direct. “Now.” She has a scowl that would make a hardened criminal cower. We squared off in the yard and went at it again but with a different result. My mom watched and then walked me back home. “Don’t take shit from anyone...ever.” Her English was broken but she somehow enunciated curse words like Samuel L. Jackson.
Tough love but definitely love and always love. There is no doubt about it. Not many hugs or spoken “I love you’s” but the episode of my first fight was just one of the countless examples when she showed her love for me. No denying it; I owe every ounce of good in me to my mother. It’s amplified even more so with her grandchildren.
My kids love their Grandma Ok Hui. She does kooky Korean shit but it’s such solid stuff. They know that they’re going to have a random array for fruit on a platter and eat meals until they’re about to explode. There’s no such thing as a full stomach in a Korean home. Whenever cold and flu season was about to hit, she’d make me ginseng tea and chicken soup. And she made me drink it boiling hot. “It’s not the same if you drink it when it cools down.” As if it somehow lost its magical healing powers when it cooled down. You want to know something? I can’t remember the last time I got sick. You want to know something else? I’m always cleaning, cooking, and looking for anything to keep myself busy. I also give my kids ginseng tea and chicken soup whenever cold and flu season is about to hit. Kooky grandma turned morphed into kooky dad.
She had a stroke a couple of summers ago. She lost the use of her right arm and couldn’t do much without rigorous assistance. My brother just happens to run the best stroke unit in Austin so we moved her in with him. I Facetime with her every Sunday. She is not technologically savvy in the least bit. While we were living in El Paso, she would call me to go to her house, because she thought her TV or cable was malfunctioning. She accidentally pressed the input button. It was the source input button every time. “Mom. The source button? Word?” And we’d laugh. She still fumbles with the phone when we get on FaceTime. She holds the phone at weird angles, zooms in way too close to her face, or reverses the camera. And we laugh. Compared to my siblings, I easily put her through the most grief. Also compared to my siblings, I easily gave her the most laughs. It’s definitely a point of pride for me.
My kids and I went to visit her last Thanksgiving. She was already sitting up, speaking more coherently, feeding herself, and moving around in her walker. She’s tough, man...a fighter
Daddy/Daughter Things
I was absolutely terrified of my father. We really didn’t interact unless he was angry and he happened to be angry all the time. Resting Michael Myers face. I never saw the man happy; I never saw him laugh...ever.
While my parents were at work, my brother at school, and my sister at daycare, I would be home alone for eight hours a day. I was four ---it was a different time so don’t judge. My mom prepared me on how to function on my own. Don't answer the door, don't answer the phone, and don't go anywhere until someone comes home. Though I’m pretty sure that she knew that I snuck out. Whenever I got hungry, I’d make myself a sandwich, cook some ramen, or heat up some Campbell’s soup (Chicken Noodle O’s was my fave). I spent a ridiculous amount of time in front of the TV as a kid. I watched the PBS educational shows on a loop: Sesame Street, The Letter People, Readalong, the Electric Company, 3-2-1 Contact. Over and over for hours and hours...I taught myself how to read and do basic arithmetic. What else did I watch? Looney Tunes. It was my dessert after the educational shows. I would completely lose myself in those cartoons.
“Bully for Bugs” was one of my favorite shorts. Quick summary...Bugs Bunny got lost, as was a common occurrence during his many travels, and stops to take a moment to look over his map. He just so happened to surface in the middle of an arena where a bullfight was taking place. Bugs rubs the bull the wrong way, and then of course, the hijinks ensue.
I was 20 when I found out that I was going to be a father. I didn’t flinch. I asked my now ex-wife to move in with me (we weren’t married at the time). I was going to do it right. I was going to be a good father. My baby was going to have memories of me happy and laughing, memories of us happy and laughing.
In my group of friends, I was easily the last guy that you would have picked to have an unplanned pregnancy. Well, I was the first. They couldn’t believe it when I told them. “Are you sure it’s yours?!” The thought never crossed my mind. I embraced it. The next nine months were spent daydreaming of who I wanted to be and what I needed to do. Questions asked and answered: don’t be like my dad. I didn’t find out that my baby was a girl until the day she was born. Asia Reign blessed us all and entered the stage on May 20th...a Taurus.
I know everyone thinks that their baby is the cutest baby ever but they’re wrong. Asia was the cutest baby ever. My mom told me that Asia was the cutest (my mother is the meanest lady I’ve ever known so it must be true). I still had a year left of college so she would stay with my mother until I finished with class. I raced home everyday to get back to her.
She was so animated. Her faces killed me: a smile, a frown, the way her eyes got huge when she saw the bottle, the intense concentration when she had to poop. From cradling her in my arms to crawling around on the floor with her to reading to her every night, I couldn’t get enough. Where the Wild Things Are was on repeat. I always whispered an affirmation as her eyes became heavy as she fell asleep...but that’s something that I don’t share and I keep for myself.
She loved our walks in her stroller around the neighborhood. She bubbled with excitement as she took in all of the sights and sounds. She pointed and shimmied at dogs barking, birds hopping on the ground, the leaves rustling in the trees, cars passing by, and people in their yards. Prolific she was; walking at 8 months and talking at 10. She was the smartest baby ever. (The. Smartest. Baby. Ever. I said what I said. See above for clarification.) Her first word was “dada.”
Dada’s number one priority was to protect his baby. From that security, it was also my job to instill unwavering belief in herself. The world can be ugly and cruel. I didn’t want Asia to be afraid of anything. To this day, I really can’t put my finger on it but that Bugs Bunny cartoon popped in my head. I squared her up, pointed my index fingers, put them on top of my head, scraped and stomped my foot on the floor, and snorted with an angry scowl on my face. I provoked her to mimic me and do the same. “Bull Time” was born. I figured that if she could run me over, then the world didn’t stand a chance.
It was never scheduled. No matter the situation whatever time of day, when either of us yelled, “Bull Time!” we immediately stopped what we were doing and it was on. After the square off, we would charge each other to see who was going to flinch or get flattened.
It began with us standing about two feet apart. Asia would take a step and cower. As time passed and she gained more confidence, we increased the distance. Two feet turned into ten feet. Again this was an exercise in overcoming fear, so I let her buck me and I would fly back and lie motionless. What actually happened most of the time was she'd burst into laughter at the moment of impact and I would wrap my arms around her and launch her up in the air.
It went from ten feet to twenty yards. She would back up all the way down the hallway and sprint toward me in the living room. “Bull Time!” Groceries in hand, reading a book, relaxing on the couch; it didn’t matter. “Bull Time” took precedence. She no longer gave me warning. I had to keep my head on a swivel. I’d come home from work, and before I had a chance to place both of my feet through the door, the cutest maniac would fervently sprint and buck me unannounced with the force of a Mike Tyson body shot. She caught me pretty good a few times and I buckled. Mission accomplished. Asia wasn’t afraid anymore.
My life didn’t necessarily go as scripted (cue up “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” to play in the background). I got married, had my son Miles, got separated, got divorced, and moved cities twice. Asia took the divorce hard. She was 11 at the time and her idea of divorce was shaped by her friends' parents' messy battles. There were a few years that followed when she hated me. I anticipated the hate, but it didn’t hurt any less. It almost broke me. But I also knew that it would pass once she was given time to see the divorce settle from a distance.
There’s a scene in Training Day where Ethan Hawke’s character talks about the key to life being how we manage our smiles and cries. Those years were lean on smiles. A straight face was the best I could muster most days. I found myself surfing the waves of melancholy. I felt like Sisyphus pushing a boulder of cries. But whatever funky mood pervaded my day, it immediately dissipated my being and was replaced with irrepressible joy whenever I hopped into the DeLorean back to the sound of my Asia’s sprinting little feet smacking the tile floor.
I keep that, and other priceless memories, in my savings account. My goal was simple: I wanted Asia to brave whatever monster stood in her path. I failed to see it then, but it was bigger than that. I was making an investment. “Bull Time” was a deposit that continues to increase in value greater than any stock, bond, or fund. And from the interest, I draw joy whenever I need it. Hopefully, she does too.