Heritage paper

How Great, My Grandfather

The story of my grandfather is familiar to me, his days as a young man spent in countless years of wartime and hardship. Dongbae Yim, my maternal grandfather was the only grandparent I can still remember clearly. I never appreciated his strict and hardheaded presence until I truly started to understand the greatness of my grandfather. My grandfather was a very capable man. He may have passed away like all, but unlike many, he rose to truly live.
“My father…or your grandfather, was in the Korean War and he lead all of his family and his brothers’ families as well,” my mother explained as she looked up from her laptop. “When the war began in 1950, all of his families were on the northern side of Korea. It was clear to him that the communists would dominate the north, so during the war, he wanted to migrate south.”
The Korean War, an experience to almost all Korean seniors, is common but heartbreaking for every one of them. During that time, Korea’s north and south were in war. Brothers against brothers, it has sub-consequently scarred many generations. My grandfather was caught in the similar story, a large family escaping communist power by fleeing to southern borders.
My mother began to speak again. “My father and all his family once had to cross a damaged bridge over Han River once. During that time, the weather was very cold and it was winter. All that remained of that bridge was a metal skeleton, because it had been bombed and all the wood burned. Your grandfather led everyone across that bridge, grabbing onto the cold metal. Many people crossed that bridge this way back then.”
“Did anyone get hurt or die while crossing?” I questioned.
“No, actually. Your grandfather was a great leader, he got everyone across safely,” my mother replied. Although I already knew the answer from hearing this story before, the same anxiety I felt while I heard this story for the first time remained. When her answer with the sound of her sipping at a cup of coffee assured me, that same burden disappeared once again.
“There was another incident that your grandfather told me about. Didn’t I ever tell you how they were attacked under bombing planes?” My mother brought up a part of the story I’d never heard before.
“You never did, tell me!” I demanded.
“Well, they were all resting at a refugee when a flight of enemy planes bombed the area. Everyone had to crouch or roll up on the ground and that was all they could do. Your grandfather heard people screaming, yelling, dying…and when all was mute after the planes had passed, he held his breath in the deafening silence.”
I held my breath as well, afraid to hear that at this point, a son or a sister-in-law was lost. I looked at my mother intently.
“So…did anyone die?” I raised the question, hoping for a no.
And I got it. “Amazingly, no! Your grandfather stood up and started shouting for his family in the sudden quietness. And one by one, he saw people stand up from their protective crouch. Your grandfather said so many people died from that. But miraculously, everyone in his family made it through,” my mother said.
“Wow, that’s amazing! Some luck, huh?” I exclaimed in awe.
“Yeah, they were very lucky people. But you know, your grandfather still did lose a brother at one point,” my mother replied.
I knew of this lost brother, my grandfather’s younger brother. My lost great-uncle, Dongchin Yim. Stories of separation between siblings, parents and children, wives and husbands, dearest friends, and relatives are very common in Korea. My grandfather’s story was no different. The stories of separation are so common that there was a television program that arranged and broadcasted reunification meetings of separated families. The emotion captured in these 30-minute programs is unimaginably moving. Loved ones see each other once again after four to five decades of searching and writing un-replied mails, they cry and embrace, unwilling say goodbye again.
“He lost his brother at one point while they were traveling south. Your grandfather must’ve always missed him,” my mother said as she finished the last sip of her coffee. “Whenever that television show came on, he never took his eyes off during the scenes where they showed the families meeting each other again. I think he was wishing that he just might see his brother’s face.”
I’d never seen my grandfather do this, or remember him do this before. But it broke my heart all the same to imagine him staring at the TV with desperate, sorrowful eyes, its lids sagging from the years, yet owning a glint of small hope that perhaps he may catch a glimpse of his aged brother’s face. Then he would turn away from the TV when the show ended as the host thanked the audience for watching, he’d sigh and move on to whatever he had been doing before that darn TV show started.
“We still haven’t found his brother yet, so we don’t know if he’s alive or not,” my mother said. “Even after your grandfather passed away. But nonetheless, everyone else who made it across to the south and are now living comfortably in South Korea instead of North Korea have a lot to thank for to your grandfather. And when he came to the south, your grandfather made a fortune at one point and gave all of his children education, including your aunts and me, even though we were girls. He was so strong.”
My mother wrapped up the story at that, and I thanked her for sharing with me what she was told about her father’s life. I stood up from the table, full of thoughts about my grandfather. Was this the same, stubborn man I had despised at the age of six? By this time, I felt nothing but respect for my grandfather. I was amazed at his strength to lead his family through a time of danger and his willpower to live his life so fiercely, even after the horrific experience of war. Now that I reflect back, my grandfather wasn’t a mean, strict grandpa but actually a very compassionate man, a thoughtful man, and undeniably, he was a great man. He was never bitter about the past and his life wasn’t a dead one after the ordeal, but he lived it fuller than ever.
I applaud his greatness through treacherous moments, like the Korean War. But what I am most awed of is how he lived after the Korean War. Nothing from his past hindered him and he never let the agonizing memories of war take over his life.
My life may not be an extreme case of wars like my grandfather’s, but I’ve learned from his spirit to live as though nothing could hurt you. I believe in moving on and never letting hard times of the past hinder you, because I witnessed my grandfather do it every second he was breathing. He lived like there was no tomorrow, he did others good, and he held himself up with integrity to the end. I can only hope to have half the sort of strength that my grandfather showed me.
This is what I pride most of my heritage, to have this great man as an ancestor that I get to call my very own grandfather and I have the honor of being his favorite, mischievous, youngest granddaughter. I have a great man in my record of heritage, and he is my grandfather, the man who rose to truly live.