When Adult "Kids" Won't Leave The Nest & Kimchi Jjigae Recipe
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This morning, as I was brushing my teeth, I found my first, undeniable, totally pigment-less white hair. I'll be turning 45 years old in a couple weeks, so this shouldn't have come as any sort of surprise. But it did. It signaled that I could no longer hide under the cloak of young adulthood, claim that I was still really just a kid. Because that's the thing--despite having started and ended a career in law, begun my own business, written my own book, gotten married and divorced--I still feel like a kid. More specifically, I still feel like my parents are the adults and I am forever their slightly disobedient and frustratingly rebellious child. A few days ago, on Threads (Instagram's grand experiment to take over Twitter, I mean, X), I saw the following provocative post: As you can tell from the ratio (i.e., the number of replies vs likes), many people had very strong objections to the original post. I thought I'd weigh in with my own experience as a young adult living with or near her parents: I graduated from college a year early and without a job (this isn't a coincidence). I literally had no idea what I wanted to do with my future. I'd lived in the dorms all three years of college and therefore never had to go about finding my own housing. If I didn't have the option of moving in with my parents right after getting handed my diploma, I'm pretty sure I would have been couch-surfing for several months. Finding a couch to crash on would have severely hampered my ability to apply for and eventually secure full-time employment, purchase a used car (my aunt's clunky Honda Civic), and, eventually, go to law school (which I financed myself). In fact, I'm not sure any of that would've happened--at least not so easily--had my parents taken the view that I needed to "leave the nest." As I've shared in previous newsletters, when I finally moved out and into my ex-husband's home, we were still about 500 yards away from my parents. Our townhouses were actually in the same complex. This was a godsend in many ways--not just because they were always there when things grew unbearable between myself and my ex, but also because it was just nice. I could always count on my mother to swing open the door, invite me into her kitchen, and stuff my face with baked sweet potatoes or gyerranmari. Of course, when things did grow untenable at home, causing me to show up at 2 in the morning, barefoot, and with my dog Daisy quivering in my arms, the soft glow of the door lamp that flickered to life as soon as my mom rushed down the staircase to see who could possibly be ringing the doorbell at that hour--though, deep down, she probably knew it was me--wrapped itself around me like a warm blanket, as Omma's voice ushered me in across the threshold and into the kitchen that felt like a fortress that night. Many many people had similar experiences with their parents: Several folks noted that this could be a cultural thing. In many Asian cultures, kids are expected to stay at home until they get married. Even then, once they have a child, their parents will often move in to help with childcare. This was exactly what happened with my parents. They moved out of their family homes when they got married, but then their moms (i.e., my grandmothers) came to live with us when my little brother was born! Others noted that times aren't like they used to be. Back when I was in college, Urbana (where I went to school) had plenty of apartments for rent under $500 a month. Those days are DEAD AND BURIED. My college tuition came out to $11,000 a year (including a dorm and meal plan). That probably sounds like sci-fiction to college students today. Indeed, according to ConsumerAffairs.com:
But of all the responses my little post elicited, the replies and stories from parents--these beautiful, gorgeous, loving, wonderful parents--were the most heartwarming: Reading this outpouring of parental love made me realize just how powerful our parents can be in our lives--even if we are no longer beneath their roof. Though it became pretty clear that the original poster was one of those obnoxious human beings who publishes things on the internet merely to get a rise out of people and collect a few crumbs of notoriety along the way, I was blessed with dozens and dozens of stories of resilience, compassion, and love. What do you think? Is parenthood a lifelong gig? Do you have a story about how your parents came through for you? Or how you came through for your kids? Hit the button below and let us know!
This Week's Recipe Inspo. I was so inspired by last week's feedback to my Bibim-Oats, I decided to revamp my Kimchi Jjigae recipe--by adding beans!
What I'm... Parting Thoughts. In a couple of months, I'll be taking my parents to South Korea for my father's 80th birthday celebration. This will likely be the biggest (and most expensive!) trip of my entire life. In an effort to reduce the cost, I'm flying my parents out of Los Angeles, as opposed to Chicago. Not only is this much cheaper, it'll let them relax in my home before embarking on a long, international flight to Asia. Yesterday, I asked my mom, "Omma, when do you want to fly into LA before heading to Korea?" "Well, when do you think I should come?" My response was immediate: "You could come home with me after I visit Chicago in early May!" I was dead serious, of course, but Omma began to laugh, as if I'd dropped some humongous joke. You see, my parents are not leaving for Korea until May 21. I was proposing, rather obviously, a two week layover at my house. When I was little, one of my favorite things to say to Omma was, "I'm not Korean! I'm American!" And I could tell she hated it, that it hurt her for me to reject what she and my father brought to my identity. I knew that, and she knew I knew that, and it was probably one of many things that made her want to kick me out of her house long before I turned into a legally "kick-outtable" adult. Nowadays, her favorite thing to say is, "God. You're so Korean!!" followed by gales and gales of happy laughter, knowing how much I love hearing that. The way she laughed on the phone when I suggested a 14-day pit-stop at my house before heading to Korea was not unlike that pure, love-filled mirth that always succeeds that affirmation of who I am--her daughter. "We'll see," she finally managed between subsiding guffaws. "We'll see." Wishing you all the best,
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