Everyone has a start and an ending. On a gravestone there normally is a birth year and an end date, the day of death and final rest.
Some wise person said that it's what you fill in between, what does that dash hold, that really counts. Look back over history, think about your favorite or not favorite persons in history and what do you know about that person? Usually, you remember their accomplishments that somehow affected human history. Some did great positive things and others, well, not so positive things. But, most are remembered for their effect and influence on human society.
I will not be one of those, nor do I claim or regret such a condition. Look up yourself on "google" and see what you find. Me... well, nada. And, that's ok, really good in fact. Wouldn't want to be known for something awful, and I certainly did not focus enough to do or accomplish anything phenomenal.
So, in view of the fact that I am "nothing" and have accomplished really nothing of any significance except to live a decent life, so that I will have had my say on myself, I'm going to write a mini-bio for the record with some personal thoughts and other musings as we go along.
I doubt there are many people who remember their births and infant years. Oh, I know, there are the regressors and such groups who "claim" to be able to regress and go back, even to past lives. But, overall, there are not that many. What was your earliest memory? What do you think were your first memories?
For me, it was the memory of Appa coming into a dark place with some blood soup. I remember eating it with great delight and satisfaction. The taste is still on my tongue and I crave that taste often.
The next memory is traveling with Appa on a train, with lots and lots of people. It was crowded, chaotic, noisy, scary. I hold to the memory of Appa holding me next to his chest and our making our way through the throngs. Were we evacuating, escaping, running from the war? I don't know. I was torn between being warmed by Appa and being scared of the crowds and noise.
Next memory is stopping by some place and meeting with some people. After that, there was a strange woman with us as we traveled on the trains.We arrived at a large city and I remember us taking a three-wheeled vehicle to our new home.
The home was tiny for the three of us. Just one room that I remember. It was on a crowded hill. From the hill, you could see the harbor and the streets of the city. This city was Pusan, now Busan.
Our home was situated on a small street along with many, many other small, tiny houses. There was no bathroom or running water. Outside the door was a small tree. If you went out on the street and went downhill you come to a big road. Near the road was a cemetery where we children used to play. I fell once while playing in the cemetery and cut my face between my eyes and I still have a small scar there after all these years.
If you went up the hill on the street by the house you came to the communal outhouse. There was also some kind of temple nearby because you could hear the bell toll every now and then.
After a bit of time, my stepmother gave birth to a baby girl. Overall, my stepmother treated me decently until the baby girl was born. Then she began to be mean and more strict with me. A few years passed because I remember my step sister now walking and I had to watch over her. We were too poor and I didn't go to a school of any kind. I had to babysit her a lot.
Now and then I would explore my neighborhood. My curiosity kept me going further and further from my house. I always found my way back home. I even got to the Pusan train station one day. On the map, that is quite a distance for a little boy of 5 or 6.
One day I was babysitting my sister and she was dawdling so I pinched her hard. She cried and told her mother when we got home. Boy, did I get a beating! When my Appa came home, for the first time I remember, he too beat me for hurting my sister.
The next day I took off to see the city, angry and frustrated at my Appa. He had never before hit me.
I found my way to the train station. I sneaked on board a train because other kids told me that you could find money and food on the floor of the train. Well, they were right! I found some small money and lots of food on the train. These were left over "bento" boxes and other snacks that I could grab before the adjumas would come to clean the trains.
I ate as much as I wanted. The train was warm and I fell asleep under one of the seats.
I woke up and didn't know where I was. I was totally scared. I cried for help, but there were too many of us lost children. So many orphans and abandoned children then!
I remember that night in the small train station, scared, hungry, and lonely. Next day I sneaked onto another train, not knowing the rules or destinations. I was thinking that it might take me home.
Instead, it ended up taking me north to Seoul. Fortunately, I had found food and drinks on the train. But, here I was, alone in Seoul, at the train station, totally lost and unable to find my way back home. No one was interested in helping me. Just too many children running about, too many leftover children who were either true orphans or had been abandoned by families who could no longer take care of them.
I learned to survive in the train station. I learned to beg, steal, to run from the police and others. I was one of the street children, lost and just barely surviving.
There were little gangs of kids. They were usually led by older kids, teenagers, who would organize the activities and collectively distribute food. I was grabbed and inducted into one of them. My "Hyun", an older brother, put out four cigarettes on my head. I still have the scars. This was to initiate me into the gang and also to mark me as "His" property. It was not a pleasant time. I had to steal or beg or get my quota of either food or money each day. If I did, I got to eat. If I didn't, then I was beaten and did not eat for the day.
If I tried to sneak in a meal by myself and was found out, I was ruthlessly beaten. And, worst of all, if I tried to leave the group, to run away, I was beaten to a pulp. One time I almost made it to the train but was caught. The older boys beat me senseless, cut my underarms, and threw me onto a dump to die! Somehow, someway, I survived the beating and torture and came to. Then I made it to a train and got on.
This train continued my journey north. I came to a small town, which turned out to be Dong Du Chong, home of Camp Casey and the 7th Infantry Division of the U. S. Army.
It was winter, I was cold since I barely had any clothes on, and hungry beyond hungry. I went around the small village begging for food, but no one answered or helped. I finally found my way back to the train tracks and climbed into a boxcar which kept me out of the wind but offered no warmth. In a corner, there was a piece of cardboard. I used that for a blanket and lied down on the floor.
I began to dream of my Appa picking me up and hugging me. I felt finally warm and not hungry.
When I awoke, I was warm, under something that was heavy but nice, bright lights shining, and so, without really knowing anything about heaven, I was in heaven! Some strange looking peoples came and started talking to me in a language that I did not understand. But, they brought me FOOD! Delicious, warm, delicious, totally delectable food. And, then seconds! They offered a drink which I never had had but was delicious - milk! And, so I was saved!
After I recovered, the soldier who had found me in the boxcar, Corporal Hernandez, came and took me to his company area. I became the company mascot, "Charlie" was my name, and I was as happy as any 8-9-year-old boy could be. I was not alone! There were many, many other "mascots" in Camp Casey. I had my own uniform, boots, and a small cot to sleep in. Life was good! We were not sent to any schools, so I didn't know how to read or write or any other skills. I was just a wild child in a wild environment.
Overall, life was good.
But, as always, things were about to change.
