5 Lessons My Korean Father Taught Me the Hard Way

There are very few things I am 100% certain of in life.

One of those few is that I am the result of a lot of people’s hard work- my teachers, my mentors, my friends, my grandma and especially, my father.

He immigrated to the States from outskirts of Seoul in South Korea to essentially work towards a better life. Years later, he married my Native American mother and had my sister and me.

Shortly after we were born, my mom walked out on us, leaving my father to raise 2 daughters on his own in a culture and education system so foreign to him.

When I was growing up, I hated my father.

A lot.

He made it clear that he was not my friend, he was my parent. For as long as I was under his roof, it would always be his way.

Being a single parent required him to build the house on strict discipline.

What I remember most about growing up - even up until my early 20s - was the immense stress and anxiety I felt around him. My childhood was not easy and there was no room to breathe for deep reasons I'm still healing from.

Now as much as I hated it, growing up in his house, having a broken family, it unquestionably made me who I am.

It took over a decade to realize and appreciate it but a lot of my grit, mindset, and lifestyle derives from the principles my father held me to.

Here are a few of them-

1. The world does not owe you anything.

My father made it very clear that nothing in life would be given to me. Everything would have to be earned and the things worthwhile were all earned through very hard work.

He never gave us money without us laboring for it. In the humid summers, my sister and I worked weekend mornings landscaping the house-- cutting tree branches, mowing the lawn, and pulling nasty weeds. I hated doing this so much, getting scratches all over my arms and legs and covered in mosquito bites that I quickly got my first my job at 13 as a math tutor to earn money because doing PEMDAS in the air conditioned public library was a lot better.

2. Happiness is an organized living space.

“A cluttered room is a cluttered mind,” my father would say. He never tolerated a messy home. In our room, he held us accountable to always keeping a clear desk, a place where we studied and learned.

Research has shown that physical clutter in your surroundings competes for your attention, resulting in decreased performance and increased stressed. This has been one of my drivers in converting to living a minimalist lifestyle in university.

3. When the sun’s up, you’re up.

His house rule: No sleeping in past 9AM- no matter what.

This was brutal in high school, especially when I’d had a long week of exams and track practice. My hormonal teenage self desperately needed lots of hibernation. On weekends, I used to have to wait until he left the house just to sneak in a nap.

Being forced to keep to this routine is what eventually turned me into an early bird even through university.

Repeating the schedule of waking up before 9am on weekends and 5:30am on weekdays for school molded my sleeping habits into what they are today- where my peak productivity times are in the earliest hours.

4. Comfort is not required to do work. Do the work anyway.

In the hotter months, if I had to wait until I was comfortable to focus and study at home, I would have never gotten any work done. My father didn't allowed us turn on the home air conditioner, ever. I think it was because he was always looking to save a dime where he could.

In the high temperatures and humidity, forcing yourself to concentrate on your homework and not give in to your reptilian brain required a LOT of practice. Kudos to my father’s cheapness, right-- because of that I built this willpower muscle over the years.

I remember studying late and having my notebook pages stick my forearm because of how I sweaty I’d be. Staying up late to keep studying was difficult enough and then with the heat, sometimes it felt like working in a sauna.

5. Take the stairs.

Literally.

He always made us take stairs because "stairs build discipline."

When we were younger and walking through the mall or wherever and we would approach escalators, which are usually operating next to or nearby a staircase, my father forced us take the stairs. He called this “free exercise.”

Kept choosing stairs again and again and again and it became a habit.

He also encouraged me to "take the stairs" metaphorically when it comes to work, claiming that the rewards are so much greater when you work your way up to them, learning the ins and outs, and staying disciplined in the climb.

Candidly, the first time I left my father's house to head to university, I was overjoyed. I could wake up when I wanted and essentially do what I wanted when I wanted.

Funny enough though- I didn't stray far from the lifestyle he groomed me for.

In the university dorms, I lived on the 8th floor and when he visited campus, he took the stairs all the way up. I willingly accompanied him.

Another distinct memory I have growing up is how hard my father worked. He was a salesman for Anheuser-Busch covering lower-east Manhattan and Queens. He worked 7 days a week, never requesting holiday or taking a family trip, and we only went to sit-down restaurants a couple times a year.

With 2 girls to raise alone and mortgage to pay, he sacrificed and struggled to get here and I think that's why there's a very acute pressure I feel to succeed.

I hated him for most of my life growing up but I am grateful for him now.

Happy Father's Day.

To him.

To all the fathers who give their everything to their children.