Koreans & Camptowns: Photo Essay by Dayna Choi Fischer

Probably each one of us said it at some point when we were small children. Some of us said it almost every night. Some begged and pleaded. We laughed and giggled and screamed when our pleadings were granted.

Born in Seoul of a Chinese father and a Korean mother, people have always tried to locate my identity in fractions, particularly in America.

I was born in 1971 to a Korean mother and an African-American father. My parents met in Germany while my mom was in nursing school.

Growing up, my mother did not teach my sister and me about Korea. She did not teach us Korean. She did not feed us Korean food, and by middle school, my sister and I balked at her stinky jars of kimchee.

Ever since I left Southern California for college in Connecticut, my mother has always waited while I wind through the airport security line. She smiles and waves wildly until I make it past screening and turn around to wave goodbye one last time. Except once.

In popular culture, Asian Americans always seemed concerned with building bridges from old country to new country, first generation to second generation.

In this week’s Korean American Story with KRB 87.7 FM, Milton Washington talks about his childhood in Korea as a half-Korean and half-African American boy. With pride, he shares about his prostitute mother – the essence of love and security up until his adoption to America at 8 years old, and the reason why he was able to endure the unfriendliness of a world that gave him birth.

In this week’s Korean American Story with KRB 87.7 FM, Milton Washington talks about the tumultuous years of his life after his adoption to America, and how he came to resolve the inner conflicts regarding his identity.

The process of creating a book, regardless of the target audience, is deeply involved and requires a plethora of patience and many hours of revisions.