Promises and lies

A long time ago, I hurt a child. I didn’t mean to, but I had to tell a lie.

Even after many years, I still remember the child crying so sadly.

There was a Korean grandmother who lived next to my apartment.

We would say hello when we met in the hallway. One day, while talking with her, I told her I was going to visit Seoul for a short time. A few days later, she called me.

She said,

"The child’s father came to America first to find work. The mother waited and waited for him to bring them over, but he never called.

So she took the child and came to New York to find him. She went to his address and waited outside the apartment for days and nights,

but he never came out.

She raised the child alone and later met another man, but he said he couldn’t accept the child. What else could she do? She decided to send the child to the father’s parents in Korea. Can you please take the child with you when you go to Seoul?"

At the airport, the mother came holding her sleeping child in her arms.

She looked very sad. She said,

“The grandfather will meet you at Gimpo Airport. Please take good care of my child.”

She handed me the child and stood there crying until we disappeared from her sight.

On the plane, the child woke up and started crying for his mother. I called his name and tried to comfort him. It was dark inside the plane, so he couldn’t see my face clearly and soon fell asleep again. We had to stop in Alaska. When the lights came on, he saw me clearly and cried louder for his mom. No matter what I said, he wouldn’t stop crying. I said, half as a warning,

“If you keep crying, I won’t take you back to your mom.”

The child stopped crying and looked like he was thinking. He realized something was wrong. He thought,

“If I forget this lady who knows my name, I may never see my mom again.”

He stayed very close to me, followed everything I said, and we became quite close. But I felt sad, knowing he was getting farther away from his mother without even knowing it.

At Gimpo Airport, the child cried and clung to me. He didn’t want to go to his grandfather. He had been a baby when he last saw him—how could he know who this man was? He had trusted me, the lady who knew his name, and followed me because I said I would take him to his mom. Now, I was giving him to someone he didn’t know. He grabbed my skirt and wouldn’t let go. As the grandfather pulled him away, the child looked at me with a hurt, angry face. He screamed,

“Mom! Mom!”

and tried to run after me.

People say that divorce is like cutting a child in two. I became part of that pain. I hated myself for agreeing to do it. Maybe the child was too young and doesn’t remember. But if he does, my lie may have been the first and biggest wound in his life. Now, he must be around thirty years old. I truly hope he is living happily somewhere in the world.