me to become a member of the elite, someone who need never fear starvation.
But as I saw it, my father had served the state for so many years—a Party member at twenty-four!—and what had it gotten him? A dead family, nearly. When the famine had come, the government had abandoned him, its most loyal servant.
I was failing him. But in 2000, I began succeeding on my own terms. I grew a few inches and put on ten or so pounds, and I could hit. I began training for my fights with Choon Hyuk, getting up early in the morning to run for miles while the sun was just breaking over the hilltops. I bribed an older boy named Lee Hyeon Chul to teach me martial arts. He was two or three years older than me, the smartest boy in his grade as well as the best fighter. I bribed him by fixing the ski poles we used to propel our sleds down the hillsides in deep winter. In return, Hyeon Chul showed me his martial arts moves (he was famous for throwing his opponents over his head during the initial tug-of-war that started every fight) and taught me how to kick my enemy even when I was lying on the ground. The two of us soon became friends, and a rumor went around our school that we were in fact cousins, a rumor I did nothing to discourage. This meant no one could intervene in my fights, because Hyeon Chul would beat them up.
But being a sidekick also meant new threats. One day my friends and I went swimming in a nearby river. Afterward, as we walked home along the packed-dirt road, laughing and daydreaming of our dinners, one of Hyeon Chul’s biggest enemies suddenly appeared, coming from the other direction. When he reached us, he picked me up as if I were a sack of rice and body-slammed me on the ground, then continued walking as if nothing had happened.
Despite that painful setback, my status was rising. But nothing helped like the time I finally beat Choon Hyuk.
It was another dirty, nasty fight. By fifteen minutes in, my ribs felt like they were broken and poking into my lungs. My mouth was filled with dust, and blood ran into my eyes. At thirty minutes, I stood up after a wild bit of wrestling and found that Choon Hyuk had stayed down. More than that, he was crying. My arms felt like lead weights as my friends came and pumped them in the air. I only felt relief, but my friends were transported with happiness. Their long investment in me as a fighter had paid off.
This was a rare good day at school. I didn’t realize it, but the training I was getting in those schoolyard brawls would be worth far more to me than the little geometry I learned. It was far better preparation for what lay ahead.
Chapter
Sixteen
----
F IGHTING WASN’T MY only vice. I had other bad habits that tormented my father. I liked to gamble, for example. There was a game at school where the other boys and I wagered with house nails. One day I came home with my pockets full of them. I’d had an amazing run of luck and couldn’t wait to show my father as soon as he walked through the door. He gave me a stern look. “You shouldn’t gamble,” he said, but he, too, grew excited as I poured my winnings into his broad hands. He flashed a smile and his eyes turned warm as they ran over the heap of black nails. “But look how well you’ve done! With these we can start to build an addition on our house. Put them in my toolbox, and when the time comes, those will be the first nails I use.”
It was always about houses with my father. They were his greatest achievement. His one and only son? I didn’t come close.
I grew so excited by my father’s newfound pride in me that day that of course I went back to school and kept gambling, against his strict orders. And of course I lost, and of course I borrowed nails from other boys to keep going, hoping to get enough for the addition my father dreamed of. And of course my losing streak went on and on, and I couldn’t win a single round, and then one night I crept back home very much in debt. It was such a small
But as I saw it, my father had served the state for so many years—a Party member at twenty-four!—and what had it gotten him? A dead family, nearly. When the famine had come, the government had abandoned him, its most loyal servant.
I was failing him. But in 2000, I began succeeding on my own terms. I grew a few inches and put on ten or so pounds, and I could hit. I began training for my fights with Choon Hyuk, getting up early in the morning to run for miles while the sun was just breaking over the hilltops. I bribed an older boy named Lee Hyeon Chul to teach me martial arts. He was two or three years older than me, the smartest boy in his grade as well as the best fighter. I bribed him by fixing the ski poles we used to propel our sleds down the hillsides in deep winter. In return, Hyeon Chul showed me his martial arts moves (he was famous for throwing his opponents over his head during the initial tug-of-war that started every fight) and taught me how to kick my enemy even when I was lying on the ground. The two of us soon became friends, and a rumor went around our school that we were in fact cousins, a rumor I did nothing to discourage. This meant no one could intervene in my fights, because Hyeon Chul would beat them up.
But being a sidekick also meant new threats. One day my friends and I went swimming in a nearby river. Afterward, as we walked home along the packed-dirt road, laughing and daydreaming of our dinners, one of Hyeon Chul’s biggest enemies suddenly appeared, coming from the other direction. When he reached us, he picked me up as if I were a sack of rice and body-slammed me on the ground, then continued walking as if nothing had happened.
Despite that painful setback, my status was rising. But nothing helped like the time I finally beat Choon Hyuk.
It was another dirty, nasty fight. By fifteen minutes in, my ribs felt like they were broken and poking into my lungs. My mouth was filled with dust, and blood ran into my eyes. At thirty minutes, I stood up after a wild bit of wrestling and found that Choon Hyuk had stayed down. More than that, he was crying. My arms felt like lead weights as my friends came and pumped them in the air. I only felt relief, but my friends were transported with happiness. Their long investment in me as a fighter had paid off.
This was a rare good day at school. I didn’t realize it, but the training I was getting in those schoolyard brawls would be worth far more to me than the little geometry I learned. It was far better preparation for what lay ahead.
Chapter
Sixteen
----
F IGHTING WASN’T MY only vice. I had other bad habits that tormented my father. I liked to gamble, for example. There was a game at school where the other boys and I wagered with house nails. One day I came home with my pockets full of them. I’d had an amazing run of luck and couldn’t wait to show my father as soon as he walked through the door. He gave me a stern look. “You shouldn’t gamble,” he said, but he, too, grew excited as I poured my winnings into his broad hands. He flashed a smile and his eyes turned warm as they ran over the heap of black nails. “But look how well you’ve done! With these we can start to build an addition on our house. Put them in my toolbox, and when the time comes, those will be the first nails I use.”
It was always about houses with my father. They were his greatest achievement. His one and only son? I didn’t come close.
I grew so excited by my father’s newfound pride in me that day that of course I went back to school and kept gambling, against his strict orders. And of course I lost, and of course I borrowed nails from other boys to keep going, hoping to get enough for the addition my father dreamed of. And of course my losing streak went on and on, and I couldn’t win a single round, and then one night I crept back home very much in debt. It was such a small
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