Exam Season

I failed to get my children into Seoul National University. Many parents in Korea try their best to reach that goal. The 2021 college entrance exam has finished, and during exam season I harbor emotion connected to my children’s experience leading up to this test. To this day part of me feels as if it were a failure on my part.

When I gave birth to my first child, my son, I was happy. He was a healthy good looking boy. He has always been thoughtful and kind. What remained was getting good grades and acceptance into a prestigious university. At that moment I was young. I had become a mom for the first time and I thought it was simple. If I removed all of the mistakes from my school days, that would have been a good know-how for my son. I tried to impart my experience on him. I managed his schedule and made an effort not to miss any details. Everything seemed perfectly under control, but it wasn’t as easy as I expected.

I wasn’t in the group of mothers who had a child with competitive scores, even though I had been a good student. I was disappointed and frustrated. I was fearful that the assessments in school would determine my child’s future.

I really loved my son but he didn’t seem to understand my expectations. Not knowing what to do I asked for professional help. Upon entering fifth grade, my son and I had a session with a play therapist. The therapist told me to be patient and not to intervene too much. It seemed impossible to know what was operating deep in a teen’s mind. The expert’s advice was to give him more time, but from my view he didn’t have time as his peers continued to advance. I thought if he just gave a little more effort in school he would improve. The expert’s advice, “parents have to wait as their children find their own way” couldn’t trump this mother’s anxiety. 

The interesting thing is that my son didn’t act out towards me. He kept reading comic books, drawing on the blank spaces of his school materials, and listening to music. His drawings were great and he could hum the entirety of his father’s viola pieces. He set his math questions on his desk and I observed as he flew through his imagination. I set his homework time limit ; which he never met.

My son valued his time and wanted to spend it as he saw fit. In the case of my daughter she didn’t go to high school and was homeschooled. As a late bloomer she would have been discouraged catching up with her school mates. Regardless of my intention she too had her own time as a result. Following the optimized speed for her,  I learnt to accept my daughter as she is.

Now, my two children are grown and they still don’t have Hakbeol, which is a korean word that describes a good school background. They never feel embarrassed. Honestly as a mom, I did. The path certainly hasn’t been straight. In fact more like a zigzag. But they look like they are finding their own way. I thought the decisions I made regarding their schooling were purely for them to have a preferable educational background, but it may have been for my comfort. I agree that hakbeol can't guarantee someone’s future, but I considered it as a protective gear my children should be equipped with before they went into society. It took raising two children to discover that parenting cannot replace the effort a child has to make, and waiting while they struggle is also a part of their development. Accordingly, it requires patience and courage, especially for mothers. I know and I believe that they only wanted to be encouraged, supported, appreciated, and loved. Now stepping away from them I applaud and give them a lovely smile.