Two Girls Run Over By A Tank

It is 2002. Two thirteen year old Korean girls die. They were run over by an American tank in South Korea. This sparks Korean Americans to protest the presence of U.S. soldiers in South Korea, soldiers which have been there for five decades. For the rest of America, terrorism dominates everyone's thoughts. No one cares about these two kids. I don't.

It is 2006. I tutor some kids who came here from South Korea last January. I teach them English and have a continuous philosophical debate with myself over whether I am partaking in a form of colonialism or I am simply helping these people.

It is last Thursday. I give the students homework, "Write at least two pages of fiction and two pages of non-fiction." The oldest student, a boy of sixteen, finishes his non-fiction before class ends. It is only a half a page. I collect it and tell him to write another two pages of non-fiction for homework. I go to the bathroom to the sound of Korean spouted back and forth between a grandmother, her two daughters, and their three children, one of which is this boy.

I exit the bathroom and they're still yelling in Korean, but it could be anything as far as I know. As I put my shoes on outside of the house, the boy requests, with a nervous smile, "Non-fiction, you read, no angry."

"When I read your non-fiction, you don't want me to get angry?" I attempted to clarify. He shook his head yes.

Obviously, I was curious. On the drive home, I peeked at his writing. Just as I suspected, it was about America. It seems two girls were run over by an American tank. It would be five days until I could reassure him, "Yes, I'm angry! Not at you, but that it happened."

The transition to a new country is difficult. I couldn't imagine. I might be making that transition just a bit easier for him. He seems to re-enforce that sentiment with his smile and his willingness to struggle to learn this new language. He showed courage in writing about this tragedy, not knowing how I might react.

I got home and searched for the event and found it. Besides the boy's grammatical errors, his facts were incorrect. He had claimed that it took place in America and that the girls were eighteen years old. How to compliment his bravery, encourage his instincts, and yet correct his errors without damaging his spirit?


Damn. If only I got drunk, I wouldn't think about this shit so much.