written in Seoul, South Korea
Tonight I am half a world away from home, in a land I had hardly imagined, with fireworks echoing non-stop through the walls for the past hour. Here to visit our own Army kid, 
we’ve seen so much that’s strange to us in the last few days that my head spins. Through it all, though, runs the commonality of man.
Fireworks and children – that’s what is on my mind in a bizarre connection between Alaska and Korea …
If you recall, I made a post about the fireworks display at Sitka, just after the Coast Guard chopper crashed. Those were beautiful, colored stars and sprays, punctuated by the big salutes that rock you down to your toes. The scene remains strong in my senses – darkness, candles, the flares, the sense of loss and loneliness – more a cathartic process than one of celebration and revelry.
Here in Seoul, the fireworks started about 7:30, a little after dusk. We can see no flares, stars, or sprays from here, just the gut-wrenching booms and crunches of high explosive partying at its best. This unbelievably dense concentration of people, impressive in their ability to live so gracefully together in such numbers, spare no efforts when emulating the sounds of the war that sleeps just below the surface of daily life here. The barrage has echoed from hill to hill, sounding out in furious ripples from just outside our walled compound to the far distance. I am certain that what we hear is only a minute part of a blanket of sound stretching from horizon to horizon – it’s just the way things are here! High rises snuggled together as far as the eye can see in all directions, with traffic to match!
Wowser. And above it all, the thunder, rippling…
While we’ve been here the last few days I have been impressed with the children. Yesterday, we were at an ancient fortress, and the small schoolchildren were touring by the thousands. Each group of 20
or 30 was with a couple of teachers, and all were dressed identically in colorful outfits, effectively identifying them with their group. They were all bubbling and happy, but in a very mannerly and orderly fashion; paired off, they each had a buddy to take care of.
I recalled seeing school groups in the Flathead recently, where individuality and zero sense of discipline prevailed, and I think we’ve missed the boat in America. Not one of our prouder accomplishments, this total “me – my – mine” attitude we foster even in our littlest children.
While I marveled at the happy, clean, orderly children here, my heart went back to a boy this summer in Alaska. I’ll not name names, but if the shoe fits when you read this, just wear it.
The boat was small and dirty, and at first I thought it was just a little day-trip hand troller someone had parked in the Cove. The weather had turned nasty, and a lot of different boats than usual had made an appearance to hide out, do laundry, fuel up, get groceries, and generally regroup for a day or two. Our boat was tied alongside the dock close to the ramp, so most of the fishermen had to walk by us on their way to town. It was evening, and I was inside reading a book, when BOOM! Something blew up right next to my open porthole. I leaped up and ran outside, just to see an impish, dirty face wrinkled up in a big, laughing grin. The Kid, as I’ll call him, had dropped a depth charge firecracker of some kind right by us, just for fun, and ran off just out of throwing range to see what sort of reaction he would get. I tried to be gruff and threatening, but he saw through me, gave me the Grin, and promised to do it again as soon as I wasn’t ready. He ran off up the way, little 8-year old Extra-Tuffs pounding.
We saw him regularly around the dock for the next few days – sometimes with a friend or dog, but more often alone, always seeming to appear when food was available. I never saw him take off the little red life jacket that he wore. If something was happening on a boat, he seemed to know, and was among the first to show up ready to watch the excitement. He spent time in the Laundromat, doing laundry for Dad and himself. He and Dad fished on the little green boat together. More than once I heard Dad bragging in his loud, drunken voice that his kid had more sea-time than most grown men, and I really don’t doubt it. I picked up bits and pieces about his family over time – Mom and Dad split up; Dad becoming a serious boozer with a loud mouth and in-your-face temper who got to have the Kid for the summer. They ranged up and down the outside coast – I have to hand it to Dad – he was not afraid in the least to venture far up above Cape Spencer into some tough waters, looking for kings and cohos in a small tub of a boat most of us wouldn’t trust out of sight of the harbor.
One story (verifiable) had Dad on a real bender last year – he came back to the boat and decided it was time to fish. He steamed out of the Cove, still stewed to the gills, and headed for the fishing grounds. When sobriety reared its ugly head the next morning, he realized he was short some crew, namely the Kid. Certain that his son had fallen overboard, Dad searched for hours, finally returning to the Cove, in despair over the missing son. Meanwhile, back at the Cove, the Kid was wandering the docks in the rain, passing time while he waited for Dad’s return. Pity was given by some of the good-hearted folks of the Cove, and the Kid got a hot meal and warm place to sleep overnight. No one bothered to radio the dad, preferring to let him stew in his remorse, hopefully shaming him to a higher plane of concern. Rather than show gratitude to the keepers of his child, he became blusteringly belligerent immediately upon discovering the Kid, and sailed out again, this time with him on board. The incident was only a speedbump – this year Dad still is drunk most of the time he’s in port, and the Kid still roams the dock.
My last picture of the Kid – I’m standing with Steve, Kirk, and Scott on the boardwalk overlooking the Gut. Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” is playing at annoyingly loud volume from speakers on a little green boat that’s headed out of the Cove, just beneath us. Standing on the starboard side, arms wrapped around a stabilizer pole, is the Kid. He looks up and gives us the Grin, and then looks ahead, out to sea, with Dad. Wonder what his future holds.
Fish on.
