Because he tapped me on the shoulder at the PC room
and asked, “Go to ping pong room tomorrow?”
Because I said, “Why not?”
Because in that ping pong room
we laughed over instant coffee, rice cakes,
and Beatles songs.
Because he asked,
“Go to church with me tomorrow?”
And because I said yes
and sat with him in chapel pews,
his Korean-English Bible in my palm,
reciting the gospel.
Because he introduced me
to his friends, his culture,
his way of life.
Because he gave me hope
on Sundays when I was alone.
Because one night he said,
“Duck, let’s eat,”
and I said, “Sure,”
because I had never eaten duck
in another country,
or washed it down with soju.
Because he slapped my back
when a bone got lodged in my throat
and we watched it fling
across the restaurant—
a rite of passage.
Because we couldn’t stop laughing about that.
Because he showed me photos
of his son and daughter,
both married with families of their own.
Because he loved being a father
and inspired me to be like him—
except with less
late-night gambling,
soju,
and cigarettes.
Because I hugged him
before I left South Korea.
It’s hard to hug people these days.
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