연세대학교 영어영문학과

Two Teachers I Dearly Treasure

76 송은경

There are many and countless people who influenced me and whom I’m indebted to for what I am now, but I want to talk about two teachers whom I dearly treasure.

First af all, everything about me started with my father, Professor Song Ju-ho at Chung-nam National University. Whenever I think about him, I can not but remember his wide smile which showed unconditional love and forgiveness and which could melt away any hatred or animosity. He was born as a first child in his family, which naturally inferred scarce love and a lot of responsibility put on his shoulders. His parents were poor as most Koreans were right after the Korean War. After experiencing war time atrocities, they knew how to survive in hard times. While living day-to-day life with an unclear and unstable future, they treated their first child too harshly. Always reminding him of the high standard he had to achieve, they meted out cruel physical punishments whenever he didn’t rise to their expectations, which may be deemed as child abuse from a modern perspective. Thinking about his unusual love and magnanimity toward others, I can’t trace any clue about where he got those merits if not from inheritance.

People who once got to know him loved and respected him. He had a warm heart, always with extra room for others to rely on. Showing a broad smile on his face and asking others’ regards, he was ready to help others at any moment. When people in trouble would come and consult with him, he assured them that their troubles would be resolved. Like magic, he made possible things that seemed impossible at first. His purse was empty most of the time because he spent all the money he had for others every day. Some people took advantage of him, but anyhow they became big fans of his after all. Students who graduated from his class had no problem finding jobs. When a graduation season would come, he was busy meeting CEOs or his friends with big names asking their favor to employ his graduating students. Especially his favorites were the students having problems financially or for other reasons.

I cannot write his story without tears and I’m sure many others who knew him will feel the same. I miss him, miss him, miss him countless times and without end.

In my memory he is vividly alive in four images. The first image is his running toward me on a street with his arms wide open to hold me. It was when I was really small. The second image is his holding me tight when I went to his room in the morning. Still, I can feel the warmth of his body under the blanket. The third image is when he tried to kiss me on my cheeks and I tried to avoid it because I didn’t like the clumsy feeling of his stubbly beard. At the time, I was experiencing hormonal changes in adolescence. The last image, which saddens me but I treasure most, is his visiting me the last time to celebrate my son’s birthday. On that day, I welcomed him by holding him tight on my doorstep, but strangely he felt a bit awkward. Maybe it was because he wanted to send a message that I was now an adult, not a child, as the mother of two kids. Two days afterwards he passed away from a traffic accident. However, he presented me the most precious blessing by the visitation before he went to heaven. At the funeral, there was an endless procession of his followers.

His love and bright smile has formed unshakable roots in my personality, making me confident whatever I do. Reflecting on his unconditional love, I also pour out my love to my children so that they can build their own firm roots for both shiny and rainy days.

The next person I can not forget is Professor Sohn Han at Yonsei University. He was a man of small stature, but a giant with a broad mind. As a man of good sense, he saw through his students’ personalities and strong or weak points, based on which he gave advice and took care of them like a parent. Throughout the year, a teapot was boiling in his room waiting for guests, with his door open to anybody.

He preferred to be called a teacher rather than a professor, and was concerned about and eager to listen to students’ problems. He wanted to know how their parents, spouses, siblings or children were doing, and was pleased with their good news and felt sad with sad news. He shared not only others’ personal matters but also his own. With no reserve, he opened his mind about his proud or sorrowful moments: For example, how successfully he had planned and managed a big festivity in the early days of his professorship, how wrong he had been when he sternly opposed his son’s marriage, and how painful it had been when his wife lost sight of her one eye. These personal stories drew us closer to him as a vulnerable human being. Since he conversed with students on personal terms, he was more like a counselor or a father with a loving heart.

Unlike the kindness with which he embraced others, he raised his unyielding voice against any wrongs he encountered. He drew a clear line between right and wrong, and never stepped back when confronting any wrong doings or decisions. At that time, students’ protests went beyond control, escalating to extremes without a break. Especially in front of libraries and classroom buildings, protesters were shouting their slogans condemning all bystanders not taking part in their campaign. Whether right or wrong, they should not disturb others, or the ends could not justify the means, he thought. He was so determined about this that he stood alone in front of them and bravely reprimanded the protesters, even though he did not succeed in subduing the unrest on the whole.

Now and then, his guts and unrelenting bravery for creeds and causes came across a backlash. Once seeing that his call for change on controversial matters was not carried through, he felt insulted and finally decided to retire early and transferred to the University of Illinois.

When he left Yonsei, the campus felt somewhat like a barren and meaningless place without a warm nest. For Yonsei, it was a great loss, a loss of a parent, mentor, and acting conscience, which would not be easily filled again.

Looking back, I thank God for having him as a mentor at my life’s important junctures. Now, when I meet my students, I often think about him and try to listen to their needs and help them do better as Professor Sohn did with me. I wish him and his family well and the best of luck.

My father and Professor Sohn still inspire me with an invaluable lesson that love changes a person most deeply. Indeed, education is what remains in a person after she forgot everything she learned in class.