Special KWVA "W in Your Dream Vacation Fund-Raiser" Information ...

By Amanda Ringer
The city of Seoul itself is a miracle,
they tell me. Fifty-five years ago, when
the American forces landed at Incheon, it
was a bombed-out, burned-up shell.
Today, it’s the gorgeous center of the 14th
largest economy in the world.
My grandfather and other Korean War
veterans and I are here so they can “revisit”
(the term the tour company uses) the
place where they once fought. Instead of
machine guns and rucksacks, printed with
the name of the company, today they have
canes and tote bags printed with the name
of the tour company. This is not the same
place, and they are not the same men.
We go to visit a military park. As we
walk over the top of the hill, the veterans
Tanks at Chorwon
Seoul Urchins
Children, Closure, and Korea
Seoul Beggar
“The last time that I was here, the children were naked.
Sitting and standing and lying in the streets. Dressed in
rags if they had any clothes at all. Not a one of them had
shoes...”
hesitate when they see the tanks. It’s only
for a second, and they are not going to
show it, but for a moment, they hesitate.
We were told we were going to a park.
I walk with my grandfather and the others
towards the tanks. They examine them,
and are thinking who only knows what
about the last time they saw tanks in
Korea. They were coming towards them,
coming to attack and kill, were filled with
people who believed (or at least,
they presume believed) different
things that they did. They even
looked different.
Today, we are the ones who
look different. Everyone knows
that we are Americans. I can see
them thinking and remembering.
For some of them, one can see
Seoul Hershey Bar
Seoul Babyson
that it’s particularly painful.
We round a row of tanks, and then we
see them, sitting under the tanks. Once a
source of terror, the tanks are now as
harmless as an oak tree that gives shade.
And, sitting under them are teeny children
laughing and eating picnic lunch.
My grandfather stops.
“Children”, he says quietly.
“Yes,“ I say, waiting.
“Look at them.” he says. “Look.”
And he does and he is quiet for a long
time. I just wait.
“The last time I was here,” he starts,
and then stops. “The last time that I was
here, the children were naked. Sitting and
standing and lying in the streets. Dressed
in rags if they had any clothes at all. Not a
one of them had shoes. They would go get
periwinkles out of the river and suck the
little things out, just to have something to
eat. To keep from starving. And there was
no way that we could help all of them.
Now, just look at them.”
We walk towards the children and they
sit and look at us. Then they get up and
walk to us.
“Ello! Elllo!” they say in English they
are obviously just learning at school.
They are dressed in tiny matching
school uniforms and have bright eyes and
smiles. None of them is hungry, and the
containers in front of them are full of food.
They giggle at me as I try to say hello
in Korean. They are happy and unafraid.
They are exactly what everyone wanted
for them to be. They don’t realize how
much they are helping, and I wish I had
the words to tell them.
I listen to them giggle and realize that
the sound of children laughing sounds the
same everywhere all over the world.
I watch my grandfather and the other
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35
The Graybeards
May – June 2009