Adam and Eve in the Garden of Weedin'

Adam and Eve in the Garden of Weedin

WOW! What are these things sticking out of Her chest?
What do they do?
Why are they there?
Are they for me to pull Her around with me?

Her body is so different, soft and strong!
Why does She to not have a pointing thing?
That shoots out yellow warm water?
Where does it come out?

Why does She have sideways lips
And lips like mine on her face?
What do you put inside those lips?
I wonder what kind of food She eats in there?

Humm. She is eating an apple!
God told me not to eat it!
Is She going to put it in Her other mouth?
No, She is eating it like everything else!

But God said not to!
Maybe since She is so amazing,
She does not have to follow God’s rules.
Maybe She is God in flesh.

Her eyes say so much.
I wonder if She can speak?
Maybe She just eats, walks and dances.
What is She and why did She come out of my rib?


She must be proof,
That what God says it true.
That God exists,
And God’s Voice is not just in my head.

She is evidence of God.
She is what I want to be.
She is here to show me,
How to be a man.




But, She is not a Man.
She is WOW!
That’s it,
She is WowMan!

I wonder if I am supposed
To ride Her like the elephant?
Or pet Her,
Like the tiger?

What do I do with Her?
Is She here for me?
Or am I here for Her?
Or maybe for each other.

That is why God
Had Her come out of my rib.
To let me know,
We are connected for Eternity.

Is She like the other animals?
For me to take care of?
Or She is special?
Yes, She is special.

I will protect Her,
From the other animals.
I will show Her,
All the good foods.

What if She is here,
To protect me?
What do I,
Need to be protected from?

God said to not eat,
From That tree.
She did,
And She is still perfect.

Should I eat from That tree?
Am I not Her equal?
No, I am to protect Her.
What if I cease?


If I am not,
To protect Her,
Is She here to protect me?
From What?

The tree,
Is She protecting me from the Tree?
No, I get it,
She is here to protect me from me!

I wonder if I can,
Touch Her.
Ooh, what is happening,
To my Thing?

It is turning red,
And growing,
And twitching.
What has She done to me?

Now I really, Want to touch Her.
What are those things?
And what do,
They feel like?

Do They bite?
Is That where
She shoots Her warm yellow water?
I hope not, it will hit me.

I wonder what,
Her Voice sounds like,
If She speaks.
Will it be like mine?

Does God talk to Her like me?
No, God probably does not need,
To Teach Her anything.
She already Knows.

Please Leave your Shoes at the Door

I enter the door of Cheonanyoungam elementary school for the first time after sleeping just a few hours from my journey that lasted more than twenty-four hours. I am exhausted and anxious about the new opportunity that awaits me on the other side of the double glass doors to this large brick building an entire block long. Just three steps in and my new manager stops me and points to my shoes. Then directs me to the cubbyholes where the slippers for guests are kept and instructs me to take mine off and replace them with the slippers that have Korean writing along the top. I internally smirk at the idea that I brought with me a good pair of shoes just to be professional at work and I will never where them in the building during my one year commitment here as an esl teacher.

For many years, I have practiced the Buddhist tradition of taking off footwear before entering the home. The physical and mental decision to leave the outside world outside has been valuable and supportive to me in my spiritual development. During my two weeks of notice before coming to Korea, I had forgotten that detail and was not aware that in Korea, public schools are treated like homes and no shoes are worn in the building.

As cumbersome as it can be when leaving for lunch or something to switch back and forth between shoes and slippers, I enjoy working in slippers. I like teaching in slippers and the feeling of warmth and family that it creates. Besides, they are much more comfortable and relaxing to stand all day teaching. I bought my own pair to keep at the school and the vice-principal who is very worried how a man who is single will survive alone in Korea has given me my very own cubbyhole near the middle entrance to keep my slippers in.

When parents or even construction-type workers enter the building, they either bring their own slippers or wear the guest pairs available to anyone. It brings me great joy to see men gutting and putting together the two new computer rooms and the new English teachers office in a form of slippers. Quite different than the heavy work boots that men wear when working in the USA. It reminds me of a piece on 60 Minutes I watched five years ago after a football game about mowing the lawn and gender. The reporter explained how men wear heavy work boots when mowing the lawn with clothes built for protection from something dangerous. He then showed brief videos of women mowing the lawn in pretty sundresses and sandals with summer hats and fashionable sunglasses. His point was that men see any kind if outdoor work as an expression of their manhood and women try to find a way to enjoy experiences when possible (and get a “tan”) and see no reason to put on their “battle fatigues” to mow the lawn. This is the image I maintain in my head about the contrast of intention and mentality of men that are Korean and American. One is proving the size of his penis while the other is proving that being a man includes caring about children and the sense of home.

This is one of the ways that Koreans make schools feel like an extension of home to children. There is no feeling if sterility, austerity or power from the teachers to the students. The kids offer too much respect for that to happen, even if a teacher thought that it might be helpful. Kids do not give teachers the finger, curse at them, sit in the back of the class with hands folded sulking or storm out of the room dramatically. A child would not do this because it is not what you do to teachers AND it would be embarrassing to act that way in front of your friends. It would demonstrate traits that children do not appreciate, so to act that way would cause them to be friendless and lose respect from their teacher and parents. Here, losing respect is a big deal and something that children work very hard to avoid. They want to be thought of as smart, hard working and caring, anything less is a reason for a child to cry out of internal shame.

I enjoy living and working in a land where slippers are worn in homes and schools, and a sense of home is more important than a sense of self-importance among principals, teachers, parents and kids.

His Moment

It was the bottom of the sixth inning on Meadowbrook’s best field. All we had to do was hang on for three more outs and we would win in front of all the people in the bleachers at the older kids field on opening day. Before the game, I felt weird about playing in “c” league when all my friends were in “a” league but that was in the first inning before I hit safely three times including an inside the park home run.

I love playing shortstop because I receive the most hits and I made a bunch of good one’s already this game. The best was the hot grounder I scooped up after passing the third baseman and threw it just in time to get the hitter out at first base.

Joey, the teams pitcher was starting to get tired. He had pitched a great first game. He walked their first batter and the second one hit a double to center field making it second and third with no outs. He walked the third batter in four pitches- bases loaded and no outs and only a 4-1 lead. Coach Eddie called time and walked out to the pitcher’s mound to talk with Joey. A minute later he signaled me to come to the mound to join them, since I was the team captain.

“Michael, I need you to get me three outs.” And he handed me the ball and walked away with Joey trotting over to play shortstop.

I froze. I had never pitched before in a real game at any level. Here we were with the bleachers full at the good field, bases loaded, no outs, bottom of the sixth and the ball was in my hands now.

I took a deep breath and my seven warm-up pitches, only two were over the plate and would have been strikes. A big red-headed boy with freckles stepped up to the plate and the umpire yelled, “OK. Let’s play ball”.

I fixed my glasses, turned the ball around in my hand three times, leaned forward to start my wind-up, kicked my leg up in the air, reared my arm back and threw it as hard as I could to the plate. The red-headed boy swung, missed and the umpire yelled, “Steeerike One”. Phew ! Made it through the first one. Since that worked, I did everything all over again and threw it as hard as I could and the red-headed boy with freckles swung and missed again, “Steerike Two”. Another deep breath and starting with fixing my glasses I went through the whole routine again and the red-headed boy swung again and missed, “Steerike Three. Batter Out”.

One down, two to go. All the kids on my team were yelling stuff and the peopel in the bleachers were starting to get into too.

The next batter stepped up to the plate and he was a lefty. None of my friends were lefties, so I had no experience trying to pitch to any of them. OK, here we go again. Fixed my glasses, rolled the ball around in my hand, kicked my leg and threw it as hard as I could and Bang, right into the catchers’s mitt with the lefty missing the ball by about two feet. “Steerike One”.

“Steerike Two,” this time the lefty didn’t even swing. My first called strike.

All right, I got this one now. I was starting to sweat a lot now in my grey uniform with blue trim. “Steerike Three. Batter Out. Two Outs”.

Now everybody was really yelling from both teams. They were down to their last out and we were one out away from winning the first game of the year on the good field. My heart was pounding and I had to take my blue hat with a “C” on it for Chargers off to wipe the sweat off my forehead that was dripping down onto my glasses. I wiped them off on my jersey. Kenny Costa was up next and stepping up to the plate. When he connects with the ball, it is gone every time. No room for error here with the game on the line.

I threw it as hard as I could, even harder than the other two kids and Crack!, he hit a long fly ball down the left line, the ump runs over to watch the ball, then yells, “Foul Ball. Steerike One”. Both benches were screaming and then there was a big exhale for everybody. It’s just strike one.

I did my whole thing again but this time instead of throwing it as hard as I could, I threw it softly and Kenny missed it by a mile. “Steerike Two”. A bunch of kids laughed and Kenny banged the bat on the plate with his face all red.

One pitch to go, just one pitch. I took a little longer this time before starting my delivery. Kenny Costa looked straight at me with his face red and gripping the bat like his life depended on it. I looked at all the three runners since they would be running on two strikes with two outs. I went through my whole routine, and this time I threw it harder than I ever had in my life, Kenny took a big swing and just missed the ball, “Steerike Three. Batter Out. Game Over!”

My whole team ran to the pitcher’s mound and jumped all over me, even Coach Eddie.

Nine pitches, nine strikes and a one two, three relief appearance my first time on the mound in a real game on the good field.

I started eleven of the final twelve games that year winning every one of them. My name was in the West Essex Tribune every Thursday that summer. But my favorite memory of that season was the first game of the year when I got to pitch in the bottom of the sixth with the bases loaded and no outs for a one, two, three inning on the good field.