“Just Wait Until My Mom Gets Here!”

Madison Johnston

Multi-Racial | Hopkins, MN | she/her/hers | Private Sector

Every year, I stared at one page in the Girl Scouts summer activities brochure: “Horseback Riding Camps.” I feared asking my parents if I could go, assuming it would be too expensive. My perpetual silence landed me at Sup Sogui Hosu instead—a Korean language immersion program near Hackensack, Minnesota. Sup Sogui Hosu was my mom’s idea. She wanted me to explore the pieces of our heritage that her mother never let her explore.

So, my summer days were filled with Hangul instead of horses; drumming instead of dressage. I dabbled in calligraphy, Taekwondo, and joined contests to see who could pick up the most M&Ms with metal chopsticks. I sang along to songs I had never heard before, struggling to get the nuance of the vowels exactly right. I was even given a new name, Milan.  I was told that it means “beautiful lily,” and I loved that.

In fact, I loved this whole place. There was just one thing that made me feel funny—a question that my fellow third-grade cabin mate posed to me two days into programming, “What are you doing here, exactly?”

I gave her a confused look. “What do you mean? I’m Korean.”

“No, you’re not,” she said. “You’re white.”

“Well, I’m both,” I stammered. “I’m…learning.”

She giggled and ran off to spread the news of my imposter-dom throughout the community. From that point on, I heard the same question again and again, from campers and counselors, alike. “What are you doing here, exactly?”

The real question being asked of me was, “How do you fit in here?” Most of the campers and all of the staff were 100% percent Korean—and they looked like it. I had only 25% to offer, and I definitely didn’t look like it. I had never before stopped to consider that. So, I credentialed myself in the most immediate way I could and I responded, “Just wait until my mom gets here!” I insisted. “You’ll see!”

Four counselors entered into a bet right in front of me, putting money down on my ethnic identity. Three of them were sorry on graduation day when my decidedly Asian mother showed up. With her in the room, they looked at me differently. They assumed a new posture of curiosity about my story, acting like something crucial had been unlocked between all of us.

The power of me lies in a deep understanding that what you see isn’t always what you get. Minus the gambling, this camp story continues to play out in various parts of my life with oscillating intensity, reminding me how precious and how complicated an Asian identity can be.

This summer, I traveled to Korea for the first time. As the sun set over the mountains in Gyeongju, and as the eerily knowing voice (and the perfectly nuanced vowels) of a folk singer washed over me from a park nearby, I thought back to Sup Sogui Hosu. I’m Korean. I’m white. I’m both…I’m learning.

And I’m so glad I never went to horse camp.

#MinneAsianStories Series