My grandparents, who had traveled a long way from Pyongyang to see their eldest grandson, took their daughter-in-law and the newborn baby back to Pyongyang and nursed them for a year. My mother’s illness seemed to be more a result of the change in environment than the childbirth itself.
My grandparents were insistent that my father should produce another son from the Kumsan Kim family’s bloodline. There were no other descendants of the Kumsan Kim family clan apart from us, so my grandfather hoped for another son to continue the family lineage. My father was overjoyed when he learned of my conception. However, when the long-awaited child, me, was born, my father was once again on a business trip, as had often been the case. Upon his return, he learned from my oldest sister that the newborn baby was a girl. He entered the room where my mother and the baby lay, inquired about my mother’s well-being, and, without even casting a glance at the baby girl, pushed her aside with his foot before leaving the room. Because I was a girl, he did not prepare seaweed soup for my mother, nor did he buy her a slice of meat or a jar of honey. This bitter memory stayed with my mother, and she would often affectionately refer to my father as a “bad old codger.”
In later years, I procured 10 kilograms of native honey from my husband’s army base and presented it to my ailing father. I said, “Dad, I heard that you didn’t make seaweed soup for Mom, or get her meat or honey. Your daughter has brought you this much honey for your health.” Both my mother and father laughed.
Despite my grandparents’ hopes for a son, my parents had another daughter after me. They decided to try one last time for a son, and that’s when my youngest brother was born. In the end, my parents had five daughters and two sons. They say that a mother with a large brood never has a peaceful day. It was true; my parents experienced numerous challenges and hardships while raising their seven children.
By the time my youngest brother was born, my oldest sister had graduated from high-level professional school (고등전문학교) and joined the army. The following year, my second sister also graduated from the same school and was assigned, along with her fellow graduates, to an automotive factory in Dokchon, South Pyongan Province. In 1970, during those times, middle school graduates were typically sent to work in coal mines, while technical school graduates were assigned to construction sites and machine factories – jobs that no one volunteered for. In North Korea, a high-level professional school education was equivalent to vocational training in South Korea.
Sungri Motor Plant (승리자동차공장) in Dokchon, South Pyongan Province, was an underground facility carved out of a mountain to protect it from potential bombardment. Even its entrance was designed as a cave. No parent, no matter how loyal to the Party, willingly sent their children to work in such grueling conditions. The North Korean government dispatched groups of graduates to such challenging work sites. My sister endured days filled with tears, resenting my father for not using his cadre position to exempt her from the group assignment. Eventually, at the age of 23, she escaped from that place through an arranged marriage with her current husband, a man for whom she felt little affection.
My mother dearly missed her first-born daughter, and she traded a sewing machine for a wristwatch, a rare luxury at the time. She then made the journey to Chongjin, where my sister was stationed in the army. My mother was determined to place that wristwatch on her daughter’s wrist.
Because of the significant age gap between my two older sisters and me, I have few memories of them during my childhood. What I do recall are moments of laughter, playfulness, and occasional sibling quarrels with my third sister, older brother, and two younger siblings.
During the 1970s and 1980s, North Korea was in better economic shape compared to its southern counterpart. Stores were well-stocked with meat, fish, fruits, and vegetables. Food distribution occurred every other week at designated stations, and the government also provided firewood and coal.
However, despite the food rations, many North Koreans of that time still struggled financially, as their monthly salaries were quite meager. While today’s challenge may be a shortage of goods, back then, many people simply didn’t have the money to afford these goods.
Even in my household, with my father managing a large factory and my mother working as well, money was always in short supply due to the needs of our large family. My older sisters had to stay at home and care for the younger siblings because we couldn’t even afford the 10 won needed to attend school-organized movie viewings. In the 1960s, a 10-won coin was equivalent to 3 kilograms of rice. Rice was relatively inexpensive, but the cost of cultural activities and goods was high.
My father’s brothers, living in Pyongyang and its vicinity, were aware of the challenges we faced. Whenever my father went on a business trip, they would send us nice clothes, expensive candies, and snacks that were rare in our province.
