2. My Childhood
As I reminisce about my childhood, I realize that despite the post-war scars and the prevailing insufficiencies of the late 1960s and early 1970s, I had a happy and carefree upbringing under the loving care of my parents. This era marked a period when the entire North Korean population was working tirelessly to rebuild the economy, which had been ravaged by the Korean War. It was a time of construction, with the construction of prefabricated houses, often referred to as the “miracle of Pyongyang,” and the nation was abuzz with excitement as the Hwanghae Iron Works introduced new rolling technology.
In our household, which consisted of seven children and two parents, we lived in a multi-unit house known as a harmonica house. Even families of cadre members like ours lived in similar housing to that assigned to ordinary laborers during those challenging times.
I happened to be the most mischievous among my seven siblings. While my younger brother was calm and good-natured, I was the mischievous one who could hold my own against boys easily. Perhaps it was because of my mother’s conception dream, which led her to believe I would be a boy until my birth. Regardless of the reason, I was a true prankster, playing tricks on my elder sisters and teasing my brothers. I was always on the move at kindergarten, staking my claim on all the rides in the yard and making sure no other kids dared to touch them, which inevitably led to fights and pinching.
My father held a high position as the factory manager and was someone with significant authority. Everyone, especially due to his assignment from Pyongyang, had a certain degree of fear and respect for him. Looking back, it seems that the kindergarten teachers treated me with more kindness and affection because of my father’s role.
The kindergarten was located within the factory compound. On one particular day, I managed to sneak away. The teacher responsible for overseeing nap time left the room after ensuring that all the children were asleep. I pretended to be sleeping but couldn’t suppress my desire to play at my father’s desk, which was a mischievous thought that must have crossed every child’s mind at some point. Maybe, even at the tender age of four, I was aware of my father’s high position within the factory. His office desk was large and shiny, and it was a delight to climb and roll around on it.
As his office wasn’t too far away, I jumped over the kindergarten’s fence that separated the buildings. Stealthily, I opened the door and found that he wasn’t there. I entered the empty office, climbed onto his chair, and then onto his desk. The desk felt incredibly smooth. Just as I was sprawled across it, singing and thoroughly enjoying myself, the door opened, and my father walked in. He had returned from the field and caught sight of me. Quickly, I scrambled off the desk and hid behind the chair, giggling mischievously. He picked me up, my feet fluttering in the air, and carried me back to my teacher. Incidents like this happened multiple times before I entered primary school. I still can’t fathom why I disliked nap time so vehemently back then. It’s amusing that as an adult, I often yearn for a nap even when I’m not allowed to take one.
Once, when I was six years old, I decided to take my younger sister from the nursery and bring her home. She was only three at the time. I should have taken the time to put socks on her and dress her appropriately, especially considering it was a cold winter’s day. However, I was in a hurry to sneak her out, so she had no socks on. The journey home with a toddler who could barely walk was long and arduous, and she cried loudly throughout the entire trip.
“Unnie! Oppa! Open the door!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. My brother soon flung the door open, looking startled as he took us inside. “Why are you both so frozen? How on earth did you get here without Mom?!” he exclaimed.
My third sister, holding our still-crying younger sibling, wasted no time. She swiftly removed the child’s clothes and began to knead her frozen feet, all the while asking, “Why did you bring her home? You snuck out of the kindergarten again, didn’t you?” She gave my head a light tap, which stung.
“It hurts! Why are you hitting me?” I cried out in response, more from fear for my younger sister whose feet had turned a deep shade of blue.
Our panicked mother soon arrived home, having been unable to find us at the kindergarten and nursery. She was rendered speechless when she saw the two of us crying for different reasons. Without a word, she brought in a basin filled with snow and started rubbing my sister’s feet with it to remove the frostbite. As a result of my impromptu decision to bring her home while running away from kindergarten, my younger sister ended up hospitalized for chilblains.
