As the sun in August starts to shine intensely, my memories flood back to the thick green of summer. It was a period when everyone tried to escape the oppressive heat by going to the sea or mountain valleys. Although our family couldn’t afford to go to the beach, we had the valley. We would block a stream to make a temporary pool, surrounded by closely arranged wooden benches—getting there early was necessary to get a place. Honestly, spreading a mat on a big rock by the water would have been cheaper, but my father had his dignity. He couldn’t stand the idea of his three sons sitting on rough rocks, believing that a proper vacation required a good spot to cheer them up.
After the destination was decided, preparations started. My mother packed bulgogi that had been marinated for several days, side dishes, and a big watermelon into an icebox. The heavy box, which was difficult even for adults to carry, contained our family’s entire summer happiness. The night before, the yard would be filled with the smell of bulgogi seasoning, and the three brothers, like kids looking forward to a picnic, would stay awake in our small room, unable to fall asleep.
On days when even a trip to the valley was not possible, our yard turned into our refuge. In a corner of the scorching concrete yard, we would fill a big red rubber tub with water, taking turns to cool down. When this wasn’t possible, my parents’ final solution was the “등목” (back-cooling ritual).
Those were times when one fan was enough for the whole family, without any air conditioning. My brothers and I would take off our clothes down to our shirts and lie on the floor near the water tap. When my father poured a basin of water over my neck with a splash, the oppressive heat disappeared immediately, and bumps appeared along my spine. His rough but warm hands would softly massage my back, causing tingles and laughter within me. When our parents were out, we’d playfully pour water down to our waists, getting our undergarments wet—but that tap in the alley was our paradise, matching any valley in beauty.
These moments are uncommon nowadays. A simple button press can remove the heat, but as the world becomes more convenient, my heart keeps returning to that narrow, hot water faucet. No exciting escape today can match the unique warmth found there.
It was my father’s deep affection, striving to lead his sons to the finest places; my mother’s radiant smile as she worked tirelessly throughout the day, solely focused on providing for us; and the soft touches of my parents’ hands as they soothed our backs. Although poverty made our bodies weary, our hearts remained warm, nurtured by one another’s company. Those were the summers of my childhood.
Standing in the middle of August, I long for the cool shade my parents once provided. Even the memory of that love, deeply rooted in my chest, seems enough to get through this overwhelming season.
jasdooit 
Leave a comment