My Traumatic Survival-I Am Okay!

Prologue

A Usual Day in Life

Come out here, both of you! Right this instant! My father’s thunder-like voice bellowed from down the street and around Aunt Mary’s pitch-black living room.

I peeked out the window, then closed my eyes and snuggled deeper into my mother’s embrace. Her scent always had a calming effect on me, but even that wasn’t helping this time.

I trembled, envisioning my heartless and mentally unstable father standing stark naked in the middle of the street with a loaded shotgun in his hand. This time, it felt like he was finally going to end it all. I trembled with fear, thinking how this summer night of 1972 was going to be our last.

Being just a five-year-old child, it was my time of playful laughter and naughty pranks, with nothing to worry about. Carefree and careless should be the lifestyle of every child, but that wasn’t the case for me. Today, too, had started as all the other days in our lives. It began as a regular day, yet we didn’t know what catastrophe lay ahead.

The calamity always started with my father losing his mind on the most minor facts.

I don’t remember what it was exactly, as always, as no one could ever pinpoint the root of his anger. One minute, everything would be fine, and the next, our house would be a concoction of bad words and roaring anger. He would go blind with rage and throw whatever he could find lying around at mommy.

Only that day, it didn’t stop, which was a sign that something was about to go seriously wrong. It wasn’t until my father ran off to get his shotgun that my mother realized that if we didn’t get out of the house right then, irreversible damage would occur.

I remember my mother picking me up in her arms and limping down each step from the second-story apartment we resided in. Once we got down to the street, mom put me down and held my hand tightly as we walked as fast as we could with mom’s bad leg to get away from my father. We rushed down the street to Aunt Mary, our savior’s home, our safe sanctuary.

Her trembling arms tightened around me as she frantically knocked on the door, waiting to be let in.

Open up! Mommy had almost cried.

The door had opened immediately, and Mary had sighed and hugged mother, squishing me between them.

"He is at it again. He is going to kill us!" I heard mommy whisper.

Go hide. Mary had ordered us.

Mother, with me by her side, ran around the house, switching off all lights, surrounding us in pitch darkness.

They are not here! Go away! I had heard Aunt Mary yell from her window each time my father yelled for us to come out as mother moved the couch, and we hid behind it.

My eyes blurred as I let out quiet sniffles.

I would have sobbed if not for my mother’s warning to keep quiet, after which I did my best to stifle any sounds.

"Kim! Sonia! Come down here!" Another boom from my father brought me back to the present.

He is not going to leave, Kim. We need to call the cops. Aunt Mary whispered.

My mother’s breath hitched slightly, but she didn’t stop Mary as she reached for her phone resting on the lamp table beside the couch to call Frederick City Police. They assured her that the police had already been dispatched from the multiple calls made to 911 and were on their way.

My heart raced as my mother rocked me back and forth. I wanted to feel safe but couldn’t for the life of me.

It seemed like forever, but then we heard the telltale signals of a police vehicle approaching. I moved my head away from the crook of my mother’s neck to see red and blue flashing lights lighting up the dark living room.

Then, we heard the police yelling at my father to put the gun down. Anxious to see how things were rolling out onto the street, my mother, with me still clinging to her, got up from her position on the floor and, together with Mary, inched towards the living room window.

Looking down, my eyes met with my father’s vengeful and malicious ones as he stood there naked with handcuffs on, and I immediately hid my face in the crook of Mother’s neck, inhaling her sweet scent. Finally, we were able to breathe a sigh of relief, even if it was only temporary.

The Frederick City police knew my father as well as they did my mother and me from the numerous calls.

After the police car pulled off with him in it, another officer came to the door of Mary’s apartment to ask if we were okay and took our statements. I closed my eyes and leaned against my mother’s shoulder as the commotion occurred. Mary could have told us to leave and not get involved, but she was a good woman.

She did not have much, but she had a heart of gold. She was single and worked as a waitress in a downtown restaurant that her landlord owned. She lived a simple life but would do anything to help you. Mary was also suffering from the beginning stages of Parkinson’s Disease. Time passed in a blur after that. I don’t remember much until my mother picked me up and told me it was time to go home.

The police officer was kind enough to escort my mother and me back to our apartment, just four blocks down the street, and ensured we got inside safely. I still felt scared but tried putting on a brave face for mom.

After all, I was her brave girl. Mommy was always there for me, no matter what, and I also had to be there for her.

Are you going to be okay? The officer asked once my mother opened the door and stepped inside.

Hope so. She answered and smiled at him. He smiled back and ruffled my hair.

I’m going to send a patrol officer to check up on you guys every now and then. He assured me, and my mother nodded.

We talked to the officer about how much safer and better our lives could be if anyone could permanently put my father in jail or hospital for help.

He was in and out of jail and mental institutes for brief periods, but each time he was released, he became angrier and took out all his anger and frustration on both of us physically.

Why don’t you contact the Military or an attorney? The officer suggested.

I have tried that too. Anyway, thank you for your help today. My mother sighed and locked the door.

My mother had tried multiple times to have my father put in jail or put away for mental issues.

I am not sure why the process took so long or why he was constantly allowed to hurt us, but all I knew was that right now, with him not around, I felt safe.

He was in the US Army. According to my mother, it was the reason the Army and the Police weren’t taking his actions against us seriously.

Mom and I knew we had to protect each other from my father. We were all we had, just the two of us, alone and fighting to live.

Our apartment was also on the second floor and above a dry cleaner business. To get to our apartment on the second floor, we had to go through the main door on the street level and walk a long dark hallway that ended with a set of wooden stairs going to the second and third floors. Our apartment had two doors.

The main door opened up to a hallway with the bathroom immediately on the left as you walked in and the living room at the end of the hallway.

Between the bathroom and living room was my mother’s bedroom, which went around into a closet and then directly into my bedroom.

Directly across from my bedroom was the second door to our apartment, which led to the dining room, kitchen, and large walk-in kitchen pantry.

The kitchen had a door it which led to the balcony. Both entry doors of our apartment had a brownish-orange thick frosted glass that went from the middle of the entrance to the top.

Oftentimes, I could see the outline and shadows of the people coming and going from the apartment above us. Once we were back in the apartment, we sat down on our worn-out couch.

When will this all stop? I looked up at my mother. Why does he want to hurt us? Why can’t he just go away and just leave us alone?

There is never a day that goes by that I don’t try to make him stop, get him help, or do whatever it takes to protect you and me. My mother answered in a broken voice.

Why can’t we just go away then? I cried.

We have no place to go. She hugged me tightly.

Why can’t we go to Korea? That’s far away, isn’t it?

I sobbed. And what about my brother? Maybe he can help us, right?

My mother stroked my hair, My dear Sonia, we cannot go to Korea. I will do everything in my power to protect you. And why do you say you have a brother? You know you are an only child.

She wiped my tears and walked to the kitchen to get me an apple. My mother was great at hiding her tears and sadness, but I could tell she was sad. Unlike any other mother and daughter, my mother and I had such an incredibly strong bond. From when I was born until I was six years old, my mother and I were constantly saving each other’s lives.

It’s all going to be alright. She assured me as she gave me the apple and successfully diverted my mind from the horrors we went through today.

Chapter One

Mixed Race

Iran, also called the misnomer Persia, and officially the Islamic Republic of Iran, is a country in West Asia. It borders to the west with Iraq and Turkey, to the northwest with Azerbaijan and Armenia, and with the Caspian Sea and Turkmenistan in the north.

Through Afghanistan and Pakistan, it borders in the east and through the Persian Gulf and the Gulf of Oman to the south.

It covers an area of 1,648,195 km², which makes it the fourth largest country in all of Asia and the second largest country in western Asia behind Saudi Arabia. Iran has eighty-five million inhabitants, making it the seventeenth most populous country in the world.

The historical and cultural usage of the word Iran is not limited to the actual modern state. Greater Iran refers to the areas of the Iranian cultural and language zones. In addition to modern Iran, it includes parts of the Caucasus, Anatolia, Mesopotamia, Afghanistan, and Central Asia.

Iran is a region and central power with a geopolitically strategic location on the Asiatic continent. Of the United Nations, ECO, OIC, and OPEC, it is a founding member. It has large reserves of fossil fuels, including the second-largest natural gas reserves and the fourth-largest proven oil reserves

Historically, Iran is a multi-ethnic country. Iran remains a pluralistic society made up of numerous ethnic, linguistic, and religious groups, the largest of them being Persians, Azeris, Kurds, Mazandaranis, and Lurs.

This country is now home to one of the oldest civilizations in the world, beginning with the founding of the Elamite kingdoms in the fourth millennium BC. It was mentioned first in the 7th century BC. United by the Medes and ancient Iranian people, it reached its territorial peak in the 6th century BC.

When Cyrus the Great founded the Persian Achaemenid Empire, this empire then grew to become one of the greatest empires in history and was described as the world’s first influential superpower. The Achaemenid Empire fell before Alexander the Great in the 4th century BC and was later divided into several Hellenistic states.

Then, an Iranian uprising started in the 3rd century BC, and a significant war for power continued for the next four centuries.

Arab Muslims conquered the empire in the 7th century AD, leading to the Islamization of Iran. It subsequently became an important center of Islamic culture and learning, with its art, literature, philosophy, and architecture spreading throughout the Muslim world and beyond during the Islamic Golden Age. A number of native Iranian Muslim dynasties emerged over the next two centuries before the Seljuks and Mongols conquered the region. In the 15th century, the native Safavids restored a unified Iranian state and national identity and converted the country to Shia Islam.

Under the rule of Nader Shah in the 18th century, Iran once again converted into a significant world power. Although in the 19th century, a series of conflicts with the Russian Empire resulted in significant territorial losses. Then, the Persian constitutional revolution took place at the start of the 20th century. Efforts to nationalize their supply of fossil fuels from Western companies led to an Anglo-American coup in 1953, which led to further autocratic rule under Mohammad Reza Pahlavi and growing western political influence. He then initiated a series of far-reaching reforms in 1963.

After the Iranian Revolution in 1979, the current Islamic Republic was founded by Ruhollah Khomeini, who became the country's first supreme leader.

The Iranian government is an Islamic theocracy incorporating elements of presidential democracy, with the ultimate authority vested in an autocratic Supreme Leader. It was a position held by Ali Khamenei since Khomeini's death in 1989. The Iranian government is widely regarded as authoritarian. It has been widely criticized for its widespread restrictions and abuses of human rights and civil liberties, including various violent repressions of mass protests, unfair elections, and restricted rights for women and children.

It is also a flash point for Shia Islam in the Middle East, counteracting longstanding Arab and Sunni hegemony in the region. Since the Iranian revolution, the country has been widely regarded as the greatest enemy of both Israel and Saudi Arabia.

Iran is also considered a significant player in Middle Eastern affairs, and its government is directly and indirectly involved in most modern Middle Eastern conflicts.

But enough about all this. Let’s go on with what this book is actually about. Me.

Now, being born to a Korean mother, Soon Nam Hutchinson, and an American father, Breeden George Hutchinson, I was a mixed-race baby. I was born in 1967 in Iran. Daddy was a soldier in the American army, and when I was born, he was already stationed in Iran. But just a few months after I was born, my small family moved back to America.

During the move, they faced resistance from the Iranian government. My parents were targeted and literally had to move heaven and hell to get out of there. But that, I will narrate later in the story. As daddy was in the army, so all through their married life, my parents had to move from place to place, being stationed in Korea, Germany, and Iran, and now back in the USA.

My mother was a Korean woman. She was just under five feet, relatively thin, and weighed around 115 lbs. But that was until she was in her late fifties. As time passed, she did put on weight and became about 135-140 lbs. She had short black hair and the softest skin. I remember snuggling closer to her as I loved the warmth she radiated and the feeling of safety her embrace bestowed me with. Her complexion was beautiful and flawless, and like all other Asian women, she, too, aged quite well. She looked quite younger too.

In contrast to mommy, Daddy was about 6’2. He was skinny and had long, lanky arms. He always had a buzz cut for his hair. I remember his face having scars on it, the typical side effect of severe acne, like pop marks from popping, squeezing, or picking at acne, maybe in his earlier years. His nose was crooked because it had been broken several times.

As my mother describes, when my parents first met, daddy was a very kind, generous, and respectful man. Always wanting to please my mother, he spoiled her with expensive jewelry, furniture, etc.

But from what I actually remember, he was a man who was always mean, angry, and hurtful. A man who was calm one minute and within seconds became a crazy man you didn’t know. He would get so mad that, in seconds, he would fly off the handle. He would trick you with lies and deception. He would tell you one thing but do the opposite. For me, he was the true definition of a lying and manipulative man.

My parents met each other when daddy was stationed in Korea. My mother worked at the E-Club on the military base and used to serve food and drinks. At that time, she was dating a Korean guy, and they planned to marry. His name was Mr. Kim, so all her friends nicknamed her Kimmy.

But one day, mommy heard a rumor that Mr. Kim had cheated on her, so she called off the wedding. She fought through that depressing period like the warrior that she was and made it her life’s mission to work hard and make money to help her family.

Her father had passed away when she was only nine years old, and as the oldest child in the family, she had to step up, help raise her siblings and bring home additional income. Her mother, brother, and sisters all depended on her.

She graduated from school, and she had many friends. She worked on the Military base almost every day. Then, one day, this tall, thin, American man walked in and sat down in the diner. He ordered some food, and they engaged in small talk. She did not speak much English, but they managed to understand each other between her broken English and his broken Korean.

He continued to come into the E-Club any chance he got just to see her. He called her by her nickname Kimmy. They then also started spending time together outside of the E-Club, and soon, he asked her to marry him.

She knew that meant leaving Korea to be his wife and traveling to any location where he would be stationed at.

My mother’s family was not happy about the marriage. They wanted her to stay in Korea. As the eldest child of the family, she was expected to stay with her family. They all warned her that she was making a huge mistake.

However, my mother took a chance at love and married my father in 1959 in a small ceremony on a US military base in South Korea. They left Korea as husband and wife and traveled to his next station in Germany. There, they stayed for about three years, from 1960-1963. After that, daddy got stationed in the US for one year. My mother took a job at the Frederick Memorial Hospital in the maternity ward of the nursery section. She absolutely loved and adored children and wanted some of her own too.

My mother told me that in the beginning, when she and daddy met, it was great. They were smitten with each other. He was kind, caring, generous, and so sweet to her. He bought her a beautiful home in Frederick County, Maryland, with the nicest furniture, custom-made curtains, professional landscaping, the newest appliances, and even a new Jeep. After they got married, things were still good for about the first seven years, but then, she started noticing a change in him. She witnessed aggression, anger, split personality, psychotic episodes, etc.

Then in 1964, they were then sent to Iran for three years, and that was where my mother’s dreams came true. She and daddy had been trying to have a baby forever but were unsuccessful. She even went through miscarriages, which shattered her.

Then, at the age of thirty-two, while in Iran, she finally got the daughter she always wanted, a.k.a. me. She named me Sonia.

In Korean, the pronunciation of my name means Angel. She said she was blessed with an Angel. This came at the perfect time, just months before daddy’s tour would end in Iran so they could go back to the states to raise me.

My mother always made it a point to speak Korean when we were at home. One of the most memorable songs I remember my mother singing to me as a child was a Doris Day song called Que Sera Sera. The piece emphasized, whatever will be, will be. It is about a little girl asking her mother what she will be when she grows up, and my mother always believed as well, whatever will be, will be.

Looking back now as an adult, I understand what she meant.

She wanted me to learn as much of the language as I could.

She would ask me in Korean to go get something from the kitchen, or what time it was, what I was doing, etc., so I would learn and comprehend the language. She taught me to count in Korean and made me learn the alphabet.

I was always eager to learn the language because, as a child, I thought it was pretty cool to be able to listen to the conversations my mother had in Korean with her other friends and actually be able to understand what she was saying.

She would teach me the Korean language, and I would teach her the English language. My mother took English-speaking classes when she came to the US to help her obtain a job, but I enjoyed helping her learn.

It helped me connect. But her English was broken for many years. She did get much better as time went on. She had a cute accent when she spoke English that I just adored, and her pronunciation of certain words would make me giggle, putting a smile on my face.

Sometimes, we would encounter rude people who were racists and wanted to make nasty comments about her pronunciation of words and the fact that she was Asian.

It would make me so angry. I would always jump in front of my mother and yell what she said in their face and ask them, Can you understand now?

Without even knowing it, I became my mother’s protector at a very early age.

As my mother was Korean, she followed all the Korean cultures. We would celebrate all the Korean holidays and festivals. I was raised with all the traditional Korean customs. We always took our shoes off when we entered our or anyone’s home. I always had to bow to my elders, I always called my mother’s friend's aunt or uncle in Korean, I never spoke out of turn, and I had my own Korean traditional dress called the HANBOK, which I actually wore for my senior prom.

I had to respect the fact that children never spoke out of turn, that education was the priority, and that it was not acceptable to come home with anything less than a B in any class on my report card. Procrastination was something that was never tolerated either.

My mother always said there was no reason to wait to do something that could be done now. Those are wise words that I live by today.

My mother used to cook us Korean specialties and always made the most delicious Korean foods. We rarely ever ate any American foods in our home.

Every meal we had at home was Korean. It has been and always will be my favorite type of food.

The spices, the aroma of the food when it’s cooking, the tastiness of the spices, and the spiciness of it were magnificent. The different types of meats were cooked with such tenderness that they would melt in your mouth.

The sticky rice was the main staple, along with Kimchi, at every meal, and to this day, they are still my comfort foods.

My mother and I would make homemade Kimchi together. I would watch her soak the Napa cabbage in salt water and then cut it to size.

Then we would begin seasoning the cabbage with red pepper flakes, spring onions, shredded carrots, garlic, anchovy sauce, MSG (Monosodium Glutamate), etc.

We would use our hands and mix all the ingredients until they were well blended. Then we would pack them in large glass jars and place them in the refrigerator.

Sometimes, we made five jars, and other times, around eight to ten jars. It took several days, and sometimes even more, before the fermentation set in, and then we couldn’t wait to start eating it.

There were various types of Kimchi that we made. Some were made with Daikon radishes which were cut into cubes. Others were made with cucumbers, bean sprouts, garlic roots, mustard leaves, scallions, and more. Each one was a delicious side dish that complimented the sticky rice. Kimchi was the main staple side dish that traditionally comes with each and every meal. Fish cakes, seasoned squid, tofu, and dried seaweed squares were many other side dishes that made the table a colorful array of healthy vegetables and spices.

The Korean culture never really had a lot of sugary sweets. They used fresh fruits for their dessert or as a treat for the children. One sweet treat that many Koreans make, and my mother did as well for me all the time, was to make a dough out of rice that was boiled down, and then when the sticky rice was boiled down into a pasty dough form, she would let it cool down and then flatten it out into small round cookie sized servings.

Then we would gently fry them in the