INTRODUCTION
Between June 17, 1975—my birthdate—to June 21, 2026—as the current year’s Father’s Day—there are more than fifty-one years spanning those dates. It is high time that I take stock of that passage of time, to remember cheerfully all the great and wonderful things my father did for me. And let us take stock now, before it is too late, for us to reminisce with joy and happiness.
I list three highs, or peaks, in our relationship that we celebrated, and I list three lows, or valleys, which are painful to remember, but nevertheless still showed the love you have for your son.
THE PEAKS
The highwater mark of my early years was when you paid $30,000 for that Steinway grand piano. After all, I had a perfectly serviceable Yamaha upright. You must have balked initially at paying that kind of money that could have been spent on so many other things that were far more vital. One could see in cold, calculating terms that piano as nothing more than a twisted piece of wood and metal. But I knew enough about you to know otherwise, that although you did not know much about music, you had something far more lasting and important than that. You had a deep appreciation for music. To you, music was not merely a flimsy ornament to life, but an integral core of life itself. Why else would you be willing to shell out that kind of cash for nothing but the absolute best piano for your son that money could buy?
Another peak was Harvard. You gave me the capacity to be part of the intellectual elite for four precious years out of my life. I still hang that diploma proudly on my wall because I earned it. Studying philosophy from great professors without asking me to justify my choice of major was intellectual freedom, and the Ivory Tower in the truest sense of the term. And you supported the experience financially, so that I did not have to hustle to make ends meet while in school. How can I ever repay you? There was a price for going to Harvard, an expensive price, $30,000 a year for four years, but ultimately, your financial support made the experience truly priceless.
Yet another peak was the University of Pittsburgh. Although I applied to Pitt’s PhD program, I did not get in by my own good graces. Yes, with the Harvard pedigree, I was able to raise the eyebrows of people like John Prescott and Carrie Woods. But without their knowing that I was the son of a former Pitt faculty member who had distinguished himself in furthering the vision, mission, and objectives of that academic institution, I would never have made it in! I want you to know that I appreciate very deeply and with great wholeheartedness your taking care of the $120,000 student debt that I had accrued over those six years of doctoral training. What an amazing father that I have! Anything for his son’s education. Maybe one day I will be able to afford yet another Steinway in your house and pay back the $120,000 for Harvard and the $120,000 for Pitt!
THE VALLEYS
Honor thy mother and father. You always taught that to me. And it is as old as the Bible. And yet I failed miserably during my mental illness to do just that. Not just once, but twice. I remember that overheated and sultry day in August 1998 in Hancock Park, when I was mis-medicated, drunk, and manic, and brandished a golf club at you. That is assault with a deadly weapon! I could have committed patricide! Then, as the police car was about to leave with me inside of it, you said through the open window, as I was restrained in handcuffs and headed to jail, “I WILL PROTECT YOU!” And you in fact did just that! Even in that haze of cognitive confusion and affective anguish, despite how much I still hated you, I knew you loved me, no matter what. And that you would never leave me, no matter what, even if the son were to forsake his own father.
And then do you remember the one evening in the early 2000’s in Manhattan Beach when I very unwisely decided to get completely off medication, and I sucker-punched you from behind in the kitchen while you were very peacefully watching television, and I did so without any provocation whatsoever. Again, I could have committed patricide! Just the right punch, in the right location, at the right time, can stun or even kill an opponent. What was wrong with me? Well, apparently, everything was wrong with me. And your reaction was so kind and compassionate. You and I fell down to the ground, in the kitchen, and you held me in a firm grip until my murderous rage dissipated. Even when blood was everywhere, you still held me down tightly, tightly enough to contain me, but not too tightly so as to injure me. What father does that for his misbehaving adult child? Very few, I am sure. Maybe none but you. I knew then how unjustifiable my actions were to everybody, including myself.
To top it off, there is no way you could forget when I arrived in Pittsburgh from Hong Kong, completely manic and totally unbalanced, harassing Lisa Kaltenbaugh. That required your personal attention, because only a family member with a close understanding of another family member’s mental illness had the legal authority to involuntarily commit him. What a disaster! And you came to the rescue, even though I gave you absolutely no reason whatsoever for you to pledge any loyalty to me. And I remember being in that horrible waiting room, waiting for them to take me upstairs, and Lisa left prematurely, and that was when I screamed out in a haze of rage, “To the death, Dad, to the death!” You left shortly after that outburst, with defeat, sorrow, and hurt on your face. Dad, I cannot take back what I said. Know this: when I think about that scene, I cry when no one is around, feeling the deepest dishonor, shame, and guilt, for what I put you through.
CONCLUSION
Dear Father, ever since my mental illness occurred, for the longest time, progress was painstakingly “two steps forward, one step back.” It was so demoralizing and frustrating. I almost had to wait and expect to falter before I could say, “Well, Jason, that is enough for today.” Whether a bridge that was (nearly) burned, or a friendship that was (nearly) alienated, I had to rely on the good graces of those people whom I came into contact with, including Bernie Jaworski, Larry Feick, Ravi Madhavan, and Nandini Rajagopalan. I placed a severe strain on your relationships with them. And despite that, you did very well to mend the tears, no matter how difficult the situation was.
But since you provided me with secure financial footing, progress has now become “one step forward, one step forward, one step forward,” every day, ad infinitum. That gives me so much hope for the future, whereas before there was none. I owe you that. More than anything else, you gave me the Good Life. And I will remember and honor that debt. Unfortunately, it is just not possible for me to do certain things. I cannot put food on the table. I cannot put clothes on my back. I cannot put a roof over my head. And I cannot raise a family. Thus, I am quite useless and vulnerable. But your largesse subsidizes those activities and allows me to write, write, write.
And from now on, I reckon it is my solemn duty, with my small talent, from my low station, to honor, love, and cherish a father from whom I have received so generous a protection.
Respectfully submitted,Jason Whan Park박 상 준June 5, 2026
