I live in a family of people who do not like condiments on their hot dogs. No mustard. No ketchup. Though I’ve lived with this fact for years, it is still unfathomable. A dry bun??? I still ask them sometimes if they want a condiment, hoping for a sea change. But, hey, props to the Koreans for having an expression about respecting others dislikes. I am, as my son tells me, often intolerant of the dislikes of others. One example, my five year old (and my husband) yell when I bring anything with kimchi into the house as their noses wither at the odor. My daughter’s protests caused me, a kimchi devotee, to buy her a book about a Korean cat who hates kimchi only to be teased by her brother for not liking kimchi and in the end, surrendering to the joys of kimchi (abeit in a pancake form only). I am relentless.

The other day a friend and I popped into a supermarket and she waxed poetic about cottage cheese of all things. I wrinkled my nose in disbelief and my friend said “seriously? you have a problem with cottage cheese?” She, like me, must learn a new mantra—shil jon jou!

As a parent, it’s a challenge to one’s narcissism to have independent minded children who have gasp, very different interests and personalities. Things I have responded to with a raised brow and a “surely you jest” stare include 1) my son’s insistence he’s not that into movies right now, 2) son’s rejection of any band I might like; 3) son’s newfound rejection of my Korean-identity obsession/korean dramas. Instead, he’s wanting to be more Jewish now, springing the idea of having a bar mitzvah pretty late in the game. (Thank The Lord, he’s still into Korean food. I can’t be the lone wolf in that front).

Whereas my natural impulse is to launch into a Pitchfork mission to find bands we share in common, force him to watch Korean dramas and implement family movie night to introduce him to my favorites, I will practice the art of shil Jon jou. Can you join me?