There is a group of moms that meets regularly at the park near our house. Even if I couldn't hear them talking, I'd know they were Korean.
I'd know because before they eat their snacks, someone pulls out a cheery table cloth and spreads it out over the picnic table or on the grass.
I'd know because next come the plastic containers full of fruit of every kind, cut into pieces easy for toddler hands to hold.
I'd know because along side the fruit are more containers and packages full of rice and toasted seaweed, potato chips, cookies, and cut-up veggies.
I'd know because in winter, I can smell the steaming cups of barley tea. In spring the tea is cold.
I'd know because some of the children don patterned bibs before eating.
I'd know because of the way they scoop their children snug into their laps and pass them snacks before ever eating anything themselves.
I'd know because of the way they sit in a circle facing each other, talking and laughing.
I'd know because everyone—mother and child—wears a wide-brimmed sun hat.
I don't speak Korean and I don't necessarily look Korean and I never even visited Korea until I was a married adult, but they are part of me and I am part of them.
And I'd just know.
