Don’t Want To Hangul Out With Dad Anymore

(I am twelve years old. We are at a popular theme park where there are “pavilions” from about a dozen countries with employees from the various places. We are in the China section and I have asked to buy a parasol. My dad does not like these theme parks and is very hot and cranky.)

Me: “May I buy a parasol, please?”

Employee: “Of course! Would you like your name written on it in Chinese?”

Dad: “Hey, can you write her name in Korean, instead?”

(My mom and I stare open-mouthed at my father.)

Employee: “Sorry, sir, but I do not know how to write in Korean.”

Dad: “God, I can’t understand why you won’t just put her f****** name in Korean!” *stomps away, my mom chasing after him*

Me: *to employee* “I am so sorry for him. My name’s [My Name].”

Employee: “It’s okay. Here you go — your name in Chinese!”

(To this day, we haven’t had the guts to ask my dad why he thought the Chinese employee would write my name in Korean!)