When I was 16, I lived with the Watkins family in Wichita, Kansas. Mrs. Watkins was
the coordinator of the foreign exchange student program I was enrolled in. She had a
nine year old son named Cody. I would babysit Cody every day after school for at least
two to three hours. We would play Scrabble or he would read to me from Charlotte’s
Web or The Ugly Duckling. He would talk a lot about his friends and school life, and I
would listen to him and ask him the meanings of certain words. He was my first friend
in the New World.
My second family was the Martinez family, who were friends of the Watkins’s. The
host dad Michael was a high school English teacher and the host mom Jennifer (who
had me call her “Jen”) taught elementary school. She had recently delivered a baby,
so she was still in the hospital when I moved into their house. The Martinez family did
almost everything together. We made pizza together, watched Shrek on their cozy
couch together, and went fishing on Sunday together. On rainy days, Michael, Jen and
I would sit on the porch and listen to the rain, talking about our dreams and thoughts.
Within two months I was calling them mom and dad.
After I finished the exchange student program, I had the option of returning to Korea
but I decided to stay in America. I wanted to see new places and meet different
people. Since I wasn’t an exchange student anymore, I had the freedom—and burden—
of finding a new school and host family on my own. After a few days of thorough
investigation, I found the Struiksma family in California. They were a unique group.
