Written by Cameron Demetre
It all began when Bub Hae, in his Ssangyong High School Stunners uniform, said to me, “Teacher, we need to show you Korean culture.”
I wish I could say that I jumped at the opportunity, that I am always ready to embrace such invitations, but on this particular evening, I simply was not feeling it. I was tired. I had just enjoyed two full days of baseball and was riding the high of an emotional championship win; however, at that point, all I could think about was getting away from the 15- to 18-year-old demographic for a few precious hours. Alas, with Bub Hae’s direct words, my comfort bubble was about to be invaded.
So, exactly what aspect of Korean culture had I yet to encounter? This night, Korean culture meant joining Bub Hae and the boys for some quality time at the local jjimjilbang, or public bathhouse.
As I entered the outdated jjimjilbang facility, I was unsure of what to expect, though I had heard rumors of places where the eyes of a thousand Korean men peel to naked foreign bodies. Rumors soon ceded to reality as I was given my very own jjimjilbang uniform of very well-worn, but thankfully well-washed, t-shirt and shorts. We made our way to the locker room where I paused, wondering if I would have to do what I knew I had to do: disrobe in front of my students. I tentatively pulled one article of clothing off after the other until there was nothing left to remove. There I stood, in all my genetic wonder.
Nakedly we made our way to the pool baths, which looked just like the ancient Roman bathhouses whose sanitation I had questioned since high school history class. Unaware of my inner turmoil, the boys displayed no such reluctance. They loved the fact that their teacher was with them, and they were prone to saying such things as, “Teacher, we know your secret.”
I will leave that up to interpretation because frankly, I still do not entirely know what they meant.
I could feel the weight of all their eyes bearing down on me as I — secrets and all — slowly plunged into the first pool of water. After dabbling in the warm water, we headed to the next pool, which was markedly cooler. Culturally, I don’t know if I had any choice in the matter, but I should not have followed them there.
It was an ambush of sorts. The boys began to roughhouse with each other, and it soon turned into a full-on wrestling brawl. As the fight ensued, I saw things that a teacher should never have to see, and I immediately averted my eyes from all of the nakedness, trying to mitigate the awkwardness of the whole ordeal. Just as my mind churned out a coherent excuse, Bub Hae invited me to wrestle with him.
Now let me preface something about Bub Hae. Bub Hae is the Hulk Hogan of Ssangyong High School. On top of his remarkable stature, he is also the second best Judo fighter in the +100 kilogram weight class in all of the secondary students in South Korea. I repeat, he is big and strong. I could not have been more fully aware of that heart-pulsing fact as he positioned himself in front of my soaking-wet, vulnerable frame. I panicked. I quickly suggested that we play the arm wrestling game “Mercy” to avoid as much bodily contact as possible. Thankfully, Bub Hae accepted, and we began what would become the most important game of “Mercy” of my life.
As our fingers engaged, I mustered every ounce of strength I had to twist my student’s arms back. If need be, I was willing to break my own wrists so my dignity could remain intact. By some oddity, I won. It was a moment that rivaled the 1980 U.S. hockey team’s “Miracle on Ice” — at least, for me it was. We shared some laughs and carried on toward another pool, but not before Bub Hae said in his simple English, “Teacher, this is Korean culture.”
As much as I want to erase some of the mental images that developed from that night, I will never forget my jjimjilbang experience with the baseball team, from the awkward dropping of my garments to the overwhelming joy of knowing that my body parts would remain at a healthy proximity from their body parts. It was an unplanned cultural exchange — one neither spent in a classy suit, nor made possible by weeks of intensive language learning classes, but rather one that occurred in a “stripped down” fashion. A fashion that would come back to me the very next week, when Bub Hae welcomed me on the way to school with a leering grin on his face saying, “Teacher, I know your secret.”
Cameron Demetre is a 2013-2014 ETA at Ssangyong High School in Cheonan.