Roots

Margaret Cho

Where do I come from?

My life as a comedian-in-training. Margaret reflects on her childhood while in it. (Photo: margaretcho.net)

When I ask my father, who is a wellspring, a babbling brook of information, he gives forth much pride and odd facts. I am of Korean descent, with the last name Cho, which is from some royal dynasty, where everyone seems to be of blue blood. Why is it that nobody was ever a servant or some everyday, plainclothes Viking? We've all got to be Indian Chiefs or Aztec princesses. If you ask me, it's retroactive delusions of grandeur. Of course, just like every other time, I am guilty.

So I am directly related to the Cho Dynasty.

My father's side of the family had the good fortune to be on the route of the first missionaries bringing Christianity to Korea, so we jumped on the Jesus bandwagon before it got all crowded with Buddhist poseurs. My great-great grandfather, who was intensely devout, and had martyr tendencies, believed he was only given a certain amount of luck that had to be divided amongst himself and his descendents, so he married a really ugly woman in order to pass his luck along to the family, like an uneaten dinner roll. Because of his sacrifice, I always get a parking space right in front of anywhere I am going.

My great-great grandfather was really not so great, and he truly did forfeit his luck because he died at 50, leaving an ugly wife, who I am assured by my father, was pretty on the inside. The wife, my great-great grandmother, was a wise crackin' broad, dark skinned, like my father, with a strong body and a very independent nature. She could read, which was a big deal then, yet she limited her literary choices to just the Bible, apparently book enough for her. When the book fell apart after numerous perusals, she actually ate the pages, because she was so fortified by the Scripture, she felt it had to have nutritional value as well.

My father says, "You take after her."

Let's get political! Margaret shares a photo op with the NAACP's Kweisi Mfume. (Photo: margaretcho.net)

I pressed my father for details about his own past, because he had never been particularly forthcoming. I asked most specifically about the Korean War. He provided lots of facts, but usually I ignore emails that bear the heading "Re: Winston Churchill". It's just a pet peeve of mine.

I loved when he talked about his own memories. When he was 13, Seoul was under siege. My father was too young to be drafted, yet the oldest male in the household, so he had to run all the errands, gather and deliver information to members of the extended family, and investigate bomb damage all over town. He had to tell his aunt that her husband had been killed in action. During a brief lapse in the intense fighting, he walked to her house. It took an entire day. When he arrived, he was greeted so warmly that he found it nearly impossible to tell her. Somehow, he found the courage, but the identity of "death messenger" stayed with him, and to this day, he finds it difficult to be the bearer of bad news to anyone.

He won't even talk about it when the 49ers lose a game!

My family's house was burned to the ground, and they had to flee the city on a freight train. My grandmother was pregnant with my uncle at the time, and he was born right on the train! They used sheets for diapers, and lived to tell the tale. My father says that when I was born, and he held me in his arms for the first time, the freight train ran through his mind, leaving him breathless and grateful.

Drama! Intrigue! Babies born inconveniently! We all have the makings of a miniseries, in our own fathers' memories.

To learn about our roots is to see that a family truly is like a tree. We are outgrowths of each other, with our burls and knots and termites and lichen. We are here because of a careful, unbroken line of life. Knowing our roots, makes us understand fully who we really are, who we have come to be, and who we might still become. I love how my father lights up when I ask him about my family's history. These are stories that cannot wait to be told, as I cannot wait to tell them, to kids I do not know exist.

Margeret Cho weathered prime-time prejudice during her stint with ABC's All-American Girl, channeled her anger into a wildly popular one-woman show, "I'm the One That I Want," and today remain's one of professional comedy's most thoughful and daring practitioners. This transcript, first appearing on PBS' Life 360, is reprinted with permission of her management.