건축가의 집에서 자란다는 건.
[2025.4.24. 목요일, 맑음]
태어나보니 온통 주변은 건축이었다.
아버지를 시작으로, 고모의 큰아들, 사촌형들, 외삼촌 등등 모두 합쳐서 18명 가량이 같은 학교, 같은 과 선배였던거다. 이게 말이 되는가 싶었다. 이 얘기를 다른 집단에서 하면 첫 반응은 '우와'이고, 두번째는 '인생 편하겠다'라고. 그런데 내가 계속 살다보니, 쉽지 않더란 말이지.
고등학교 1학년에 문과 이과를 선택하는 때였을거다. 뭐가 되고싶냐고 물어보시는 아버지께 '건축 할까봐요'라고 툭 던졌다. 그 선언은 아직까지도 엄마가 즐겨 쓰시는 레퍼토리다. 그때 아빠가 얼마나 기뻐하셨는지 몰라, 그렇게 신나하셨던 건 처음이었던 것 같아...라고.
서울올림픽은 학력고사를 준비하는 도서실에서 봤고, 유난히 우울한 날씨였던 것으로 기억하는 시험날 어찌어찌 시험을 쳤다. 얼마의 초조한 시간이 흐르고 집에 전화가 왔는데, 합격했다는 소식이었다. 그 '같은 학교, 같은 과'에. 아버지의 환한 표정이 아직도 잊혀지지 않는다.
SS는 그때와는 사뭇 다른 과정이었지만 전체적인 이야기의 플롯은 크게 새롭지 않았다. 방문이 덜컥 열리더니 이메일을 보여주며 '나 쿠퍼 됐대!" 첫 기다림이었던 코넬에서 미끌어지고 난 후에 혹시나 건축한다는 의지가 꺾이지 않을까 했던 나의 속마음은 속절없이 터지고야 말았다. "역시, 내 딸 최고다!"
솔직히 얘기하자면, 나의 대학생활은 '누구'의 아들로 시작해서 '누구'의 아들로 끝났다. 이 바닥이 그다지 넓지 않아서 나를 먼저 알아보는 분들도 그렇게, 처음 인사를 해야하는 분들도 그렇게. 나라는 아이덴티티는 등호가 아니라 관계속에서만 숨을 쉬고 있었다. 세월이 흘러서는 '누구의 동생', '누구의 남편', '누구와 같이 일하는' 까지 늘어났고.
이제 하나가 더해졌다. '누구의 아빠'.
It felt like I was born into a world steeped in architecture.
It started with my father. Then there was my paternal aunt's eldest son, my older male cousins, my maternal uncle... all told, about eighteen relatives were alumni – seniors – from the same university department. It seemed almost unbelievable. Whenever I'd share this fact in different circles, the first reaction was always an impressed "Wow!" quickly followed by, "Life must have been easy for you." But as I lived through it, I found that wasn't quite the case. It wasn't simple at all.
I believe it was my first year of high school, the time when we had to choose between the liberal arts and science tracks. My father asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. "Maybe I'll go into architecture," I tossed out casually. That offhand remark became a story my mother still loves to tell. "You have no idea how thrilled your father was," she'd recount. "I don't think I'd ever seen him that purely happy before..."
I remember watching the Seoul Olympics from the confines of the library where I was cramming for the national college entrance exam. The exam day itself is etched in my memory with unusually gloomy weather, but somehow, I managed to get through it. After what felt like an eternity of anxious waiting, the phone rang at home. It was the news: I had been accepted. Accepted into that same university, that same department. I can still picture my father's beaming face; it's a memory I'll never forget.
Years later, with my daughter, SS, the process felt quite different in its details, yet the overall narrative arc wasn't entirely new. Her door burst open one day, and she shoved an email towards me, exclaiming, "I got into Cooper!" She'd faced disappointment from Cornell, the first school she'd heard back from, and I had secretly worried her resolve to pursue architecture might waver. But seeing her excitement now, that hidden concern of mine simply vanished, replaced by an irrepressible burst of pride. "That's my girl! You're the best!"
If I'm being honest, my own university life began and ended under the shadow of being 'someone's son.' The world of architecture isn't particularly vast. Whether people recognized me on sight or I was introducing myself for the first time, the connection to my father was always the reference point. My own identity didn't seem to stand on its own; it only seemed to exist, to breathe, within the context of these relationships. As the years went by, the identifiers expanded: 'someone's younger brother,' 'someone's husband,' 'the one working with so-and-so.'
And now, another layer has been added:
'Someone's dad.'
