I grew up as part of the 1.5 generation of Korean Americans — first generation because we were born in Korea, but closer to the U.S.-born second generation because we grew up “Americanized.” Even today, I often find myself sitting on the proverbial cultural fence, with one foot dangling over each side, trying to find my balance.

Growing up in a traditional Korean family, I was pressured by my parents to speak Korean and maintain our Korean ways. At the same time, my father would often tell my sister and me: “Always brush teeth after eating kimchi because American people do not want to smell kimchi breath.” Like many other Korean Americans, I went through a stage in my adolescence when I was ashamed of being Korean. I refused to speak Korean to my parents for a long time as a form of rebellious protest against being pulled from both sides of the fence.

It’s only now as a parent that I can honestly say that I am proud of my Korean heritage. I no longer reject it. I embrace it. I see my Koreanness as a unique and rich asset, which I want to preserve and pass on to the next generation.

For someone who had long been known as the nonconformist (I married a white guy in my mid-30s — oh so late in life — and chose to work as an attorney representing the poor, foregoing the big firms and the big bucks that many of my Korean American colleagues strive for), suddenly I find myself welcoming tradition when it comes to my own children.

I proudly presided over the baegil (100-day) and dol (one-year) ceremonies for both my daughter and son. I was tickled with joy to see my little ones dressed in their colorful hanbok, traditional clothing handmade in Korea and sent to us by my relatives. During the dol, it is customary for the child to be presented with several different objects — usually, paper money, a pen or pencil, and thread — on a table adorned with plates of fresh fruit. What she grabs first is supposed to determine a future fortune (i.e. paper money signifies wealth). When my daughter picked up the banana and the pencil simultaneously from the dol table, I beamed and declared, “She’s going to be a scholar who will never go hungry!”

As silly as some of them sound, these kinds of Korean traditions are important to me now.

Well, some of them. When my son was born, my parents wanted to take a naked photo of him (and blow up a certain section) to show off to their friends back home that they finally had an heir. Apparently, this is some kind of ancient Korean custom. I put my foot down on that one.

Some of my immigrant parents’ doctrines of good behavior and politeness I feel strongly about passing on, while others, if I can help it, will not live to see another generation. Examples: