When Strict Korean Parents Become Grandparents

Growing up, no meant no.

I didn’t question my parents’ rules. I learned early that life worked better when I stayed within the boundaries they set. Inside those lines, life felt predictable and safe.

I never dyed my hair or got piercings. And as long as I followed the rules, I had their trust.

Good grades, good behavior, and staying within the rules were the quiet agreement between us.

They did not need to repeat what I already understood to be our arrangement. My younger sister, however, felt the need to challenge the rules on her own behalf, since I, as the firstborn, never tried to lower my parents’ expectations when it came to following them.

In many Korean families, the firstborn quietly accepts a little more responsibility. I followed the rules. My sister was a pioneer.

Now, watching them with Big Bear and Little Lion, I sometimes wonder where those parents went.

With their grandchildren, my parents are the most generous people I know. I rarely hear them say the word “no.”

If Big Bear casually mentions that she wants French fries, my dad will stop on his way to pick her up and go inside the restaurant to order them fresh. He avoids the drive-thru entirely — shouting an order through a speaker with his thick accent still makes him nervous.

So instead, he walks in, orders them quietly, and the two of them share the fries together on the drive home from school or activities. They agree to keep it a secret from me.

Big Bear has learned to negotiate quietly.

Except I know.

The smell gives them away.

Little Lion, on the other hand, prefers a much louder strategy.

If Little Lion cries because I took away a snack as part of discipline and I ignore his alligator tears, my parents immediately rush to him. They hug him, comfort him, and then gently pull me aside.

“Go easy on him,” they say. “He is a baby.”

Easy on him?

Are you serious?

These are the same parents whose “no” used to end the conversation. My parents’ stare alone would have been enough to make me cry in shame.

When I was growing up, Korean parenting felt very clear.

Parents enforced the rules. Children followed them.

There was discipline, expectations, and a mutual understanding that love did not always look gentle.

Something changes when those same parents become grandparents.

The rules soften.

The word “no” disappears.

Suddenly the same parents who once enforced every boundary are secretly buying French fries and defending toddlers who throw cheese on the floor.

I watch them spoil my children and think: these little smug grandparents.

I make a mental note.

One day, I will be a grandmother too.

I will conspire with my grandchild.

Unlike my father, I will probably use the drive-thru.