One day when I was about four, my heart was stolen by the wheel of a broken tricycle, abandoned in a narrow alley. It was split in half between the seat and the handlebars. With the one wheel attached to the handlebar, I could have fun all day. I ran to the end with only the one wheel. Until the end of the road I know∙∙∙.

"Yohwan, Yohwan!"

Whenever the sun set, my mom wandered the neighborhood looking for me. When I was into something, I became a child with a lost sense of time and space. That day my mother couldn't find me in that neighborhood alley. Clutching her scalding chest, she went around the neighborhood numerous times, calling out my name. Even after the sunset and the darkness fell, my mother could not find me anywhere. Crying, she roamed the streets and soon went all the way to the police office in the nearby neighborhood, where she finally found me- me, not even crying, smiling brightly as I ate the bread the policeman gave me; me, holding the broken tricycle wheel.

Why I kept the broken wheel and did not throw it away, or how I ended up at the neighborhood police office, I cannot remember at all. I only remember very clearly that since I was young, I had to do what I liked or wanted no matter what. I was a very stubborn kid.

I pause for a moment when people ask me, "How many siblings do you have?" It's because when I say, "Only three sisters," the response is usually, "I bet you were treated royally." What kind of parents would raise their child thoughtlessly? Just as there are no fingers that don't hurt when bitten, all of us grew up receiving lots of love from our parents. When I was born my youngest sister was seven, so I the age gap was too great for us to play together. When I think about it, I think my sisters were a bit envious of me. They were too old to find me irresistibly cute, and too young to carry the burden of taking care of the youngest one. Also, perhaps they were a bit spiteful of me since the attention of our parents and others around were focused on me.

There is another reaction from others to "I have three sisters." It's a comment that I might have grown up reasonably femininely. It's because of the idea that I might have been influenced to an extent by my sisters’ tastes. People don't say that just based on their biases on how a boy or a girl should grow up. It seems that they think that I got used to the feminine look without realization as I wore pink t-shirts and flower buttoned-up shirts that were handed down by my three sisters. But from the outset, I did not join my sisters' tea parties or doll games. And since there was such a big age difference I did not inherit their old clothes. Moreover, even if I didn't say anything the household was always uproarious and my sisters never included me when they were gossiping. Rather, I was the silent type. I was also the youngest one, but they never sent the little me on errands. In that way my sisters and I lived in two separate worlds.

However, my sisters were still essential, precious people to me. Since both of my working parents were constantly busy, the time we spent together was little, and as I grew older, my sisters became responsible for my education. Perhaps briefly they harbored childhood jealousy and envy, but when I ran around outside until sunset, my sisters were the ones who sat me down and taught me letters or read me storybooks. They were at times like friends, sometimes like mothers, and other times like teachers to me. I was a 'Little Prince' with three sisters.