Eight-year-old Justin, who lives next door, is picked up on weekends by his tall, towering father. As always, when Justin climbs into his father’s car, his grandmother and mother watch him go from the window for a long time. Even the family dog barks toward the window, wagging its tail at Justin. Watching this from a distance, my son Sejun also grumbles with a touch of jealousy.

“Today Justin’s going with his dad, so who am I going to play with?”

Since the 1960s, when the foundation of Puritan values began to crumble, the traditional family values in American society have been shaken. As a result, the illegitimacy rate, which was 5.4% in the 1960s, rose to 26.2% in the 1990s. Children in foster care increased from 3.5% to 11.9%. Single-parent households rose from 8% to 22%, and the teen suicide rate grew from 3.6% to 11.3%. Today, about 50% of American marriages end in divorce.

Among these, 15% of children experience the psychological pressure of being forced to accept second or third stepfathers before they even turn 18, due to repeated divorces and remarriages. These children form bonds with unfamiliar kids as step-siblings, only to be separated again, causing confusion and deep psychological wounds. Many lose interest in their studies due to depression, and the pain they experienced in their upbringing often repeats itself in their own marriages. Reports from the New York Times and Wall Street Journal even connect the decline in American family values with broader economic decline—a reality we cannot ignore.

At some point, the old stories of families laughing and crying together through hardships have become relics of the past. Society has moved toward materialism, meritocracy, and individualism. As a result, the patience and perseverance once found in family life have faded away. In the past, it was natural to think of a family as a husband, wife, and children living together. But now, the definition of family goes far beyond that traditional form.

A few years ago, after moving into a new parsonage, I greeted my neighbor, who introduced her family to me. She looked to be in her late forties and said she had two children: a 19-year-old son adopted from Guatemala at age three, and a three-year-old cat.

Among our youngest child’s friends is a boy named Ramo. After his parents divorced, he began seeing a child psychologist regularly. Ramo’s mother works tirelessly, day and night, juggling debt and raising two children alone, always looking exhausted.

In today’s world, people can have or adopt children without marrying. Women live with women, men with men, and still raise children. In such a world, we worry about how our children will grow up—morally and spiritually. As a mother, I’ve come to realize the limitations of what I can do alone, and how essential a father’s presence and role are. Without the balanced love and guidance of both parents, it’s almost impossible to raise a child whole and healthy.

A circle is where a line’s beginning and end meet. When that meeting point is distorted or broken, the circle loses its meaning. A man and a woman, two equal individuals, come together and draw a circle called “family.” That circle continues to grow, forming rings both small and large. Yet somehow, as the generations change, the circle begins to deny itself. It tries to become a square. It tries to become a triangle. It tries to become a star. Out of curiosity, the circles test themselves.

“Hmph, I can break my shape too! Look at me—look at my new form. Isn’t it great? I’ve broken free of all those old restraints! Look how light and free I feel…”

But the circles endure the pain of breaking. And then, they keep drawing new shapes.

After the car carrying Justin disappears at the far end of the alley, his mother, who had been watching from the window, finally steps outside. Silently, she gazes at the fading traces of the man who was once her husband and the son they once shared. Her mother and their dog slowly follow her out onto the street. They look at each other wordlessly and then wave toward the window where Sejun and I are standing. Sejun lifts his limp hand and waves back a couple of times.

Our eyes meet. Without a word, Sejun and I embrace more tightly than ever.
In that moment, time stood still in our alley—within the space of a broken circle.