My 'red helicopter' moment

My “red helicopter” moment didn’t seem remarkable at the time. It was only a brief walk along the hallway of my elementary school. . But when I read James Rhee’s book "Red Helicopter," a small memory that had lived quietly in the back of my mind came into focus. I also had the opportunity to meet him in Hanoi, Vietnam, where my family now lives and where I serve on the Board at the United Nations International School of Hanoi (UNIS Hanoi).

In his book, Rhee writes about how a childhood moment involving a red helicopter toy shaped how he moves through the world. I realized I had such a moment, too.

In the fall of 1986, I was a first grader at Buena Vista Elementary School in Walnut Creek, California. One morning, my teacher asked me if I’d be willing to spend some time in another classroom. She explained why, and I agreed. After that, once a week she would tap my shoulder, and I’d step outside and walk a few doors down.

I don’t remember much about the room itself. What stood out wasn’t the physical space but the ways students learned and communicated. I sensed the group didn’t operate like my own class. My friends there needed a little extra support. I didn’t have the vocabulary for it then. I simply did what I knew how to do: sit, read aloud, play and help in ways that made sense.

When this memory resurfaced recently, I researched and learned that California schools in the mid-80s were beginning to increase informal interaction between general and special education students. My experience may have been one of those early efforts — a precursor to the peer-modeling and buddy programs that came later.

I was one of only two or three Asian children in an otherwise predominantly white classroom. My father commuted from Walnut Creek to the San Francisco office of his Seoul-based construction company, and I grew up with expectations common in many Asian households: be well-behaved, respectful and helpful. I remember asking my mother what “conscientious” meant, because that’s how my teacher described me on my first-grade report card. That may explain why I didn’t question the request to visit another classroom. Helping simply felt natural.

Decades later, I am beginning to see how those early moments connect to the work I’m involved in today as a lawyer and advocate of inclusion and belonging. Reading "Red Helicopter" helped me notice the parallels. All this time, I may have been moving through similar patterns of noticing and supporting differences without naming them.

My work centers on a simple idea: Neurodiversity is diversity. It is not a deviation from the norm but rather part of the norm. This is also deeply personal to me. My son has learning differences and receives support from a learning-support team at UNIS Hanoi. His experience has shown me how systems can support or limit a child depending on how difference is framed.

My background as a former journalist and now a lawyer helps me contribute through policy, communication and organizational culture so inclusion becomes the standard instead of the exception. Increasingly, this work extends into governance. That is where I want to focus — strengthening commitments to inclusion and belonging where they exist and building them where they don’t.

Han Eun-jung is a Hanoi-based U.S.-licensed lawyer focusing on technology and data privacy. She previously served as Vice Chair of EuroCham Vietnam’s Digital Sector Committee and currently sits on the UNIS Hanoi Board of Directors, where she also formerly co-led the school’s Neurodiversity Committee. She began her professional career as a staff reporter for The Korea Times in 2003.