When I walk into my school I always see all of the kids pointing at me and waving with smiles on their faces. I pull out my ears and puff up my cheeks and they laugh while they cover their little teeth with their hands. Waiting for class to begin is one of the most nervous feelings I have ever experienced. Two kids come screaming into the teacher’s lounge as they try and drag me up to their classroom. I enter a room with pullout bed on the walls that can comfortably fit forty students for nap time. Paintings and pictures are put too high for the children to pull down and tear them to pieces, a good idea. I now stand in front of thirty-five Asian kids that don’t speak English and begin trying to teach them red, blue, yellow, fish, cat, dog, hippo, and happy, sad, and angry. We play a lot of games and there are a few bloody noses and a couple of tears, but by the end of it all they are overjoyed and are telling me not to go. I have three classes a day and then my fun for the day is over.
The streets are busy with people selling jade jewelry, sweeping sidewalks, and playing mahjong. I really begin to wonder how old people make it through their day-to-day lives in this incredibly busy society, and the truth is that the city moves around them; the young make sure that they give the old people time to make their decisions and avoid yelling at them as they walk into oncoming traffic at a snail’s-pace. I gain the utmost respect for the people that are able to age within this predominantly youthful world and can’t help but smile when I see them putter about their tasks. A woman, who looks like her skin is tree-bark, shuffle-steps her way down the street towards me. Her cane is clenched within a dirty claw for a hand and her back is curved from the weight of the world. The wind doesn’t toss her hair because each strand is too heavy from grit and grime that has accumulated from the thick, polluted air. She looks up and sees me stepping beside her. Her eyes widen as much as age will let them, and I am used to the surprised look that people get when they see me here in China. She turns and starts to speak with gummy teeth, and even though I can’t understand her I try my best to give her my full attention. After all, I believe she has earned it by surviving the gauntlet of China. She finishes speaking and I can’t really tell what her facial expression means. So, I smile and try my best to take in yet another moment of human interaction without understood words. It is amazing how much you can actually communicate without either of you speaking the same language. It dawns on me that what she is trying to communicate is that she thinks that the shoes I’m wearing would look better if there was someone’s spit on them. But, Oh! Where to find such a person who would be willing to adorn my shoes with such a blessing? If only there was a bitter old woman in front of me who could be so kind as to lean back and muster all of the strength she has into a immaculate ball of spit and snot, and then she would truly have to be saint like to expel this creation onto my shoes—wouldn’t she? She mutters something under her breath and continues walking down the street without a care in the world. If I were in Canada, I don’t care how old a person is, if they spit on my effing shoes, for no effing reason, they’re going to get an enormous fist to their jelly little face! Let that be a warning to those of you with old people that you care about. If they are known as spitters and you have any regard for their safety, you will keep them as far from me as you can. I will admit that I will most likely run into problems with my new found philosophy on life, but the consequences will be well worth it and none will be given pity when my shoes are addressed in such a manner!
Such random occurrences are just some of the amazing experiences I have had here in China. I don’t think any words will actually do it justice, but at least you will have some idea what you will encounter if you try to teach little kids in a country that holds your race in such esteem and disgust.
-Mike D ¶ 4:09 PM
