A Letter to a Thief

Dear Thief;

First, I'd like to thank you for affirming my feeling: my bike, with its sassy red and white striping, is worth a second look. No doubt that is what prompted you to take a closer look at it, thus realizing you could make off with one of its accessories. The computer attached to the handlebars might not be of much use to you, especially since you only took the display – not the wiring, sensor or mounting cradle, but then: who knows what motivates a thief to steal anything? Certainly not me. I can't even conceive of taking anything that doesn't belong to me, whether I need it or not.

This is the third time something has been stolen off my bike. The first time, while my lovely bike was chained to a bus stop, the flashlight used as a headlight was taken. I take total blame for that; I should have known better than to leave such a useful and convenient accoutrement so blatantly available, especially as that particular bus stop lies directly along the path that middle-schoolers follow home. I can see a child's eye captivated by that tall, red-and-white machine that I ride, and being tempted to snag that light. What child doesn't like a flashlight? Especially a cool, compact one with a high-discharge LED beam?

The second time, a thief made off with the pump I kept strapped to the bike's rack. Whereas I usually keep my bike in my house, that day it was parked just outside my ground floor apartment because I had to go to class that afternoon. During my mid-day snooze, I thought I heard someone tinkering with my bike through the open balcony door. Too lazy and sleepy to get up, I told myself it was all in my mind, and kept on drowsing.

That theft was a bit more disappointing. I'd kept that pump on the back of my bike ever since I've owned it and it had never been taken, even when I left the bike at a bus stop (so I could ride public transportation into town). On our campus, everyone knows that bike is mine, and I'm well-liked by everyone. I can't imagine anyone here deliberately stealing something from me. However, I have an upstairs neighbor who is... not quite right in the head, to say it kindly. He scavenges around campus, hauling all manner of things to store in our building's foyer. Every few days, it gets to be too messy and then, I can hear him muttering to himself as he sorts through his trash, deciding what to haul away and what to keep.

If he is indeed the taker of my bike's pump, I can forgive him. Surely, he doesn't know any better. Besides, a bike pump can be useful in all sorts of ways. So, that theft, too, makes a measure of sense.

But you, dear Thief. You are a complete stranger to me and to my bike. You took something you cannot possibly use, and that has no meaning to you. You stripped my beloved ride of a tool I need to gauge my riding. You see, I don't just ride because it is fun and healthy. I ride because I intend to reach a goal I'd set for myself since my return to good health 2 years ago: riding long distance.

Because of my broken leg, I was forced to stop training. My plans for the summer just past, distance riding, were shelved because I hadn't healed enough to undertake that challenge. Now, with a clean bill of health, I'm letting nothing stop me from training: not bad weather or cold, not the ache in my knees or my breath, rendered harsh from the dirty air. I may cough for hours after a ride and suffer a raw throat, but for me, it is all worth it to reach my goal.

And then, while visiting with my good friend, who lives in a newly-built housing area where apartments sell for thousands of Yuan per square meter, you, low-life taker of things not yours, saw fit to strip me of the tool that is helping me track my progress and fitness. And for what? What could that computer interface possibly do for you?

Now, I need to thank you again, Thief. I had always believed in humans' fundamental good nature. I had always believed me and my things were safer in China than anywhere else in the world and, surely, leaving my bike in the foyer of a new, fancy apartment building, it would be safe from people like you. Now I see how wrong I was. I now know I will have to be ever vigilant, making sure I leave nothing for you to take. I will have to live as though you are around every corner, ready to snatch what doesn't belong to you.

See how you damage society with your selfishness and greed? And I'm only one person. Imagine everybody having suffered a theft. Wouldn't they too lose faith in humanity? Be wary of new contacts? How can anyone be open and friendly when there are people like you, ready to take what is best about people - trust, and destroy it?      

What if somebody stole something of great personal value from you? How would you feel? Would you even feel?

Finally: I thank you a third time, Thief. That computer had stopped working for some reason, and I was going to replace it anyway. I couldn't justify rushing to town to buy a new one, with my month-long absence from the country imminent, and I was loath to spend the money on a new computer if all the old one needed was a new battery (I hadn't had time to check it, yet). I was going to wait until I got back to China to resume my fitness log. Since your pilfery, I can justify spending 50 Yuan on a new accessory. And I get to laugh at you for stealing something that doesn't work. 

But make no mistake, Thief: I will attach my new device in such a way that you will have to work to steal it.

                                                          With accessories

                                                                     

                                            

                                                                 Stripped!

2015; The Year in Review

By all accounts, personal and general, one could say that this has been a bad year. For some reason, I saw fit to snap my leg while on a hike, which resulted in emergency surgery 5 days before boarding a plane back to China, in February. It took me nearly all year to heal. Meanwhile, the trickle that had been Syrian refugees early in the year turned into a flood because of escalating violence in their homeland. ISIS further claimed responsibility for an attack in Paris and again in San Bernadino, California.

The ChinaDaily blog server – where I contribute in addition to our own blog - was hacked; all articles, comments and commendations were lost. Working with that site became an exercise in frustration: comments wouldn't post, pages couldn't be accessed... fortunately, ChinaDaily techs were hard at work, retrieving articles thought lost forever. I didn't give up hope on that community but... 

Right around that time the fall semester started and, because my colleague had been arrested and deported (see The Man With A Plan entry, posted  September of this year), I soon became overwhelmed, teaching several classes per day – a far departure from the previous semester, when I only had 3 classes per week. Because I was so busy, and focused on nothing but teaching, I didn't  write anything for several months.

Fortunately, by the time that classroom madness started my leg had healed sufficiently to manage the rigors of standing for hours a day and climbing stairs to get to my rooms. However, only last week did I get a clean bill of health: the doctor declared it completely healed. You can't imagine the amount of pain killers I swallowed just to keep up with myself these past months! 

Taking a broader view of thing: tempers and fear flared around the world because of terrorism: 374 attacks worldwide this year alone (source: Wikipedia)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_terrorist_incidents,_July–December_2015

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_terrorist_incidents,_July–December_2015

We only heard about the big ones: Bankok, Paris, California but, it seems from the statistics that every day, somewhere, people were running for their lives. Rest in Peace to those who didn't get away, who were caught up in someone else's madness and suffered for it.

Let's not forget those who perished in plane crashes, because of bad weather, at the hands of others in non-terrorist acts and those who, by their own hand ended their suffering. They should rest in peace, too.

Yes, by any reckoning, one could say that this has indeed been a rough year, all around. What made it golden for me was the kindness shown, both personally and worldwide during this difficult year.

European countries are risking their economies sheltering refugees. All over the world, people grieved for those slain during the various terrorist attacks – at least, those reported in the news. We shared a frisson of fear at their possible escalation. In these terrible times, we united in care and sympathy for everyone who needed succor, whether we, personally could do anything to help or not.

As for me, kindness and care enveloped me like a gentle blanket throughout the year. Starting with family, who cared for me during and immediately after my hospital stay. And then, the flight crew who ministered to me when I threw up on the plane – one of them, apparently moved by my pitiful condition, offered a 'fu' 符 for good luck after helping me clean up. I guess he thought I needed it? And, all of those devoted people pushing my wheelchair-bound self through the airport in Beijing and Wuhan, even offering bathroom stops along the way. After having been left stranded in LAX, where no one would so much as bring me any food, let alone permit me to stay in a wheelchair (the aide stated she had to take her chair with her, leaving me on a bench in front of the deserted Air China counter with my luggage, a broken leg and a pair of crutches), the charity and support offered in China caused me to spill tears of relief at feeling no longer alone and helpless.

And Sam, who met me at the airport! Not only did he arrange a replacement ticket for the plane I missed in Los Angeles (because of uncoordinated efforts of the handicapped assistance team, along with the less-than-urgent disposition of those pushing my wheelchair), but he accompanied me home and stayed 2 hours, seeing to my comfort, preparing something to eat (I'd not eaten the whole flight because of my upset stomach), arranging my sleeper sofa so that I'd have an easier time settling in. And all of this when he should have been with his family, celebrating Spring Festival! Sam deserves a medal for the valor he displayed. What he and his family have done for me this year goes far beyond kindness. I can never thank them enough.

The list goes on... 

The dean rearranging all of my classroom assignments to the first floor of the teaching building nearest my house in the aftermath of my leg-break so I wouldn't have to hobble so far or attempt the stairs. Teachers with cars, chauffering me to and from class. Students helping carry my things whilst I crutched to and from class.

Friends who drove me to the store, and then carried my groceries into my house, and put them away for me. Friends who saw to it that I had a measure of entertainment, inviting me on outings, even though I would slow down the fun with my crippled gait. Friends who made the trip to my remote outpost in Wuhan for a visit. Friends on the ChinaDaily blog site who, worried at my long absence, sent concerned messages.

And, from total strangers:

The bus driver who, noticing my pronounced limp while walking to the bus, took special pains to see that I was settled before leaving the bus stop. The policeman who, seeing that I couldn't make it across the street before the light turned red, stopped traffic to ensure my safe passage. My neighbors who, knowing I was incapacitated, took it upon themselves to bring me fresh veggies, and never accepted payment (but I did manage to sneak in a gift or 2).

If I should expound on year 2015 in the future, it will be kindness that I will remember best. The old man on the bus who insisted I take his seat, even though he was bowed with age. Those who ran to help in the aftermath of the Bankok and Paris attacks. Those who took in refugees at the risk of collapsing their own economies.

As though to underscore the kindness theme of this year: the dear soul who, seeing my bike chained to the bus stop one day when the weather turned foul, worried that my seat might get wet, and so placed a plastic-wrapped mouse pad on it, to keep it dry. S/He even went so far as to tuck it between the seat and the pole it was chained to, so that the cover would not blow off in the sudden storm. That person had no idea who that bike belonged to so I can't say that his/her actions were kindness directed specifically at me. I can only infer that that person just brimmed with a desire to do good, and so committed a small, thoughtful act that touched my heart.

Oh, if everyone could be that good!!!   

Alice and Sylvia

A few months ago, one of my colleagues asked me what I thought our students' biggest problem was, with regard to administration. “Lack of accountability” was my immediate response. He mulled it over for a few seconds, and came to the same conclusion.

I don't know about other schools but here, students can 'play' on their phones the whole of class time, while the teacher lectures on and on. They can hold none-too-quiet conversations; our teachers have recently been outfitted with portable amplifiers so they can shout over any classroom babble. Students don't have to participate in class. All they really have to do is be there and be counted, turn in the occasional assignment and take exams.

You would think that, if students do not invest time and attention in their education, they would surely fail, right? Not necessarily.

Academic dishonesty is a hot topic in China, and has been for a while. The most recent Civil Service exam, held November of last year, brought forth avowals of 7-year prison terms for those caught cheating. Nationwide, teachers carefully proctor national exams such as the GaoKao, TEM and CET exms, separating the students into assigned seats so that nobody sits close enough to see anyone else's paper. Those exams now require students to show their ID to gain admitttance into the testing room so that an unprepared student cannot cajole (or pay) a more erudite student to take his/her place.

You would think that, with all of this focus on dishonesty, that students would straighten up and fly right, wouldn't you? I mean: how else would they earn their grades? Or, at least, the teachers and administrators would see to students being held accountable, right?

Last semester, I had a boy so shy, he didn't dare speak in class. I kept that in mind, come final exam time. I invited him to speak directly with me rather than addressing the whole class, as the other students did. He still couldn't get a word out. I had no choice but to flunk him. Later, upon reviewing my grades sheet, the dean recommended that I retest that student. As there was another student from the same class who had also earned a zero for having missed her final exam – she did not ask for leave and offered no good reason for having missed class that day, I was instructed to meet with them both – on my own time, and give them another chance at passing.

That experience left a bitter taste aftertaste. I hadn't envisioned my teaching responsibilities in that manner. The teacher accommodates the students? Shouldn't it be: the student complies with directives?

What worries me is how this lack of accountability in students' fledgeling steps as adults will translate when they are out from under the protection of the university environment. Life offers no guarantees or safety nets, few sure-fire successes and seldom does anyone get a chance at a do-over. If we permit that now, during their first few steps into the big, bad world... what exactly are we teaching these kids?

Alice, a good student from a difficult group of rowdy classmates, contacted me the week before finals. Her grandmother, who had suffered a stroke last year, has now taken a turn for the worse. Her family had called her home, worried that their dear daughter would miss the chance at seeing her grandmother for the last time. Two hours before boarding the train she called me, sobbing, asking if I would please make an exception and hear her present her final exam early.

I'll admit to annoyance. This was Christmas week, when I was busy trying to engineer special memories for all of my 400 students. Free time was at a premium and I needed every moment I could get. Nonetheless, this child made an effort, and obviously she needed comforting. Off I went to meet her. Instead of discussing the planned final exam topic, we talked about her grandmother. I learned more about her and her family, and was touched and amazed that she would actually be thinking of final exams when the grandparent who raised her lay, dying.

Contrast Alice with Sylvia. The day before finals, Sylvia sends a text message: her sister is getting married tomorrow. Could she make up her final exam later?

I think we can all agree that weddings are not spur of the moment occasions in  China. Months – even years of planning go into pulling off the perfect gala, designed to impress rather than have any symbolism. Surely, Sylvia knew in advance when her sister's wedding would be, and could/should have arranged her make up exam in advance.

In her text message, she stated she wanted to make up the exam and asked when she could. Considering my busy schedule that week, I suggested she contact me when she came back to school. Today, she messaged me: Do I have time right now to give her the exam – on a Sunday afternoon? After a flurry of messages in which she balked at my various suggestions of when to meet, we settled on the next day. I'll be testing her on my time, seeing as my teaching obligations are over with for the semester. Come time to turn in grade sheets, I will most likely be encouraged to give her a grade commensurate with her peers, rather than with her effort, ability and attitude.     

While it is great for the kids to find success with or without effort, and it makes the school look good that every single student passes, I can't help but think of how the Alices – those who are conscientious and hard-working must feel amidst all of the Sylvias.

With all of the talk about revamping the education system in China, building world-class universities, and all of the news reports of families sending their progeny abroad for better education, I would think that this aspect of the Chinese education system would get more scrutiny. The solution is easy: if a student doesn't perform, don't rate him/her as though s/he does. In short: hold students accountable.

More than anything in a textbook or lecture, accountability would give these young adults an education worth having. 

Sense and Common Sense

Many of us have thought of the seemingly nonsensical actions of our Chinese friends: throwing lit cigarette butts into trash cans, driving on the sidewalk or causing bottleneck traffic situations because everyone crams into the only  available lane at once, opening a bus window when the air conditioning is cranking out cool air... and others. Let's not forget that first-time flyer who, desiring a breath of fresh air, opened the emergency exit door. Fortunately, the plane was on the ground. And the other one, on another plane, forged a quick route off by opening the door closest to him. He deployed the slide, causing 100,000 Yuan worth of damage.

We westerners look upon these misdeeds of our Chinese friends, shake our heads and wonder how in the world they came to their ideas.

Common sense: the basic ability to perceive, understand and judge things, which is shared by ( or: common to) nearly all the people, and can be reasonably expected of nearly all people without any need for debate.

It seems the people who have fallen through the 'nearly' hole are Chinese.

If you think about it, what the general public might perceive as ridiculous in China makes a lot of sense. Man on plane wanted fresh air; he opened the door. Man on plane wanted off plane; he established an exit. Man finished with cigarette, he threw it away. All traffic lanes blocked but sidewalk or bike lane is open; drive on sidewalk/bike lane.  

While all of this is logical/rational for the person doing the deed, it seems that person fails to regard the world as a whole and the other people in it. That's what makes this brand of logic downright dangerous at times. And, what is startling about that is that Chinese culture is supposedly collectivistic.

Collectivism: the moral stance, political philosophy, ideology or social outlook that emphasizes the significance of groups – their identities, goals, rights, outcomes, etc., and tends to analyze issues in those terms.

If China is indeed collectivist, how can one driver take it upon himself to take over the sidewalk, where people and bikes abound? How can the man on the plane ignore that big 'emergency exit only' sign, painted bold red on the door?

Here's another aspect of China's alleged collectivism that totally escapes me.

Children in orphanages: unloved, unwanted, underprivileged, and there are a lot of them. Foreigners will adopt Chinese babies but, except in rare cases, Chinese will not. “A family member will adopt a baby or child from another family member but will not adopt a strange child” I was told. For instance: an infertile couple might adopt a sibling's child, and that sibling can have another child. Meanwhile, children in orphanages languish.

That doesn't make collective sense to me. There are needy children in China, there are Chinese parents who want/need a child. Perfect match, right? Not so much, according to my Chinese friends. 'Keep it in the family' is the rationale, apparently because an adopted child might not be as devoted to family as a child born into a family. No stranger's blood allowed is another excuse given (and no children with defects, either – but that's beside the point).

It seems that the Chinese are collectivist only up to their own special group: tribal clan, village folk, family, friends, room mates in a dorm, an office group – in short, people who, for one reason or the other are bound together. Beyond that boundary - that collective, individualism asserts itself.

Individualism: Individualists promote the exercise of one's goals and desires, and so, value independence and self-reliance, and advocate that interests of the individual should take precedence over the social group.

Now we're getting somewhere! That explains far better the crazy logic of our Chinese friends, but does nothing to address the collective mentality when it comes to family and friends, tribemembers or dorm mates.

I think sociologists need to come up with a new phrase to accurately describe Chinese society: individual collectivism. Doesn't that sound more apt?

Ah, Ikea!

As a foreigner whose friends and family all shop at Ikea and have many Swedish-made goods, I enjoy visiting that store. I can walk through the children's department and see many toys that my grandchildren play with or think longingly of my daughter's home, decorated with functional Ikea pieces. Oh, the many hours my stateside friends and I have spent, strolling through those displays, laughing and admiring – but seldom buying anything.

A couple of years ago (while living in China), I so wanted to visit an Ikea store that I went to Shanghai just for that purpose. Except for the price markers and information plaquards being primarily in Chinese, I felt just as I did when visiting that store stateside. That was both good and bad: suffering the sweet longing of my loved ones and recalling the fun times spent in their company simultaneously brought me closer to them and made me feel so very far away. Maybe going to Shanghai to walk through a store I'd walked through countless times seems silly, especially as there is so much else to do there, but who can say what the heart or stubborn mind wants at any given time?

I was elated when Ikea opened a branch in Wuhan. Now, instead of a 5-hour bullet train ride and a hotel stay, I only needed a 2-hour ride on public transport to satisfy my longing for that Ikea feeling. And, because one of my more attention-getting lessons involves food culture in the west, I can invite my students on an outing to that store. Several times, I chaperoned avid groups through Ikea's marketplace and basked in their delight.

Last time I was stateside, again walking the wide aisles of that store with my daughter, I recalled my dear students gasping in awe at the comfort and convenience Swedish furniture can bring.

I have that same problem with Pizza Hut and Burger King: when I'm here, enjoying those establishments, I miss the states. When I'm there, partaking, I think of my China home. Funny how a commercial venture can do that.

Mind you, I'm not an expat who seeks only a western bubble within China. As much as possible, I'd rather 'go Chinese': buy from local stores, visit historical places, live à la Chinese. But sometimes there is comfort in familiarity, and for those reasons, as a treat, I'll undertake the long journey on public transport to visit that store where my family likes to play. I go for the bittersweet memories and a connection to family, but the Chinese patrons are there to buy foreign goods. That's what this blog is about: while everyone is enjoying western stores, goods and restaurants, what is happening to the Chinese market?

Because KFC, McDonald's, Burger King, Starbucks and Pizza Hut; Carrefour, Metro, Walmart and Ikea are always crowded when I go there. I doubt that the masses plan their dining and shopping around my schedule to trick me into believing that those concerns are well frequented, so it stands to reason that those western establishments are the target of many a Chinese on a regular basis. Equally reasonable is the assumption that millions – if not billions of Yuan are pouring in to overseas money coffers from eager Chinese buyers. News reports support that belief: Chinese prefer to buy foreign made goods over their own national brands.

What does that do for industry and the economy in China?

All foreign businesses I've been to in China are staffed exclusively by Chinese. That means jobs for the people, and that's good: people have money to spend. Of course, the businesses in question pay a percentage of the total sales to China, but make no mistake: the parent companies are pulling in a hefty profit. Foreign companies are getting rich off Chinese longing for 'status brands'. Meanwhile, Chinese brands can't seem to get a leg up in world marketing.

Does anyone see a problem with that?

This weekend, Gary texted: “Would you like to go to Ikea?”

Do cows give milk??? Of course! I'd love a trip to Ikea with my good friend here, so I can share with him my family's pastime.

But then... last time I took Gary to Ikea – the first time he had ever been, he was not impressed. In fact, he commented how poor the quality was. I was ruffled. This was IKEA, whose toys resided in my grand-children's rooms! Where my family had purchased many of their decorations and home accessories!  Where we had spent precious hours together! And here, I wanted to share that experience with him...

He said he could buy higher quality furniture for much cheaper on the Chinese market. After I calmed down from my feeling of slight, I saw the wisdom of his approach. Here, a Chinese man is supporting the Chinese economy by buying Chinese, just as many Americans claim they would only 'buy American'. Imagine my surprise when, on this second visit he spent over 50,000 yuan on furniture and accessories at Ikea! And that he had an Ikea membership card!

I wonder what changed his mind?

And I wonder what will turn the tide for the average consumer in China to 'buy Chinese' rather than pour their hard-earned money into western pockets?   

Is Full Immersion Learning Possible?

Of course it is, you might argue. After all, isn't that how children learn to speak their native tongues? But what about learning a second language, while still embroiled in learning your first one? Is full immersion English learning possible in China?

I have a clear idea of how I'd like to engage in such teaching. Parents, teacher and students form a learning community.Teacher works really hard to impart fundamentals such as speech and grammar in an informal setting – say, sitting around in a circle, with nary a desk in sight. For example:

Topic: Colors

Each color is introduced, and its name repeated until spoken correctly by all of the students. Plenty of visual aids to go along with the oral lesson. Of course, hands on materials such as flash cards and magnetic boards should be used. Once the colors'  names are learned (by both parents and students), connections are made. The red dress, the green sweater, and so on. The topic is further reinforced through songs about colors, and then a scavenger hunt ensues, wherein parent/child teams must find different colored items on a prepared list. Everything is done in English. 

Ideally, parents actively participate in the learning and encourage their children. While each lesson only lasts at most 45 minutes – long enough for a young child's attention span to remain captivated, the reason the parents should sit in is so that the learning is reinforced at home. Having class every 3 days should be sufficient to ensure proper pronunciation of the subject material, and grammar fundamentals are learned passively, by repetition of proper sentence structure throughout the lessons. 

I've tried twice to engage in this style of full immersion teaching, both times with small children, around age 5. Both time I met with less than stellar success.

The first time was in a more formal setting. My friends had set up a classroom environment, enrolled the students and saw to the administrative side of running a school. All I had to do was teach. I thought I had communicated, and we had agreed on how I would teach: actively, with students' and parents' participation. What I was met with were parents that sat in the other room, drinking tea and wondering why the class was so loud. They disapproved of the dancing and singing and playing, of the hands-on method of learning, and flat out refused to actively participate. In the end, their complaints led me to teach in a more traditional Chinese style: emphasis on rote learning, writing, plenty of sitting at desks and raising of hands. I couldn't reconcile that archaic image with what I picture a full immersion English class for young learners to be. The experiment ended a few months later.   

After that dismal failure, I shelved the idea of teaching full immersion English. I wasn't feeling well at that time anyway, and rushing across town twice a week to conduct class in such an oppressive atmosphere didn't help me feel any better. Although it was nice to have the extra money, I couldn't handle the stifling environment.

That was a few years back, and I don't know what happened to those friends. They 'dumped' me after that failed experiment. I went to the coffee shop they owned in an arty part of town and their shop had closed down. Recently I found out they had moved back to Thailand. And that's the end of that story.

These days I feel so much better! I have tons of energy and, aside from painful twinges from my still healing leg, race around and do and do. As you know from 2 posts back (See I'm Back! Entry), I'm teaching as many courses as my Chinese counterparts at my university, and that keeps me pretty busy, but long before that – before I broke my leg, even, I had made a promise to my friend, Sam. I wanted to volunteer at his little daughter's kindergarten, teaching English. He was over the moon at the prospect!

Starting fall semester, I reminded him of my promise and averred I was physically capable and more than willing to make good on it in spite of my busy schedule at the uni. However, he countered that volunteering at Erica's school would pose a problem because I would, in effect, be taking work away from the English teacher already working there. He suggested a compromise: we would hold class in his apartment, with parents in attendance.

I had explained to him the idea that I had for full immersion and he agreed it was possibly the best way to teach English, you see. At his proposal, my dream of full immersion resurged. Surely, with Sam working with me, I could make a go of it!

I'm not faulting anyone except myself. Bear that in mind while you read this next.

Sam and his wife Penney arranged for 6 students to come on Saturday morning, parents in tow. The lesson started well. Everyone was eager for what might turn out to be a learning discovery, and the parents were certainly appreciative that I would volunteer my time. That first lesson, all of the parents sat in and practiced. They translated everything I said. Soon, the kids faced me while I talked, and then turned to their parents for translation. The parents, naturally, obliged.

Discussing the class afterwards with Sam, I indicated that translation was not the point of the class, but that the kids should get used to following simple instructions in English: Sit down (I demonstrate by sitting down), Stand up (raise my hands and stand to indicate standing) and so on. Even if the children did not recognize the gestures, the parents should have, and they did, instructing the kids in Chinese on what to do. 

The next week, only 2 parents sat in. The week after that, all of the parents had retreated to the other room and closed the door, so as to not distract the little tykes from the lesson. I suspect it is because I didn't clearly communicate my vision of how the class should run.

Of course, the kids like the lessons because they are fun and interactive, but they have a hard time recognizing that it is learning time, not playing time, so they get unruly. Erica, Sam's daughter, went to get her mother, who sat in on the class. She disciplined while I attempted to teach. While reading Snow White (in English), I reconciled myself to another failure.  

As of now, the plan has been scrubbed. It is a lot of stress for me – busy as I am anyway, and then preparing materials and conducting class; for Sam and Penney, who end up hosting the kids left by their parents, and for the parents themselves, who have plenty of other things to do on their days off. This colder weather is not helping, either. I still believe a full immersion curriculum is possible but I haven't found the right way to do it.

Do you agree with me that a good teacher should connect with her students, and have a good understanding with their parents (if they are younger learners)? That's what I strive for in my classes. And, while we have no trouble bonding, it seems that teaching is an either/or proposition. Either I should engage in a formal setting where the kids recognize they are to go into 'learning mode', or we play and all thoughts of learning is out the window. Naturally, the parents do not consider their children to be learning if they are playing.

I can't seem to find a middle ground. I would love to make a go of this type of teaching, but apparently cannot communicate how it is supposed to work. Or, am I battling the age-old Chinese ideal of learning: desk, raised hands, lectures, and such? Is such full immersion possible if the parents do not reinforce what their children learn?

Do you have any suggestions?  

Exploding Students

Part of my duties as foreign teacher calls for my involvement in competitions, specifically judging student competitions. To tell the truth I don't like seeing my students pitted against one another, nor do I like being put in the position to affirm one's ability over another's. As a teacher, I believe I should promote all of my students equally. How must a poorly performing competitor feel when their beloved foreign teacher deems him/her less capable than others? 

Conversely, one aspect of these extracurricular activities I enjoy is interacting with students in a non-classroom setting. We get to laugh and play together, and pose for the inevitable pictures. It is nice to see these kids in a non-traditional setting, where they feel free to let down their hair and laugh a little. They make the most of the occasion, festooning the room with balloons and streamers, drawing on the board and playing music.

As English club activities are organized and hosted strictly by students, I have the additional pleasure of working with kids who might be taciturn and recalcitrant in class, but flourish in managing a competition. Felix is such a student. He is bright and handsome but shy and soft-spoken. As a member of my largest class, I seldom have time to talk only with him. So, judging the Non-English majors talent competition, put together and engineered by Felix, gave us a chance to hang out and just talk.

Usually, other teachers form the judging panel along with me but this week, all of the other teachers had prior commitments. Felix and two other students judged the affair with me. That put  me in a bind because all of the competition information was in Chinese: judging criteria, rules and what talents would be displayed. Normally, other teachers translate these documents for me but this time, there was only Felix.

I was able to read some of the criteria. Felix translated everything else. “This column is for performance, this one is for talent, this one for feeling and this one for... (he checks his phone for translation)... exploding.” he said, earnestly.

Explosion? Really?

Really! Apparently, there is a Chinese phrase that means something like: 'come out of the box with a shining performance', like a sprinter bursting out of the starting blocks and rocketing down the track. It might be akin to what English speakers would call 'a shooting star' – someone who really performs well. Or: giving an explosive performance.

My fuzzy head never made it past 'exploding'. As you might remember from the Misunderstandings entry posted last March, sometimes my brain visualizes something very different from what is actually being said. By the time Felix explained the 'sprinter out of starting blocks' meaning of 'explode', I was already laughing to tears at the idea of having to rank students on the violence of their explosions.

“OH, blood spatter on the ceiling! Great explosion! You get 30 points.”

As always when I laugh like a demented person, the poor hapless person next to me - in this case, Felix gaped at me, wondering what he had said wrong to cause such mirth. When I was finally able to tell him what I had imagined, he too succumbed to gales of merriment.

It was the first time I'd seen him laugh so unabashedly.  It was wonderful to behold: a great bonding moment.

Others now looked at us slack-jawed while we mopped tears from our eyes and tried to stifle our giggles. As the first competitor stepped onstage, he whispered: “Please don't tell my classmates about this!” I could understand he would be mortified if his peers knew, but I don't think he would mind me telling you about it.

Especially because, at the end of the competition, while I was still posing for pictures at the back of the room, Felix and others were taking down the decorations at the front. What to do with a bunch of balloons but pop them once they are no longer needed?

“Hey, Sophia!” Felix shouted, from across the room.

“Yes?”

“Look! Explosion!” and he popped a balloon.

“OOH! Great explosion! You get 30 points!” and again, we succumbed to our private joke.

Such moments of camaraderie with students are so rare! These kids' demeanor is usually reverential, perhaps because I am a foreigner and most likely in part because I'm far older than they are. Seldom do I get to connect with a kid in such a way that we can share a joke. 'Exploding students' is no longer just a joke for me. It was a moment of closeness with a great kid who will go on to do great things. What a treasure!

I guess I should let you know that nobody actually exploded, but there was some fine talent on stage. A beautiful girl with a devoted boyfriend who brought her her violin. She then proceeded to wow us with her skill. Another pretty who read movie lines with such feeling I thought I was hearing the movie's actual soundtrack. A fine young man with a golden voice, and a couple who also dubbed a movie soundtrack, so seamlessly I had to keep looking at them to make sure they were talking, and hadn't turned out the movie's sound.

Yes, there's a lot of talent here. But... wouldn't you agree it takes talent to form bonds? In  my opinion, Felix was the most talented person in the room that day.