3 Generations...

Lessons from children

Today, I visited mom at the Elementary school where she works as the secretary. As I walked into the lunch room, I noticed that nearly an entire table of little people were staring at me. Man, I sure don't remember young kids staring so much. But I just smiled at them and made conversation.

Then, another group of students was waiting in line right in front of the table where I was sitting. A couple of the kids in the class must know I live in China. Three of them timidly stepped near the table:
"Have you seen panda bears?" How sweet. I told them that I had only seen them in the zoo, but I sure liked panda bears too. They are friendlier than the other bears.
"Have you seen a dolphin?" asks another student.
"My friend wants to know if you can speak Chinese?" a more bold girl asks me.

There really is something refreshing about children. There are fewer inhibitions and perhaps much less fear. I wish I were more child-like, not afraid to ask questions, not afraid to show interest. Not afraid of being hurt. Living for the moment. Playing hard. Believing in miracles. Laughing with blissful ignorance.

Pasta a la passion

The other evening, we had a murder mystery party. It was called Pasta, Pistols, and Passion. I was Father Alfredo. Mom was Clair Voyant; (she looked hot).


This was the "little Italy" table setting before the festivities began.
The cast

This was my second time to participate in a murder mystery meal. They really are a lot of fun. It's interesting to see how each person acts his / her character. The ad-libs and witty accusations provide for good, light-hearted fun.

The Question

I love asking and answering deep questions. For example, last night I asked my parents, "If you could eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?" My choice would be soup. Dad answered pasta, and mom hasn't decided yet. Yes, these are the kind of heady questions I love to kick around. Just kidding.

But in all seriousness, I have recently realized the importance of asking questions both of ones' self and of others. Asking questions of others is a good way to get to know a person and to think about topics from that person's point of view. One person who greatly valued the art of asking questions was Socrates. He asked people questions to get them to see their illogical thinking and to lead them to right thinking. I wish I had more of this Socratic skill.

Even without that heightened of an ability though, I do want to be a person who asks good questions of others and sincerely listens to their answers. I also want to be a person who takes questions seriously and answers them with integrity only after thinking through my response.

One question I often get asked both in China and in America is why I decided to go to China in the first place. I wish I could say that I answer this question in the same way each time I'm asked, but I don't. It seems I have to tailor this answer depending on who is asking it and the social environment around the question. This fact makes me disgusted with myself. A person of integrity would answer this question the same way each time.

What is it saying about my lack of integrity that I have to change my answer according to the situation? I explain away my "variety" of answers by claiming that I don't want to make people feel uncomfortable or I don't want to get into trouble with the law (both excuses which seem valid to me.) Or, I tell myself that there are several influencing factors that lead me to China and therefore, I can just conveniently chose the factor that fits the situation and is most palatable to the person asking the question.

But all of these excuses feel like just that, excuses. From here on out, I want to be committed to integrity in answering questions. And if I can't give an answer brimming with integrity, then I will choose silence. . . and soup.

Reverse Culture Shock

Ice cubes in everything.
Plastic bags given away like they grow on trees.
Understanding every word spoken.
Climate controlled everywhere.
Big people.
No staring.

I love...

I love....
lazy mornings reading and writing
the smell of freshly brewed coffee
skyping two people at one time
a flattering photograph
starting a good book
discussing questions that have no answers
the sound of a humming fridge
cheeks pink with cold
toast with raspberry jelly
emails from an old friend.

More on Chinese Parenting Styles

Lawyer and writer, Amy Chua, has recently published a memoir that has been cause for much controversy. Ever since reading an article titled "Why Chinese Mothers are Superior," a short excerpt from her memoir, I have a bone or two to pick with her, and it seems a lot of people have similar feelings. People are criticizing her article from multiple angles. Some of the criticism includes her stereotyping and generalization of "Chinese" parenting styles. Anytime people stereotype an entire group of people, they are going to be wrong. There are going to be people within that group who do not fit the mold or who defiantly challenge it. But Chua does give a disclaimer in her article that she is using the term "Chinese mother" loosely and does not expect her ideology to be true for all Chinese mothers.

Other criticism revolves around Chua limiting her daughters' ability to develop socially. While Chua writes that the stereotypical American parents are not strict enough on their children in not making them practice their instrument long enough or in not demanding academic excellence. Interesting enough, in one editorial written by New York Times writer Daniel Brooks, he criticizes Chua for coddling her children but simply in a different way than Chua sees coddling. He writes that Chua, in not letting her children be involved in social events such as slumber parties or school drama, is in fact inhibiting their social development and "protecting them from the most intellectually demanding activities because she doesn’t understand what’s cognitively difficult and what isn’t" (Brooks). He goes on to argue that learning how to operate within the social contexts that Chua withheld from her children is in fact functioning at a higher cognitive level than simply gaining book knowledge or memorizing a piece of music. I applaud Brooks for pointing out the importance of social interaction in helping children develop.

Seeing Chinese parents in action first-hand by living in China, I often shake my head at what they push and praise: academic excellence, beauty, and special talents. It is not that I don't think those things are important or have value, but I don't think they should be the main things in life. My friend who has a hellion of a 10 year old son often talks to me about how she is worried because he is "too slow" when he does his homework. I think I would be a bit more worried about some behavior issues than his "slow speed" of completing homework. But she does not seem to be concerned about those issues and just says, "Oh he's a bit naughty" and then she laughs nervously, and we talk about something else. Another young girl who has just started High School has taken up violin lessons. Her parents use her one morning a week when she does not have school (Sunday) to drag her to violin lessons. Perhaps she is excited about her violin skills, but inside I can't help feeling that these kids are being pushed to their limits and perhaps also to their breaking point.

At the same time, it is true that in China, one' s academic success, especially while younger does largely determine their fate in life. In America, we have so many examples of how people jump from rags to riches. But in China, this idea is not as common or much of a reality. People's jobs are either determined by their parents' position in society or by their ability to excel academically, namely doing well on their college entrance examination so that they can make it into a top University in their desired field.

It seems like the best form of parenting would be a combination of both, expecting, but perhaps not demanding academic excellence while also giving children opportunity to develop socially along with their peers. With that said, I still have no idea which is the right or best way to parent and thankfully for now, I don't have to.

Toilet Time

This is the old toilet. You might remember that I was using a chopstick to flush it and it was still hissing out a little water at all times.
The repairman shows up one cold January morning with tools, a thick accent, and a lot of ambition. He tells me the toilet is broken and I need a new one.

He and his friend take out the old toilet and knock out the cement gunk that is below the toilet.

After about an hour, the new toilet is installed. Isn't she a beauty? I call her Phyllis.

Chinese parenting styles

Recently, there has been an article that is raising some controversy in the news about the parenting style of Chinese mothers. I have so many thoughts (mostly criticisms) about the ideas in this article, but first curious to hear what others have to say about it. Check out "Why Chinese Mothers are Superior."

The irony of leaving

As I pack my suitcase, I am also cleaning, throwing out, and organizing only to leave it all behind. It seems we would do well to organize our lives as though we were "leaving" more regularly. Now that my apartment is glowing with contentment and Clorox, I leave, taking with me worries about trains, subways, border crossings, and turbulence out the door.


"Perfect love drives out fear..." this a sentence I often recall and think about when I have fear or anxiety in my life. Sometimes I'm no sure what aspect of love I'm not understanding that I still have fear. If I am confident about the Father's love for me, why should I feel anxious?

Fear and anxiety is something I deal with at different times and seasons of my life, but no matter what, it always hits me full force right before I travel. I am comforted to think though, that ultimately, the smoothness of the travel does not depend on anything I do, but rather on the Father's provisions. And should I meet trouble, may His presence be with me in increasing measure and may His perfect love carry me through.

Dilapitated chicken

At 9:00 yesterday morning, I had two very welcomed visitors. Repairmen to bring me a new toilet. My old toilet has been broken for 3 months, continually leaking water. I felt guilty everyday listening to the hissing of running water. At the same time, I am helpless; I am not a plumber and the plumber who came to fix the toilet in the first month simply said, “Mei banfa” which means “There’s nothing I can do.” So, I have been waiting for the funds to go through from the school before I could get a new toilet. Finally, the funds must have gone through, and the two repairmen who showed up took about one or so hours to install the toilet. As they left, they told me, “it flushes hard” and “don’t use the toilet until tomorrow morning.” I listened to their advice; I didn’t use it yesterday. I flushed it hard this morning, and would you know….the new toilet has the same problem as the old one. It is continually flushing a little bit of water. I opened up the tank to find that after one flush, the flusher is stuck. I kind of feeling like crying this morning, but I guess I’ll just blog.

After the toilet men left yesterday, I headed out to do some errands. On the walk, I saw two memorable things. First, a dilapidated chicken was lying on the grass. Surrounding the chicken swarmed a group of other chickens. It seemed they were tending to the sickly chicken. But as I got closer, I saw they were pecking at him. It was disgusting so I told the gate-keeper. He looked over and with a cigarette in his mouth muttered, “It’s not our chicken; it’s fine.” At that moment, the man’s wife comes out of their apartment to invite me to dinner. I have already lost my appetite for a good day or so.

I walked out the gate and what else should I see, but an old arm chair up in flames. About 3 or 4 people were standing around the chair watching it burn. “Kao Huo” the store-owner said to me with a big smile. Kao huo refers to the small coal burning pit that Hunan people use to warm themselves. The actual translation of “kao huo” means “to warm ones’ self by the sitting close to the fire.” I guess this was one cheap and practical way to stay warm for half an hour or so.

On my way back from errands, I stopped to buy some sprite for my sick team-mate. I was sporting some mittens that a class of students had given me as a Christmas present. The store-owner, (the one who perpetually gives me advice and comments on my appearance) told me that my mittens were very romantic. In response to his comment, I closely examined my mittens to try and see what could possibly be considered romantic about them. These mittens are grey with small black polka-dots on them. They have fur trimming and on the fur, a big stuffed plaid bow. If these are romantic, then I am a poor student of romance.

China seemed very strange and foreign to me yesterday. I understand, and yet I don’t. I am compassionate to a point and then sometimes one word or strange look from a stranger pushes me over the edge. I don’t want to judge, but the noise pollution from hissing water everyday and fireworks every morning at 4 or 5 has done something to my sense of fairness. My reality feels arbitrary, annoying, and completely out of my control. I feel a bit like the dilapidated chicken, with the stresses of living in another country pecking away slowly at my exterior shell of competency and adaptability.

Reflection of year through photos

"In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures, life may perfect be"
Ben Johnson...English dramatist and poet