Well, this kid meant it, because we had to schedule a time. He lives on campus during the week, so this would have to happen on a Friday night. Hmm. Friday night spent with student and parents -- that sounds like fun. But it just doesn't seem like the sort of thing you can easily turn down without offending people. That week was rather full of after-school activities, so I begged off until the following week (which is good since I came down with a major cold).
Well, last Friday was the day. In a fit of brilliance, I realized I should check with my principal about the propriety of the whole thing. He said it was fine (and agreed that culturally, people are far more appreciative of teachers than they are back in the West) as long as I didn't accept any gold gifts. He then looked a little sad when he said that no one had invited him to dinner...
We had agreed that we would meet at 5:00. I had long planned on going home first, but it was made extra important by the particularly late night I had had the night before. My colleagues can be very bad influences. So I went home for a quick nap and to spiffy up a bit. (I traded in my Dankos for a pair of dress boots, my puffy for my nice black coat, and my Canadian knit cap for my black fedora.)
I was back in my office by 5:00, but there was no student. My office mate told me that a student had been by looking for me... was our "date" cancelled? I waited. 5:05 -- no student. 5:10 -- no student... Oh, wait. There he was. They have obligatory after-school activities and meetings, and I think the last meeting starts at 5:00: they get announcements from their form teacher before they get to leave.
Off we go. I make small talk with my student. We consider the various appropriate modes of transport: the subway is crowded versus flagging down a taxi. I do not relish the subway at 5:15, so I was pushing for the taxi. That and I had forgotten my subway card at home. (Mom can't come pick us up because of the digits of her license plate which mean the car cannot be driven before 8pm on Fridays.) We found a taxi and off we went.
We arrived at the restaurant and then the fun began. They had already ordered some food, so the cold plates were arriving. Sliced duck liver. Sliced pork in aspic. Sliced pork knuckle. Sliced lily bulbs. Notice how much meat is on the table already.
Then, what do I want to drink? Mom is drinking tea because she is driving later, but I am strongly encouraged to drink alcohol. Do I want cold beer (binda pi jo), red wine (which usually gets translated as white), or "clear liquor" (bi jo). Now, if any of you visit China, I want to give you one piece of advice: DO NOT DRINK BI JO. The stuff is made from the Devil's spit. It is the harshest of harsh liquor and it will f you up in a heartbeat. Avoid at all costs. I chose binda pi jo. So two bottles were duly ordered and delivered (one for me and one for Dad), except Dad decided that red wine was more appropriate, so red wine was ordered as well.
Our table is not big enough, however. Mom is unhappy with our table. She argues with the waitress (fu yuan) over the size of table that is appropriate. She wants a big table with a lazy Susan that seats 8-10 people. Fu Yuan suggests the table that seats 6. Mom wins.
So, in possession of a big table, two bottles of beer, a bottle of wine, and a shit-ton of meat, the real eating can begin. The duck arrives. You get sliced duck and duck skin, thin pancakes, thin spears of green onions, and thin spears of cucumber, along with a bowl of brown sauce. I am the guest of honor, so I should begin the meal, except I'm not paying so I don't get to decide when we begin eating.
I wait until Mom and Dad suggest we begin and point to the food. They help me put together a duck "roll". Skin and meat on a tortilla (pancake -- whatever), a chopsticks-full of green onion, a cucumber spear, duck sauce. It's easier if you dip the cucumber (or duck) into the sauce since there is no spoon. Then, use the chopsticks to roll up the pancake (some finger-use is OK, especially for sad Westerners), pick it up, and bite. Wait for the applause at your ability to use chopsticks.
Eat. Attempt to try everything at least once, even if it's disgusting. Let's say, for instance, that you know you don't like liver. You've had liver as a child, you've had pate, you've even had foie gras -- and it all just tastes like grainy, irony bleugh to you. Have a piece anyway. Scoop up the aspic (with your spoon) and force it down, even if it's cold and tough. Eat more pancakes. Wait patiently for the warm food to be delivered. Relish the celery with lily bulbs and the stewed mushrooms. Eat as much as you can without hinting that 8 dishes of meat is about 6-7 too many.
Have some duck soup. Ask about the odd thing floating in the middle. Relax when you learn it is a type of squash that doesn't have a translation. Winter squash isn't scary. Drink your wine, but not too quickly. Enjoy that the Chinese use super-tiny pours. Nurse that stuff. Cheers when they cheers. Compliment their son. Ask questions. Compliment their English (which is definitely better than your Chinese), but show of your Chinese when possible (xi xi, xi xi (thank you, thank you)).
And then, ooh and ahh over the family photos. Play it down when the photo album contains a naked baby picture. Play up how happy everyone is. Encourage your student to be a doctor, especially when he says that's what he wants to be. Encourage him to go to Britain if he loves old architecture. Agree that you will indeed eat dinner at their house.
Why?
Because we are now friends, of course.
Feel relief when you are invited to go shopping with them, but already have plans for the day they have suggested. Worry that if you do have to go shopping with Mom that she will insist on buying you things. Remind yourself that it doesn't much matter, since you don't grade their exams; Cambridge does. Wonder if they know that -- like, really know that.
Then, get in the car with them and take a tour of Beijing. Ooh and ahh over the Bird's Nest at night as well as the Water Cube. Pose for a picture. Know that it will end up in another photo album -- and here was Student with his American English Teacher.
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| From Dinner with Friends |
Worry about about the driving. Mom can drive, but she is a very nervous driver. She obviously hasn't driven everywhere in Beijing, because she and Dad are bickering about which is the best exit to take. Not that I know. Not that I can understand -- but, "No dear, get of HERE" sounds the same regardless of the language. Meanwhile, Student and I are in the backseat, chatting. Sipping on some bottled water he was kind enough to buy when we left the restaurant.
And that's what it comes down to. My students are not just kind, but they are earnest, thoughtful individuals. They can behave in public. They can (and do) talk politely and intelligently to adults -- even with a language difficulty. He was genuinely interested in making sure that I had a nice time. He pointed out interesting sights and museums.
When they dropped me off at home, he asked if my neighborhood was safe. (Ignore for a moment that it's ACROSS THE STREET FROM THE SCHOOL, so he knows the neighborhood is safe.) "If you ever have any problems," he told me, "Remember to dial 110." Wow. The 16-year-old boy is worried that I won't be safe walking home. I assured him that it was a safe neighborhood (it really IS -- dude, I lived in Salinas last year!) and that the other teachers looked out for me (they do).
All in all, it was a very pleasant -- if a bit disconcerting -- evening.
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