Lao Lao's Visit

Last week I had my first visitor of the year. My grandma came on a Tuesday afternoon and left from Xi'an this past weekend. She spent almost a week at the school, eating, sleeping, and learning with me and my students. As soon as she arrived, Principal Li and all the other Yongfeng staff began fussing over her, telling me that I should let her rest instead of dragging her around to all my classes. The truth was, my grandma—"lao lao" (meaning maternal grandmother, a distinction incredibly important to the Chinese)—wanted to get into the school's routine as soon as she arrived. She found that running around with the kids was an easy way to beat jet lag on her first day.

My grandma's visit helped me put my life at Yongfeng into perspective. Having been in China over three months already, most of the cultural differences that might shock anyone else go unnoticed by us teachers. My lao lao served as a constant reminder that the work we do here is entirely different from the work any American teacher might. When people back home ask me, "What's it like? How is China?" I'm never sure what to respond. I usually say something like, "The kids are great, and I'm very busy," summing up my life in rural China with a few short sentences. 

I thought I would devote this post to two of the many aspects of my life that lao lao noticed while she was here. That is, all the things she reminded me were extraordinary about Yongfeng and all the things that are hard to fit into a short "how is China" Skype or email conversation.

Parent Meetings

Last week, Yongfeng held it's first "家长会" (parent meeting), which usually happens once or twice throughout the year. My grandma poked her head in to see the parents, and she was surprised at the number of family members—especially fathers—who showed up. She worked at inner-city American schools for years, and told me she rarely saw fathers at school meetings. I was surprised too, to see so many parents concerned about their students' education, even in a rural school like Yongfeng. The content of the meetings revolved around recent regional tests in the core subjects (Chinese, math, and English). Each parent sat at his child's desk, with a pile of graded tests in front of him. As soon as they found their seats, the parents began comparing scores and answers with their neighbors, quickly learning where their child placed among his classmates.

As I spoke to my students' parents, I could see in their eyes that I was not giving them the kind of "Chinese" criticism they expected from a teacher. I found myself telling each parent about his child's potential in English, even as the two of us stared down at their low score. I felt naïve and very un-Chinese. This emphasis on criticism continued throughout the meeting, as a fellow teacher asked me to read the names of the highest and lowest performers on the test. I mumbled the names of the three best students, and refused to say the worst. It would have felt like I was ratting those students out. If they were scoring low, there was a good reason for it, possibly beyond that child's control. I think the other teachers forgave me for not following protocol, because I'm a foreigner who they assumed had no idea what was going on.

"Munchkin land"

Every morning my grandma woke up and was shocked to hear the children's voices even before sunrise. After each class we teachers usually have at least four kids trailing behind us helping us carry our things or just coming to see our rooms. Often we have students knocking on our doors just to say hi, or to ask silly questions like, "What are you doing?" or "What are we doing today in class?" Sometimes they serve as messengers, bringing news from other teachers. Last week, I designated a homework helper to collect the homework for that day and note who didn't complete an assignment. So, each morning, my student Harry would knock quietly at the door to drop off the class homework folder. 

My grandma called it "munchkin land," because each time we left to wash a dish or brush our teeth, we would bump into some students hanging out in our hallway. Most days the munchkins don't go home until around dinner time, at 6pm, when a cheerful tune notifies the end of the school day. After the song plays, a recording of a child's voice says:  "Students, class is dismissed. Teachers, thanks for your hard work!" We're used to the kids being around, and often use the hang out time to review English or fool around, letting off steam with the kids after a long day.

The students still ask about my lao lao, and last Monday everyone was sad to hear she had gone back to the US. I'll definitely miss having her help in class, as well as her observations and feedback. Lao lao, thanks for your hard work!