Conferences

Today I walked out of school with a little grin on my face.  I almost skipped a bit.  I stepped over the crap on the sidewalk and didn’t mind it. I had just finished conferences.  It was lovely. And for once, I am not being sarcastic. 

In the past, I have left parent-teacher conferences craving booze and feeling defeated at best.  On more than one occasion I ended up in tears in a remote corner of the building.  My blood pressure would rise to the point where I often felt like I would pass out in the middle of a conversation… if I didn’t scream and run out of the room first. Don’t get me wrong; there were some good interactions with parents. But overall, the negative by far outweighed the positive.  I hate to say it, but parents and lack of support in dealing with them was one of my main motivations for leaving. 

So I kind of approached today’s parent conferences with a bit of anxiety and to be honest, a glimmer of hope.  My students are pretty fantastic, so I had high hopes for conferences.  At the end of the day, I can say it was a great experience.

First of all, it was so interesting to see my students translating their own conferences for their parents.  I have had that happen once or twice in the states and it always amazes me.  It reminds me that these kids have huge responsibilities in their lives, not just homework.  I imagine their English skills are often put to the test in very real situations.

Another interesting experience was meeting with “the entourage”.  Mom, dad, brother, sister, aunt, student, translator, tutor, or any combination of the above.  At times it was hard to figure out with whom to confer. 

What struck me most about the day was how parents actually put value in what I was saying.  They treated me like the professional that I am.  I heard things like, “What can we do at home to support him?” “What is the skill that she most needs to improve?” “Please let us know if there is anything we can do help him be successful.”  Not a single time did a parent say, “Well, his behavior is bad/his grade is bad because he is bored… you’re not challenging him.” “So, what are you going to do?” or my very favorite “Why did you give him such a low grade?” 

Oh my goodness. What a difference an ocean makes. 

Parents value education here.  They realize what great teachers their children have.  They recognize the gift and treat it as such.

I realize life here will not always be sunshine and rainbows.  I’m not delusional.  I’m sure I will have difficult interactions with parents in the future. But for now I’m relishing the fact that I didn’t end up crying in a closet.

Andrea 1- Parent Conferences-0.

I win.

Rules, Rules, Rules... or Whatever

I’m a rule follower.  If you know me, you know that I HATE breaking rules.  Besides “accidental” speeding, I’d say the worst rule I’ve broken in the recent time before moving here was sneaking food into a movie theater. 

But here, in China, I am a rule breaker.  Often. Like, daily. 

Take this coffee shop that I’m sitting in. It is illegal.  The police could shut it down and put a huge white imposing X on the door at anytime.  That is because they serve food here.  By law, the bars and coffee shops along this street are not supposed to serve food.  They all do. Two weeks ago there was a big bust and many of the restaur… er, “coffee shops” were closed.  The one’s that were not shut down received word *wink wink* that the police were coming and didn’t serve food that day.  The others were not so lucky.  They paid their fines and opened back up within a few days… serving food as usual.

Today I took an illegal taxi to IKEA.  These illegal taxi drivers, or black taxis, constantly sit outside of my apartment complex waiting for fares.  They cost a bit more than legal taxis, but often they will drive you to your destination, wait for you to shop or eat and then drive you home.  Many of them speak slightly more English than legal taxis and some of them will even give you their cell numbers so you can prearrange rides.  It’s very convenient not having to hail a taxi.  However, when the police show up, they scatter.  As soon as the police move on, they return. 

I own a scooter that I’ve named Boc Choi.  Boc Choi is illegal.  All scooters, electric and gas alike, are not allowed.  According to the government, something like 240 people died in scooter accidents last year.  Therefore, scooters should be forbidden… makes sense, right? I bought Boc Choi at a scooter shop about two blocks from my house.  There are no fewer than three scooter shops on that street.  However, when they cracked down on scooters last week did those businesses get shut down? Nope. Did ordinary folks get their scooters taken from them? Yep.   Boc Choi was spared, but the threat is still there.  At any time, they could set up checkpoints.  You’ll have to get off your bike.  They’ll take it, load it up in the back of a truck and you will never see it again (I have a feeling they resell the confiscated bikes, but I can’t prove it).  A co-worker’s husband has concluded that these checkpoints usually happen on Tuesday nights. So on Tuesdays Boc Choi will stay safely locked up, hidden behind a giant fichus tree in front of my building.

I also buy movies that are currently in theaters on DVD from a street corner for about $1.50 each… But I’m sure those are totally legal.

That Which Passes as Fall

Let me begin by saying I am envious of you. 

Yes, you. 

You, wearing your sweatshirt, yoga pants and wooly socks.  You, sipping a pumpkin spice latte from Starbucks.  You, buying butternut squash at one of the last few farmer’s markets of the year. You, ruing the leaves you are no doubt putting off raking. –Yeah, I’m looking at you.

One of my greatest joys in life is picking an apple from a tree, shining it up with my shirt and taking a big bite.  One of my favorite soups to make is butternut squash, apple and carrot curry.  I love that cinnamon and nutmeg starts showing up in foods and drinks. I love pulling a hoodie over my head, taking a walk through the neighborhood with my favorite puppy and kicking my way through piles of leaves. Oh… what I wouldn’t do for the smell of burning leaves.

I love autumn.  I’m missing autumn. And I’m missing autumn.

What passes for fall has come to Shekou. A few weeks ago, the Chinese celebrated Mid-Autumn Festival.  It was in the upper 80s, though recently it has been feeling fall-ish (I actually wore jeans today for the first time since I was in the states.). So far, fall consists of slightly lower temperatures (mid to upper 70s) and typhoons. Since we are very protected here in Shekou, typhoons basically amount to a lot of rain and some gusts of wind.  Some palm trees have dropped leaves, but I credit that up to typhoon winds and not the changing of seasons. 

I love the seasonal eating that happens in the mid-west during fall.  Squash, apples, and sweet potatoes in a myriad of combinations just makes me happy.  I’ve asked about the food “seasons’ here and have gotten responses like, “Well, dog season is winter so…you know…just keep and eye out.”  I’m actually 90% certain I saw a dog carcass drying in the sun the other day in old Shekou.  I thought, “Wow, so dog season came early this year.”

I’ve noticed an increase of Pomellos (sp)? and a delicious rugby ball shaped melon at the fruit market, but no sign of seasonal apples.  Butternut squash is completely unknown, although I was told I could smuggle fresh cooking pumpkins from Hong Kong. The sweet potatoes here are purple… that’s just too weird for me.

So this fall please, for me, enjoy it.  Fill your noses with something other than the smell of the South China Sea.  Roast a butternut squash.  Pick an apple.  Drink a pint of Bob’s 47. Rake a big pile of leaves. Make a big pot of soup.

I’ll give you my recipe.