In China the expression “That’s yellow!” means the movie, or what you said, was “naughty” or had an off-colour connotation. The thirteen-year-olds I teach know the expression well and I have had some hilarious incidents.
One day in class we did some sentence patterns to teach superlatives and the book required sentence patterns based on the following:
A. I think you’ll like my new rocking chair.
B. But I liked your OLD rocking chair. It was comfortable.
A. That’s right. But my new rocking chair is more comfortable.The children then substitute the bold words with the words given thereafter in the exercise.
So “Roommate / interesting” becomes … I think you’ll like my new roommate.
But I liked your OLD roommate. She was interesting.
That’s right. But my new roommate is more interesting.”
Alas, my Chinese thirteen-year-olds sometimes forget to not read the original sentence pattern example, “It was comfortable”, so we had some classics:
An enthusiastic, volunteering boy stood up and tried out:
“A. I think you’ll like my new girlfriend.
B. But I liked your OLD girlfriend. It was comfortable.
A. That’s right. But my new girlfriend is more comfortable.” The boy looked at me expectantly to see if he had got it right.
“BUT,” I thundered, eyes wide with mock disgust and horror, “That’s yellow!” There were a few seconds silence in the class as they paused to absorb my remark. Then the class packed up laughing, some boys almost rolling in the aisles and girls giggling behind text books. The face of the student reading the answer turned blood red, and he nearly collapsed on his knees as he howled with mirth. And, no doubt, at their audacious “foreigner” teacher.
Then we also had a half-correct answer on the same sentence pattern, using “boss / nice”. (Hoo boy, he mutters, wiping his eyes. Here goes.)
A girl volunteered to stand up and said:
“A. “I think you’ll like my new boss.
B. But I liked your OLD boss. It was nice.
A. But you’ll like my new boss. It was even nicer.”
“So yellllllloooowwwww…” I groaned and sobbed loudly in simulated disgust.
Again the class was just about rolling in the aisles. That was another way cool teaching day. As said in previous blogs, there is something spontaneous, like a sudden merry display of fireworks in Chinese children’s laughter — like the unexpected, genuine fireworks which you often hear in China whenever a new restaurant or other establishment opens and celebrates its first day of business with whistling rockets, sparkling candles and also huge baskets of flowers outside the entrance.
“A way cool day” … except for the slightly uncomfortable feeling I had — as a teacher and therefore a role model — about making “clean” sexual jokes in class among thirteen-year-olds. This feeling was there even though the kids’ errors, blatant double entendres, were begging someone to crack a joke. And with my impulsive character? Much like the Chinese, I just love the quips.
So is this uncomfortable sense justified or not, I ask the reader? Let me try explore it.
My first and very awkward experience of “sexuality” with Chinese children was with a class of girls surely no older than about six. This was several years ago. I had gone during a summer vacation to teach in a neighbouring city, Jiaxing. My Chinese at the time was very elementary. Being a responsible aesthete (ahem) I shave my head more religiously than a monk (Andre Agassi and Bruce Willis, eat your hearts out), and the children loved me graphically teaching them words like bald and no hair. Bald-headed foreigners were and are an unusual sight for them. I referred, wrongly, to the Chinese for hair, taufa, on my arms and chest, which are very hairy by Chinese standards. But taufa only refers to the head hair, I soon discovered. I did not know that Chinese have a different name for hair for different parts of the body, such as beard, armpits and … you can guess where this is going.
After the lesson a very sharp young girl, with eyes as shiny as black buttons, came up to me and decided to teach me briskly and graphically the different names for hair on different parts of the body. With the presentation and “pointing out” skills of a life assurance salesperson she went through head hair, chest hair, arm hair, facial hair, armpit hair and, you guessed it, lightly slapping herself between the legs, she explained you know what without quite exposing herself, thank God and absolutely all the saints and throw in a few angels and sprites. This was all boldly explained at the tender age of six with me suddenly looking around hoping no adult had seen such a detailed and thorough explanation that would leave no room for error in your mind.
I think you can appreciate my discomfort and slight alarm in that situation. But needed I be? It is surely just a question of ensuring proper boundaries. I felt the embarrassment, not that little girl who decided I needed a brisk lesson in certain parts of the anatomy. And embarrassment is a close relative to a repugnant enemy of human self-worth, creativity and spontaneity: shame. A four-year-old child thinks nothing of wandering about naked, unabashed, unashamed, unless she suddenly gets her bottom spanked and sharply told to dress. The body is then perceived as something dirty, and self-exploration and acts of masturbation are seen as disgusting and shameful. We all know these memories haunt the adult at a subconscious and unconscious level, determining various behaviour outcomes, including the vicarious, a shuddery sense of discomfort, and … what I felt when I “rejoiced” with young teenagers the fact that we are sexual people, boys and girls, whether we like it or not. And “clean” jokes that acknowledge who we unavoidably are, are OK.
I don’t need to bore the reader with the psychoanalysis of personal growth. Personal growth and personality theories and the development of the ego are almost a kind of “street talk” nowadays; well, at least surely to (mature) readers of the Mail & Guardian and Thought Leader.
The fact of the matter is that teenagers, and kids even younger, are profoundly aware of their burgeoning sexuality and being attracted to other youngsters. You cannot just sweep that under the carpet. I remember us all, from the age of twelve to fourteen, staring on many occasions at our virile sports coach’s Speedo at swimming lessons, especially at the hidden mound of figs that seemed to be crammed under the front of his scanty costume. Never mind female teachers’ delicious, taboo bottoms. But our preoccupations and experience of sexuality were all furtive, giggly, not brought out into the open and given clear, healthy boundaries.
My Chinese students — always only the boys — will ask me at times what a chipa is. Chipa is the slang word for a penis and my dictionaries prudently do not include the word (so I am not sure of the exact spelling), only the far more clinical word for penis, yinjing. The boys stare at me after asking the question, trying to hide the smirks, a challenging, almost feral look on their faces. There is an electric charge in the air. I immediately and matter-of-factly just point between my legs, fingers a prudent foot away from my crotch, and say “this is a chipa, and in English we call it a penis. Yes, penis. P-e-n-i-s.” I then simply carry on with the lesson or continue chatting with them during the break time … whatever it is we were doing. That “electric charge” almost immediately leaves the atmosphere and all is normal again after the initial few seconds of astonishment. The surprised look on the students’ faces — they were not expecting a forthright but respectful reply — is replaced by respect and a clear(er) set of boundaries, not to mention a healthy (perhaps healthier) regard for our common sexuality. Our sexual make-up, masculine or feminine, heterosexual or gay, is profoundly woven into every aspect of what we are and, as an educator, I refuse to just sweep it away.
So that slight discomfort I mentioned in that anecdote at the beginning of this blog is just a hangover of the shame I was taught to feel from an early age. You know how parrots and little children suddenly somehow come up with swear words in adult company and haven’t the faintest clue what the word means (well obviously not the parrots)? Hmmm … Think the adults … so that’s what young Daniel’s Mom and Dad say when we are not around. The parrot or the child picked up the words like shit and fuck because they were said by family members with a certain emotional intensity which the listening bird or child immediately internalised and remembered.
I had this experience with the word arse when I was surely no older than four or perhaps five. We little people were watching a movie at our crèche and someone fell off his horse. “On his arse!” I hollered, imitating my dad as best as I could. A teacher (or minder) stalked up to me and asked what I said. I sensed the danger. “What did you say?” she hissed again. “On his arse,” I said in a trembling voice and to this day I remember pointing to my chest, not having the faintest clue as to what an arse was. I received a stinging slap across the face and that was probably my first bitter taste of shame. The taste was pure poison. I happened to like the little girl sitting next to me and — though I could not express the words at the time — I know I felt enormous humiliation and belittlement as I sat trembling next to her, now completely uninterested in the movie. I rubbed my chest, wondering what could be wrong with that part of my body that I “needed” to be punished. Soon after I learned what arse meant and inevitably associated that part of the body with shame, that false meaning literally beaten into said backside often in my school career. Educators and educational systems have a lot to answer for.
In closing, and to risk stating the obvious: teachers should not and cannot just teach in the vacuum of their particular subject. There are morals, values, and showing respect for that powerful force that shapes us all: our sexuality. We need to be sensitive to the growing youngsters around us who are desperate for boundaries that allow them to flourish, and not be stifled by unexplained issues that result in confused emotions, guilt, a sense of feeling dirty, and that absolute swine, shame.
Nice piece, Rod.
Nudists and their children do not have these problems
)
However, they face the problem of being frowned upon when they confess their clothing optional preferences.
Interesting to see how your language teaching profession could get you into trouble in the wrong environment. Thinking of a sturdy, old fashioned, religious environment.
The one that slaps you in the face when you use -in their opinion- the wrong word.
I am beginning to like the Chinese. I can teach them Dutch! Any jobs for me??
Rod
It is not the history of private parts but the history of China you need to know.
Have you read the book “Wild Swans: Three Daughters of China” by Jung Chang?
I warn you that if you say yes – I will ask some trick questions.
Aunty Lyndall – I havent the faintest clue as to where you are coming from. But your opening sentence on what I should or shouldn’t know comes across as condescending, patronising and schoolmarmish. As usual. Nor do you engage with the topic presented.
No I haven’t read the book you mentioned. What the hell has it got to do with my blog? You seem to be idiotically implying I should only read and write about Chinese history. Ridiculous. And your schoolmarmish warning to me if I lie about reading the book is an insult. I am not a liar.
Have you read Wolf Totem by Jiang Rong? War Trash by Ha Jin? Can you read Chinese? I can read some. I come across as sneering and bombastic dont I? That’s because I am imitating you and am not naturally like that.;) Shoo, fly.
C’mon Lyndall, ask the question anyway.
Rod, I liked this blog a lot. This is one of those topics that we need to discuss more – if only because it’s evident that too many discussions with kids are premised on either a lack of personal knowledge, embarrassment or (to conceal one or both of the previous) ‘format’.
The format of prescribed material is often quite cold and blank, more of a lecture on things that are slightly beyond the comprehension of the age group it’s aimed at and which I (cynically) of course frequently think is designed so that we can say we’ve ‘educated’ the kids but subtly discourage real discussions.
Of course I’m willing to be proven wrong on this one; the last time I had contact with the life orientation syllabus was having a discussion with teachers about whether 11 year old kids were learning anything concrete, useful and non-fear-inducing from devising ‘a finger puppet show where a teenager has to go and explain to her parents that she has contracted HIV’.
Luckily, in my experience the kids squeeze a tiny bit of both humour and information they can use out of these nevertheless.
It’s depressing that as adults most of us can’t talk to kids (certainly not other people’s children) without a measure of discomfort. Hell, I’m very open and even I got this twinge of hmm when reading your blog. We have a long way to go.
Rod
The book “White Swans” is about what happened in China from before the Second World War and Communism to the deposition of the Gang of 4.
The author writes from first hand experience, and the story is harrowing.
From previous writing of yours, and this post, I get the impression that the Chinese are pulling your leg.
I recommend you read it for your own sake – to help your writing.
But if you prefer to skim the surface and play the buffoon – it is no skin off my nose, but don’t expect your writing to sell.
Hi Benzol – always great to hear from you. I know you were probably joking about jobs teaching Dutch but….I could actually get you into touch with a Chinese American bloke who specialises in religious studies and is particularly interested in translating Dutch texts of the bible into English for his research. He holds a doctorate in theology and is an independent scholar.
Shoo, fly.
“The author writes from first hand experience”
Of her grandmother’s life before she was born?
Kit
It is the life of her grandmother, her mother and herself. They all lived together. Author and mother are still alive, and grandmother only died towards the end of the story.
Kit
Yhe author was born in 1952, the mother in 1931, and the grandmother in 1909.
In 1976 the author won a scholarship to study in England and has lived there ever since.
As you can see from the dates – most of “communism” was in the author’s own living memory.
The book discussed above reminds me of the autobiography / memoir Ten Thousand Miles without a Shadow by the Chinese BBC film producer Sun Shuyun. She grew up during the Maoiit extremes, won a bursary to study in the UK and came back as a seasoned adult to explore her family history, the “then and now” of China and to follow the footsteps of Xuanzang (different ways to spell), the fabled Chinese Buddhist monk who wished to find and translate the ancient original Buddhist texts in Tibet and India. The fabled Monkey King.
The style of writing is a sort of triptych effect, some paragraphs weaving personal day to day experience with sometimes tortured memories of her upbringing and her family, especially her grandma. This is further woven into reflections on following the footsteps of Xuanzang. The literary device used made for slow reading but the last page and her final reflecrtions on her granny who had passed away long ago, had me in tears. Living in China now for nearly five years enriched the reading experience as it has with other history books.
Just a pity it is off the topic of this blog, modelling healthy sexuality for our youngsters when required. We are deeply sexual (not sex per se) whether we like it or not and I relate profoundly to children as a man. I cannot emulate my wife who also teaches, to whom the girls especially relate to in a way very different to me. continued…
On the topic of sexuality, Kit made a great contribution but then “we” went off track. Pity. Perhaps some people are incapable of discussing the topic under consideration and as per usual, dreamily and almost senilely, I now suspect, get the strong end of the wick!
@Rod: I could actually get you into touch with a Chinese American bloke who specialises in religious studies and is particularly interested in translating Dutch
contact me on: benzo_70@yahoo.co.uk
Certainly interested and maybe competent enough.
Keep well and happy Christmas to you and family
The book is called Ten Thousand Miles without a CLOUD, actually. I keep saying Shadow!
Merry Christmas to you all