"What story would you like to hear today?" I asked Harly.
Harly was in my bed, tucked snuggly in a warm and soft Peter Rabbit quilt, with only his brown hair and rosy cheeks showing. His round eyes blinking, trying hard to think of a story he would like to hear.
After lunch was the most peaceful time of the day. Harly always had to have a story of his choice before his nap. Once a week, we visited the local library and came home with an armful of children's books that had lots of colorful pictures. However, these books never lasted long enough. Lately, we started to make our own stories. As if we were the seeds of the dandelion, we rode with the silky wings of the imagination and drifted all over the place to wherever the whimsical wind happened to take us. Harly loved these ad hoc stories, for he not only could select the story, cast characters, but also jump in whenever he wanted to weave the story along with me. If the story was not going the way he wished, he could call a timeout, roll back history and let the story start all over again.
"A fairy mother’s story.” After this declaration, he started to wiggle in the big bed to make himself completely comfortable, as if he was getting ready for winter hibernation.
"Fairy Mother's story? Umm...well..."
It was only a couple of days ago that Harly watched Mary Poppins on T.V. Mary Poppins was a fairy-like nanny in England, who always carried an umbrella with her, and she would sing and dance with children to the great delight of these kids. Harly must have been deeply impressed with Mary Poppins and secretly wished that he could have a Fairy Mother just like her.
Searching through my head, I tried to think of something which could be fodder for the story---there was something, deep in my memory, about a Fairy Mother.
"Once upon a time, long long ago, there was a fairy family. They lived above the sky on top of the clouds. There were daddy, mommy and seven beautiful daughters...."
"Could they fly?"
"Of course they could fly. How else could they live above the sky and on top of the clouds?"
"Did they have wings?"
I took a peek into the story, "No, they didn't have wings."
"How could they fly if they didn't have wings? Do they have umbrellas?"
"They were Chinese fairies. Chinese fairies did not have wings or umbrellas. They had robes instead. When they flew in the sky, their robes flowed around them like the colorful clouds you see during the sunset."
"Wow!" Harly was pleased with this explanation as if he could now see all the robes flowing in the sky.
"The fairies above the sky lived forever without ever getting sick or becoming old. Every single day was just as perfect as the other. The seven sisters sometimes got bored with this never changing life and wanted to come down the earth to see how people live. One day, they came down to visit the world again.
"They roamed here and there without a care in their hearts. When it was time for them to go, they happened to pass through a deep and thick forest on their way. In the middle of the forest was a pool of clear and cool water, surrounded by big trees with lush branches. Right there and then, they couldn’t wait anymore; they took their clothes off and jumped into the water. One fairy splashed the water on the other, another tickled her sister on her back; laughing, chasing and running, these sisters had a great time.”
Harly laughed out aloud. His stretched his arms out of the quilt and tickled himself. I caressed his soft brown hair --- a black-haired little girl appeared instead, who was lying there to hear her mother telling stories.
Mother was always sick. Mother was always coughing as if she was going to cough her lungs out. Mother was so pale and had little strength left for storytelling. The black-haired girl remembered only one story, a story of seven fairy sisters....
"I love to play in the water too, ha, ha." Harly seemed to be playing with these sisters right there in the pool.
"They had such a good time playing that they did not notice the wood- cutter, who just returned from wood cutting, was there watching them. The wood-cutter was moved by their beauty and thought to himself, 'How nice it would be if I could keep one of them for my wife?!' He then stole one robe left by the sisters and carefully hid it in a hole in a big pine tree.
"When the seven sisters came on shore to put their robes back on, the youngest fairy cried out, 'Where did my robe go?’
"All seven sisters were worried and looked everywhere for the youngest sister’s robe. The forest had become dark and it was past the time for them to go home. Finally, the six sisters had to go, leaving the youngest fairy alone by herself.
"The wood-cutter came out of hiding, and said to the youngest fairy, 'You can’t go home without your robe. Please stay with me and be my wife.'
"The youngest fairy did not know what to do so she became the wife of the wood-cutter. They lived in a small wood cabin in the deep forest. Later they had a child...."
"Is it a girl or boy?" Harly interrupted.
The same black-haired skinny girl appeared in the story. "It is a girl."
"What color is her hair?"
"Her hair was as black as the deepest and darkest night."
Seeming disappointed, Harly wiggled under the comforter all over again.
"She was a very nice girl. Fairy Mother loved her very much. "
Mother was lying in bed, looking intensely at the girl with sad eyes. She knew she would not be able to see the girl grow up. She also knew that without her, this girl might not grow up after all. Her eyes became moist as she yearned to hold the little girl tight in her arms. Afraid that she might pass the germs, she sighed, and waved reluctantly for the little girl to go away....
"Every night, after the darkness fell and all was quiet, the sisters called: 'Come back, come back, dear sister. Parents miss you. We want to play with you.'
"Nobody but Fairy Mother could hear the calls. The wood-cutter and the little girl heard only the howling wind and sighs of the forest.
"The little girl could not understand why her mother was always so sad, crying with tears in her eyes every night. When the little girl was older....
"How old was the little girl now?" Harly asked.
"The little girl was now five years old.”
Harly wiggled his right hand out of the comforter. He showed five fingers excitedly, "I am five too."
"When the little girl was five, she went to her father and asked why Mother was always so sad. Wood-cutter Father said, 'Your mommy is a fairy. I hid her robe so she couldn’t fly back to her family. She misses her family and that's why she is so sad.' Wood-cutter Father took the little girl to that huge pine tree by the lake and pointed to a hole in the tree. Father said, ‘That’s where the robe is hidden. But you mustn’t tell your mother. If she leaves us, what shall we do?'
"The fairy sisters saw all this from above. That night they called their sister, ‘Dear sister, your robe was hidden in a hole in that huge pine tree by the lake. Get the robe and you can come home to us.'
"The next day, after the wood-cutter left for work, Fairy Mother took the little girl to the pine tree by the lake and took the robe out of the hole. All of a sudden, the whole forest was filled with shimmering lights with the colors of a rainbow. The little girl was scared for she was afraid that her mother might leave her. She said, 'Mother, don't go. I can’t let you leave.’ Fairy Mother said, 'Let us go together. You are my dear daughter. I will take you to the fairyland with me. You will be a fairy too, living happily ever after.'
"The little girl said, 'But, Father....how could Father live without us?' As she was saying this, she lit a match and before Fairy Mother could stop her, she set the robe on fire.
"The entire forest shot up in brilliant flames, whose colors were even more beautiful than the clouds during the most glorious sunset. The wood-cutter noticed these mysterious flames and came running over.
"The wood-cutter saw that the little girl had burned the robe to ashes and felt sorry that his wife would now never be able to go back to her fairyland in the sky. The three of them hugged each other by the flames and cried."
“That little girl shouldn’t play with matches.” Harly said indignantly.
“That night, the sisters called again, ‘Dear sister, your robe is now gone. How would you come home? Would you ever come home to us?’
“Fairy Mother cried, ‘Dear sisters, please forget me. I will never be able to come Home.’
“The oldest sister all of a sudden thought of a plan. She said, ‘We sisters are the most celebrated weavers of the universe. From now on, we will collect the softest and tenderest material in the world, and we will weave a cloud ladder to connect the sky to the earth. Five years from now, on the eve of the seventh of July, the Festival of Lovers, we will finish this ladder. We will let our sister climb up the ladder to come home.’
“The sisters worked day and night without stop. They searched from everywhere in the universe and collected wandering clouds, drifting smoke, the reflection of the moon in the water, the first star light that appeared in the evening sky, the last ray of the setting sun, dreams of young men and women, sighs of lovers, the yearning of the mother for her wayward child, innocent smiles of children and regrets of the old. An inch and a foot at a time they wove these, without any pause they busily wove these into a cloud ladder that had to be a million, a billion miles long.
“The little girl slowly grew up in the meantime. She learned to help Mother with the housework; she also leaned to help Father collect wood in the forest. What she liked most was collecting wild flowers and playing with squirrels and deer in the forest. Fairy Mother knew the time was drawing near for her to leave, and she wanted the little girl to learn a bit more so that she could take care of herself. The little girl did not like her mother to nag her, always ordering her to do this and that.
“Mother said to the little girl, ‘I’ll have to leave you sooner or later, my daughter. I will try to come back to see you often after I’m gone. You will not see my face and you will not hear my voice. However, I will be by your side. In the glorious colors of the sunrise and sunset, among the mist of the mountains and the shadow of the clouds, you may find my reflections. When Aspens quiver and rustle in the evening breeze, when geese cry plaintively as they form a line and soar across the autumn sky, my daughter, remember, that will be the echo of my voice.”
“The little girl thought since her mother’s robe was already burned up, her mother would never be able to leave. She was only eager to go out to play and never heeded her mother’s words.
“Five years thus passed, and on that special night of the Festival of Lovers, when the celestial cowboy and celestial weaver girl cross the Milky Way to be united once a year, the Wood-Cutter Father and the little girl were both fast asleep. Fairy Mother examined their faces again and again, as she wanted to etch their images into her heart…
“A most brilliant cloud ladder dropped from the sky into the cabin. Six sisters came down the ladder to hug their youngest sister who had been separated from them for so long. Fairy Mother lingered and was reluctantly to go. Every time she took a step up the ladder, she would look back at her daughter. Her tears streamed down her cheeks and became the torrential rain of the earth. Her heart was so heavy that the cloud ladder could hardly hold her. The ladder started to shake; rocking violently, it broke into hundreds and thousands of pieces. If her sisters did not come forth in time to hold her and carry her to the sky, Fairy Mother would surely have fallen down the ladder.
“When the little girl woke up next morning, she could no longer find her mother. She cried and cried, she called again and again, ‘Mother, come back! Come back! Come back!’ Her calls filled the forest and reverberated in the valley. ‘Come back! Come back! Come back!’ ”
The skinny girl with black hair cried and cried, big tears rolling down her cheeks. Next to me was a little brown-haired boy, tears were also rolling down his face. Caught in a time warp of some thirty years, I could not comprehend who this boy was, and how the black-haired girl had turned into this brown-haired boy?
The little boy reached out to shake me loose from my memory, “Mommy, why did you have to tell such a sad story? What would the little girl do without her mother? I told you to tell me a story of Fairy Mother, not a story of Fairy Mother going away.”
“Oh, honey, it’s my fault. Don’t cry. Good boy, please don’t cry.” The tears did not belong to such rosy cheeks; I kissed them away one by one. “Let us start all over again. Where were we? Oh, yeah, so Fairy Mother became the wife of the wood-cutter. They lived a peaceful life in the wood cabin in the deep forest. Later, sometime later, they had a child --- a boy, a very nice and sweet boy.”
Harly raised his face and said excitedly, “Boy? A boy? What color was his hair?”
I looked at his innocent eyes and smiled, “Um, let me see --- he had two round brown eyes, a little button nose, a sweet mouth, and a head of brown hair.”
“Wow!! Brown hair! Just like mine. Ha ha.” Harly laughed heartily, patting his own hair.
“Oh, yeah, this little boy had thick brown hair, for Fairy Mother’s hair was as black as the deepest night, and Wood-cutter Father’s hair was ash blond like the winter wheat.”
Harly was now totally content. He re-arranged himself comfortably in his quilt, waiting wholeheartedly for the story to start again.
“The three of them lived happily in the forest, except that Fairly Mother still missed her family in the sky above clouds. One day, when the little boy was five, Fairy Mother found her robe in the hole in the pine tree by the pond. The boy pleaded, ‘Mother, Mother, don’t go away.”
“Fairy Mother said, ‘Let me take you with me to the fairyland. You will live forever among the fairies. We will always be together, and I will never leave you.’
“The little boy said, ‘But what about Father? How could Father live without us?’
“Fairy Mother started to cry. She lit up a match and burned her robe to ashes.”
“Fairy Mother burned her own robe?” Harly starred at me incredulously.
“Yes, Fairly Mother burned up her own robe. The wood-cutter came running over, and saw that his wife had just burnt up her cloth for his sake; now she would never be able to fly back to her fairyland. He embraced his wife and son, and started to cry himself. He knew all too well that deep in his beloved wife’s heart, there was a river that had no ferry to cross, a wound that no balm could heal.
“The sisters high above saw all these. That night they again called their sisters, ‘Sister, come back to us. We miss you. Why did you burn your fairy robe? Is it because you don’t love us anymore? Is it because you don’t want to come back to us?”
“The eldest sister said, ‘You are the seventh fairy. You belong to the fairyland. You have to come back. We will build a cloud ladder for you. We will collect the softest material in the world, and weave it with our tenderest love for you. Five years from now, on the eve of the Festival of Lovers, we will take you up the sky.”
“Thus, five years passed and the little boy slowly grew up into a big boy. On this eve when the celestial cowboy and the celestial weaver girl meet once a year, the Wood-cutter Father and the little boy were both fast asleep. The wood cabin in the forest all of a sudden was lit up with colorful lights, and a cloud ladder dropped from the sky. All six sisters came down the ladder and hugged their youngest sister. After such a long separation, the six fairy sister stayed just as beautiful as ever while their youngest sister who lived on the earth had turned into a wrinkled and work-worn middle-aged woman. Her forehead was etched with signs of a harsh life, her hands calloused after much daily toil, and her heart heavy with love and sorrow, hope and despair. Sisters cried out, ‘Oh, sister, you have suffered. Come back to us so you can live the carefree life once again. You will never grow old and will never know sorrow again.’
“Fairy Mother said, ‘These sorrows and joys of the earth, the pain in loving and the disappointment in hoping have all become a part of me. If you take these away, what is left of me? The carefree fairyland is no longer mine.’
“Fairy sisters looked at each other in astonishment. Never having known sorrows themselves, they knew not what their sister was talking about. They circled their sister and hurriedly pushed her up, ‘Let’s get on the ladder right away. Once you are back, everything will be fine. Everything will be back to how it was in the old time.’
“As Fairy Mother stepped up she turned back to look at her sleeping husband and son. Her sorrow was too heavy to be held by the cloud ladder made of the softest things; it broke into thousand pieces and rained down onto the earth as star dust. The sisters rushed over to carry their youngest sister but without any success. They did not know their youngest sister would be this heavy, nor did they realize that the love of the earth was heavier than what a thousand fairy robes could lift up. They cried out and had to leave their youngest sister behind on earth. They finally realized that their sister was now a person of the earth and would never fly at will.
“Fairy Mother, Wood-cutter Father and the little boy lived happily ever after.”
Harly sighed, releasing the breath he held tight. He smiled, showing his approval of the happy ending. He finally closed his eyes.
“Mommy, you are not going to leave Daddy and me, are you?” He suddenly asked, startling me as I was about to quietly sneak out of the bedroom.
“Silly boy, where would Mommy leave you and Daddy to go to?”
“Didn’t you come from the far, far away China?”
Instantly, I heard the callings of mountains and rivers far away….
A pain was tearing at my heart. Holding back tears, I smiled and said, “My love, Mommy will never, never leave you and Daddy. You are my family. Together we make our home. My heaven is where I am with you.”
“Reaching his arms out and hugging me, Harly gave me a big kiss on my check. His hands slowly relaxed, and he fell asleep with his hands still on my neck.
I remained there motionlessly for not daring to awaken him from his dreams, except I couldn’t help but kiss his brown hair that was as thick as the forest.
Five Other Articles:
Oh, Zaki
It was Hal’s turn to put our son Harley to bed tonight. In the living room of our temporary home in Lahore, Pakistan, I relished the leisure time and opened a month-old Time magazine that just arrived. Waves of laughter seeped through from the bedroom and interrupted my reading, now broken by their small talk of endearment.
“Dad, you look so nice. I like your big nose. It looks much better than my small, button nose.”
Gee, talk about noses, I could hardly imagine my own five year old being so advanced in brown nosing.
Hal laughed out loud, “Don’t worry, your mom and I both are adorned with humongous noses; you won’t be able to avoid this fate no matter how you try.”
Since my nose was made the center of their amusement, I had to act quickly to prevent other body parts of mine being dragged in. I put away the magazine and leaped into the bedroom.
Harley turned to look at me with a serious expression on his face, “Really, mom, where did you find such a good dad?”
“It was not easy at all. I looked everywhere---in the east, in the west, up and down the road for a long time---before I finally found him. When I saw him, I said to myself, aha, ‘tis the person I was looking for. So I tried every trick under the sun to catch him.”
“Wow, you were indeed tricky. All this time, I thought I was the one who had caught you,” Hal said with a chuckle.
Harley cuddled up in my arms as if he was still a baby. He said, “Mom, I miss Sister….”
Phyl had just left Pakistan to study in England as an exchange student. In the evening when streets of Lahore became quiet, with the call to prayers drifting on the air and the cooking smoke spiraling up in the darkening sky, I was particularly aware of the void she left in our gathering.
Harley raised his head and asked suddenly, “Phyl has Dad, and she also has Jimmy Daddy. Is her Jimmy Daddy my Jimmy Daddy too?”
What innocent and trusting eyes they were that looked up at me! Could a child at this tender age understand that not everybody in this world was as fortunate as he? How should I guide him so that he could face with courage the unpredictability of life as he grew up, and accept with grace and compassion the disappointment that life inevitably brings?
“Of course not.” I caressed his brown curly hair and said, “Mom and Jimmy Daddy were married once and had Phyl. Therefore, Jimmy Daddy is Phyl’s Daddy. Mom married Jimmy Daddy because Mom was young and foolish at the time. Mom was very unhappy in that marriage and ended up divorcing Jimmy Daddy. However, Jimmy Daddy has been a good Daddy to Phyl and loved her dearly. After the divorce, Phyl lived with Mom. She visited her Jimmy Daddy often.”
The brown eyes looked puzzled but not enough to block the unconditional faith that shone unwaveringly through. I somehow saw another pair of trusting eyes staring at me from my past….
“Grandma said that you were a bad Mommy. I told her no, my mommy was a good Mommy. Grandma said that if your mommy was a good Mommy, she would come home to live with Daddy. Those who broke the family apart could not be good Mommies….” Phyl, five year old at the time, was sobbing and could hardly talk. After a while, she said, “Mommy, why don’t you go back to Daddy?”
I hugged Phyl just as I hugged Harley now, trying to hold back my own tears I said, “It’s my fault that you can’t live with Daddy and Mommy together. But I simply can’t live with your Daddy. You see, I work and I go to school nowadays, so poor and so stressed, and yet I’m happy. Do you remember when I was with Daddy how I cried? I felt as if I was dying. I could not be a good Mommy to you when I felt like that.”
Phyl held me tight with tears streaming down her checks, “You’re a good Mommy. You don’t have to go back to Daddy. I’ll be okay if I get to see Daddy and Grandma sometimes. I don’t want you to feel like you’re dying. I don’t want you ever to cry from morning to night….”
Her sensibility was mature beyond her years and pained me so. I wished that her life could be simple and easy, and that she could be just as naïve as other five year olds.
“Why did Grandma say you’re a bad Mommy?” she asked.
“Grandma is of a different generation where people believe that divorced women are all bad. She really should not force her ideas on you. From now on as long as you think I am a good Mommy that is good enough for me. Let Grandma say whatever she wants to say.”
I dried the tears on her face and said to her, “Someday, maybe Mommy will meet a kind man. Perhaps he can love both you and me whole heartedly. Phyl, we’ll have a happy new family then. But, if we can’t find such a man, you and I will live by ourselves just fine.”
I now turned to my five year old boy with brown, curly hair and said, “Phyl is actually a lucky girl with two Daddies, getting double dosages of love.”
“How about me, then? I only have one Dad.”
“You are a lucky boy also. Dad and I wanted a child, and after four years we finally had you. You were wanted and planned, the child of our dreams!” I poked his button nose chidingly.
“It’s a good thing that we finally had you, or where would you be now?” Hal chided him too.
“Hee—Hee---I would still be in Mom’s belly crying, ‘Get me out! Get me out!’” Harley touched my belly jokingly and said, “Mom, tell me the story of how you found Daddy, okay?”
Harley loved the stories I told, those that formed at the tip of one’s tongue without thought, those that could come from anything and anywhere in the world, and those that poured from my heart and followed their own path forward.
Then I started my story for the night….
I searched up and down throughout the world, walked a long way from East to West, and finally found your Dad in Northern Michigan where I landed my first job. Phyl and I drove an old beat-up Dodge Dart, with our total possessions in the world piled up on its top. Starting from the Southwest desert, we drove across the desolate Panhandle of Texas, along the corn fields of the great American plains, following the highways of Kansas and Illinois, stopped along the way and loitered whenever we could. At last, we saw the shimmering big sea waters of the Great Lakes. We had finally reached our destination, Sault Ste. Marie. I had met your Dad during a previous interview. Now he was taking a vacation somewhere down south, and he allowed us to stay at his small house until the university was ready with the apartment assigned to us.
Hal interrupted, “My bachelor pad---the small house in the midst of trees, brushes, and trails. The bedroom was upstairs, part of the attic. Looking down from there, you could see nothing but trees, thick and lush like a forest. You could hear nothing but the wind whistling through the tree tops. It’s my tree house. After you moved out, I found one single long hair in the bed. I gazed at it for the longest time, and in my fantasies, wove your entire body into this single strand of black hair------”
I gave him a stern stare and interrupted him by continuing with my story:
What really brought Dad and Mom together was your sister Phyl, and what Phyl first fell in love with was not your Dad, but a dog named Zaki.
“Oh, Zaki! Zaki!” Harley cried out excitedly. His legs kicked wildly in the air.
The minute we came into this tree house we saw the note left by Dad. It listed all the items that we had to pay attention to, such as food left in the fridge, washer and dryer instructions, mail and newspaper to be picked up, etc. One of the items was the detailed description of the care of Zaki whose resume was also attached:
Zaki--- the name means Lion in Tivland, Nigeria, a country in West African--- is a mixed German shepherd. Female, tubes have been tied. No puppies. Age around eight. Caution: extremely unfriendly. Hates all who wear uniforms--- obviously anti-establishment. Also enjoys bullying transients and hippies who wear raggedy clothes and have stringy hair---obviously vain and materialistic. Her favorite hobby is to sneak up to an unsuspecting pedestrian, and to bark suddenly and viciously. She clearly enjoys the sight of people being scared skinny by her. Some people claim that they even caught her smiling triumphantly at those occasions--- hint of sadistic personality. Actually, she is a paper tiger; she has never hurt anybody--knock on wood, thank heavens. She distrusts strangers--- a true believer of the old saying that friendship is like wine, improves with time.
In the backyard, we came face to face with this vicious, huge, and obviously unfriendly beast. She saw us immediately. Sharp canine teeth glistening in the sun and throat roaring with a deep growl, she showed her unmistaken displeasure toward us strangers who invaded her territory. At this juncture, I really couldn’t care if she was a paper tiger or not; her record of no casualties did not assure me either---there could always be a first anytime. I stopped walking and stood still with trepidation---at least I was this way. From the corner of my eyes, I saw Phyl, who never had a dog before in her life, walk straight toward Zaki. Before I had enough time to stop her---boom! the irresistible love at first sight had already sprang. Phyl called Zaki tenderly and petted her soft brown hair, as if this beast bigger than her was only a puppy dog. Zaki instantly collapsed onto the ground, melted into a puddle of joy, and wagged her tail in total bliss. There were whimpers of sighs and cries of ecstasy, and I couldn’t tell if they came from Zaki or Phyl.
“It really was unbelievable. Zaki accepted you two just like that. It had never happened before.” Hal interrupted again.
That same afternoon, we took Zaki along when we went shopping and did errands. By then, Phyl and Zaki were inseparable. We had a picnic in the Rotary Park which was surrounded by St. Mary’s River on all four sides, connected to the land only by a foot-bridge. Having lived in the Southwest desert all these years, Phyl and I had never seen this much water. Crystal clear water was shinning everywhere as far as eyes could see, rushing from the edge of the sky to the end of the horizon. Along the river shore, shinning and colorful pebbles polished smoothly by the water waited for us to pick them up. Small fish swimming in the river were clearly visible and invited us to join them. We were so happy that we felt we must be dreaming. We wanted to jump into the water at once, but we did not have our swimming suits. Zaki was the only one who actually got into the water. She swam back and forth around us while we were running on the shore cheering her on; her head raised high, her legs paddled hard, and her nose held above the water.
“Just like the buffalo here in Pakistan,” Harley said. He struck his button nose into the air, pretending he was a big buffalo in the water.
We loved to watch Zaki swimming happily in the water. But when he came ashore we quickly ran away.
“Do you know why?” I asked Harley.
Harley laughed and got out of his cover. Pretending to be a dog, he shook the imaginary water from his body intending to splash us all over.
When Hal came back from his vacation, we had already moved into the university apartment---a long row of two-storied bleak stone houses that served as the barrack for soldiers who guarded this northern frontier in the olden days. Now, some university staff lived there. The houses sat at the end of the campus across from an elementary school, and had the look of a dormitory as there were no individual yard and gardens. I was busy to get ourselves settled into our new home before the fall semester started, but Phyl could talk about nothing but Zaki. She insisted on visiting Zaki and I finally gave in; we went to see Zaki at Dad’s tree house.
Hal stared at me holding back his smile. He shook his head as if he did not believe me.
Zaki and Phyl were very happy to see each other once again. Zaki stood up and put her front legs on Phyl, licking Phyl’s hands and face. Since she was such a huge dog, she overpowered Phyl and pushed her to the ground, who was now giggling and begging Zaki to let her go.
A few days later when we were at our new apartment having supper, we heard a dog barking outside. “Zaki! Zaki!” Phyl called and ran quickly to open the door. Surely enough, standing there was Zaki. Now, Zaki did not look like her old beautiful self at all. Tired and dirty, brown fur splashed with mud, she looked just like a stray dog. Petting her and scolding her gently, Phyl asked, “How come you are this dirty? How did you get here? This is not your home; don’t you know, Zaki?”
I called Hal on the phone and was told that since we saw Zaki in his tree house the last time, Zaki had gone AWOL—disappeared from sight. She probably followed our car until she could no longer catch up with us and thus got lost. In the last few days, she must have wandered hither and thither in the streets of the town. How she eventually found us here without ever been in this house before---it remained a big mystery.
Hal drove over right away to pick up Zaki. From that evening on, Zaki showed up in front of our apartment daily. When I was at work and Phyl went to school, Zaki would wait outside the door for the whole day until we came home. Every night, poor Hal had to rush over to pick up Zaki no matter how tired he was.
Hal started to laugh again.
In this way, Zaki adopted our apartment as her own home. The protection of our apartment, of course, came with the territory and she took her job extremely serious. One after the other, the postman, newspaper delivery boy and the gas and electric meter readers complained to us that there was this huge and vicious dog in front of the apartment that prevented them from doing their jobs. Soon, the tone of the complaints intensified. Eventually, the postman did not want to delivery letters to us any more, the newspaper came only once in a while, and the electricity company threatened to cut the power off. The neighbors all turned against us and their faces showed signs of displeasure when they saw us, for Zaki scared their children to death. Rumors were flying in the neighborhood that some children were having nightmares and could not sleep at night. Zaki’s reputation was spreading ahead of her and no children dared to cross from this particular corner of the campus to go to the elementary school.
“Oh, Zaki!” Harley sighed.
I explained to everyone that Zaki was really not my dog. Nobody believed me. I had to tell Hal, “Zaki is really your dog, your responsibility. Why can’t you keep Zaki in your own house?”
Poor Hal tried his hardest to keep Zaki in his backyard. Zaki had never been cooped up before, as she was used to roam freely in the open field around Hal’s tree house. Once in a while, when she had been left alone in the fenced backyard, she would stay there patiently. Now, when Hal locked her up in the backyard, she would jump out immediately. Hal tried to lock her in the garage instead. After two days, Zaki was able to chew a big hole through the wooden garage door and escaped to Phyl and my place. Hal tried a different strategy, using a thick rope to tie Zaki to a tree. It only lasted a day, and Zaki was able to chew through the rope and got free. Hal replaced the rope with a metal chain and Zaki pulled the chain attachment loose-----.
“Oh, Zaki! Oh, Zaki!” Harley exclaimed in total awe.
Finally, our mail delivery stopped, electricity was cut off, neighbors no longer talked to me, and the police station sent me an ultimatum that if we could not control Zaki, they would have to catch her and put her away. Phyl was not fazed by all this turmoil brewing around us; however, just to mention that policemen wanted to catch Zaki brought big tears to Phyl’s face.
Hal was also at the end of his rope. Reluctantly he said at this time, “Zaki and Phyl are inseparable. You and I are also inseparable. How about making our two families into one? If all of us stay at my tree house then Zaki would not need to get away.”
In the middle of my romantic narration of his marriage proposal, Hal ruined everything by laughing uproariously.
Mom then said to Dad that this was not enough reason for Mom to marry him. Mom asked him, “Do you love Phyl as if she was your own daughter?”
Dad responded that “More---more than I love my own daughter, my own flesh and blood---if that is possible.”
Dad wanted to formally and legally adopt Phyl, to make Phyl his real daughter. Phyl also wanted to be Dad’s daughter very much; however, Jimmy Daddy did not agree. Phyl cried for several days after she received Jimmy Daddy’s letter; I had never seen her so upset. She felt Jimmy Daddy did not understand her feelings, and did not realize that becoming Dad’s legal daughter would not diminish her love toward Jimmy Daddy in any way. How could Jimmy Daddy not to care for her well being and not to allow one more person to love her? Was it not true that real love always spread and multiplied among people?
Dad consoled her, “It doesn’t matter. Nothing will ever change my love toward you. Since I can’t adopt you, can you adopt me instead?”
Hal’s blue eyes all of a sudden turned misty.
Phyl said then, “What do I have to do to adopt you?”
Hal replied, “If you want to adopt me, you don’t need any legal paper, and you don’t need any person’s signature. All it needs is your love that is big enough to accept me.”
Phyl said, “Okay, I adopt you as my Dad, and I also adopt Zaki as my dog.”
Hal’s body moved absent mindedly as if he was lost in a bygone time when that eight year old Oriental girl first stole his heart. I touched his ash blond hair, now slowly turning gray, and said to the boy with the brown hair in front of me, “Dear son, this is the story of how I found your Dad, and how we three plus a dog, ever got together in one family---“
“What happened to Zaki?” Harley insisted.
“Zaki spent three happy years with us. We took him with us every where, camping, hiking, swimming and boating in Lake Superior. As I just said, she loved water and was always a great swimmer. She became very old at the end and was almost totally blind. However, she still guarded our house with a vengeance and would not allow strangers to come close. Toward the end, she bit a child---probably mistaking the child for some animal since she could not see very well and also lost her sense of smell---and we had to take her to the vet to put her to sleep.”
“Oh, I know. That’s when you decided to have me so that we can still be a family of four. Right?”
We all cracked-up and filled this temporary home of ours with laughter. However, I found myself listening and searching for Phyl’s laughter which was noticeably missing. I could sense that Hal also missed her, perhaps even more, for their father-daughter bond was stronger than our mother-daughter bond from the very beginning. Dear daughter, what were you doing at this moment? Our family would never be the same now that you have left.
Hal kissed Harley goodnight, tucked him tight in the bed, and whispered to him, “This story still has one unsolved puzzle---how could Zaki find Mom and Phyl’s apartment without ever being there? How could Zaki pull the metal chain hasp apart without any assistance? Who was behind all this? There is one major mystery in this story.”
Poor Harley, he was trying hard to think but his eyes could hardly stay open. I stared at Hal, wondering what trick he was pulling now.
Hal was obviously pleased with this unsuspected twist. He said triumphantly, “You can tell tall tales, why can’t I? Tomorrow night will be my turn.”
Another Lookat Determinism vs. Freewill: A Social sychologicalPerspective
Y. S. Cha presented a thought provoking article Determinism or Freewill in the January issue of the ELM. Cha’s article was written from religious, philosophical, and physical perspectives, and offered a synthesis that was rooted in Chinese philosophy. He presented the deterministic view, contrasted it against the freewill view, and concluded that we may have some freewill after all to affect certain differences in the world through our achievement, but we need to realize our smallness and unimportance in this vast universe.
This topic happens to be one of my research interests during my college teaching years. My monogram entitled An Interactive Social Determinism addressed the same question, using an interactive model from the social psychological perspective. Psychologists treat determinism and freewill as learned cognitive structures which differ from the definitions used by Mr. Cha in his article, but there are still many similar concepts. This article is a response to Mr. Cha’s call for dialogue and discussion, and hopefully, will generate more interests among our readers.
Social psychologists emphasize the importance of our ability to think as the basis of our behavior. Determinism and freewill are concepts that relate to each individual’s subjective cognitive set, which can be looked upon as a person’s learned belief system, a personal and subject sense of the degree of control one has on one’s environment. This subject cognitive set directs the individual to attend to selected environmental clues that fall in line with one’s belief system, to interpret why and how events happen according to this belief system, and to act on the environment following this belief system. Our belief systems are learned, as we are not born into this world with existing beliefs, although nature obviously endows us with the potential to learn and to form belief systems. While we learn from the environment, research studies in developmental psychology strongly suggest that we are not being passively shaped; rather, we interact actively with our environment in a reciprocal and inter-deterministic way.
Since the dawn of the civilization, philosophers have never stopped arguing whether we are actually controlled by our environment with our fates predetermined by some great forces or whether our own volition is the determining factor in our lives. Psychologists do not deal with the actual control (they don’t know what that is, since that is not measurable and quantifiable), but the personal and subjective belief of control. Obviously all of us are controlled by the environment, but in a sense our environment is also our own making. In this social psychological model, determinism and freewill are not the opposite poles of each other and are not necessarily so black and white; rather, they come in various shades of gray. To put it succinctly: freewill may be defined as a subjective belief; if we believe we can affect change in the environment then we are more likely to try. If we try we may or we may not create changes in our environment but we are more likely to continue trying. Similarly, determinism may be defined as a belief that things are controlled by forces outside of us, and if we believe we can’t make any difference then we will not try. If we stop trying, our world will be affected by other forces outside us which further reinforces a deterministic and fatalistic view of the world. This belief of control appears to be situational, as studies have found that one may have a higher sense of control in certain aspects of life but not in others. One’s sense of efficacy may also change as a person ages. This learned belief system is neutral in value, as a strong belief in ones’ efficacy may motivate some of us to do great things to benefit humanity, or it may motivate some others to act in a way that brings disasters to the world (just think what Hitler did.) Studies have also found that in different cultures peoples tend to a have different levels of efficacy, reflecting their social-cultural values and conditions.
To paraphrase it once again, we have the potential to affect some change and produce some influence on our environment, unless we do not believe we can. In such case, we will simply give up trying and passively accept whatever fate doles out, thus fulfilling the prophecy that we can’t do anything to change our lives. For example, is the school achievement of students determined by the teachers, unforeseeable circumstances, luck, intelligence, or by the students’ effort? The answer is that probably all these play a part in the picture. However, students will study hard only if they believe that studying hard will lead to better achievement; and if they do study hard, they usually do achieve better which further confirms their belief system. Students who believe that they are not responsible for their achievement will not bother to put in the effort, and their grades most likely will be dismal which leads to a vicious cycle between their environment, their belief system and their studying behaviors. This same analogy can apply to many other areas in life as well. For example, we may ask whether our health is controlled by environmental and genetic factors over which we have no control, or is it possible that we can facilitate our own health by adopting pro-health behaviors, such as proper diet, nutrition and exercise, no smoking, drinking and taking drugs. Again, although our health and aging are obviously controlled by many factors, there appears to be some room for our active participation. Persons who believe they can control their health to a certain degree are more likely to exercise pro-health behaviors, while those who don’t will not try, again creating a self fulfilling prophecy that one’s health is beyond one’s control.
There are important implications that can be drawn to many practical spheres of our lives. Health practitioners now recognize that the patients’ sense of control is a major factor contributing to their health maintenance and recovery. Contrary to past practices, medical personnel now encourage patients’ active involvement and participation in their own health care, by giving patients more room for control. In business, industry, and school administration, managers are learning ways to set up organizational structures in order to empower employees so that they believe they can affect the policy change in the organization. Teachers use various techniques to enhance students’ sense of efficacy in their own learning so that they will be motivated to try. Mental health professionals realize that in the extreme case of learned helplessness when people believe that they are powerless and helpless, and that there is absolutely nothing they can do to change their situation, this is the clinical condition of depression and despair.
In a sense, the essence of the human spirit lies in the fact that we have the potential to learn, to grow, to strive and to overcome under insurmountable odds and obstacles. An extreme deterministic view will have difficulty explaining why some people refuse to give up even after repeated failures under the most impossible and hopeless conditions, while others give up readily and easily. It also can’t explain why some people insist that there is nothing they can do to help themselves while the rest of us can see clearly all the privileges and opportunities available to them. Maybe what we humans are able to achieve is only limited by our imagination and our belief. Take a look at President Obama’s Audacity of Hope, you will get a sense of his strong can-do spirit. It is not merely a miracle that he, as an individual, has been able to bring about a tremendous change to our country. Hope, optimism and striving always warm our hearts, fire up our imaginations, and sustain the spirit in our life quests. I just received an email from my friend Jiu-Fong, in which there is a photo of a young Chinese girl who has no hands. This girl is writing and selling her beautiful calligraphy for 2 RMB apiece on the platform of a Guangzou subway station. Isn’t writing determined by having hands? Obviously either she does not know or she does not believe in that. Somewhere and somehow, a seed of self efficacy was planted in her and she will not stop writing even if that means she has to use a pen that is tied to her bare arm. Do you know what Chinese words she was writing in that photo? "天道酬勤"
Health via Learning, Loving and Laughing：
Dying with Cancer: Ten Lessons Learned
“Dying with cancer, not of cancer----” Dr. B paused as if to savor the shocking effect his words had on us, “-----that is the treatment goal.”
Glancing at the lab report in front of him which revealed a recent PSA (Protein Specific Antigen) index of 1.8, he smiled at Hal, “You are doing just fine. Keep it up and you may die with cancer someday. See you in six months.”
Our family battle against prostate cancer began almost ten years ago when an urgent call from our family physician back in New Mexico informed us of Hal’s elevated PSA and shattered our joy of coming to this paradise of San Diego. Our lives have forever been changed from that point on.
First lesson: When one member has cancer, the whole family is involved in the battle.
Finding a good physician is never an easy task, especially when you are new in a big city. Hal selected a young and pretty female Gerontologist at UCSD hospital; he claimed that only devoted physicians would enter this poorly paid medical specialty, but I suspected that the Oriental heritage of Dr. T had something to do with it, as Hal was always drawn to Asians. Dr. T “fingered” Hal’s prostate gingerly during the office visit and declared things were normal, and he was to return after one year.
A year later, Dr. T had vanished, as well as Hal’s file at UCSD hospital. Later development proved that Dr. T completely missed Hal’s prostate cancer.
Lesson two: Don’t let a young and timid female physician perform your prostate rectal-digital exam.
By this time, Hal had accompanied me to my internist Dr. B several times and was impressed enough to try Dr. B on himself. After Dr. B “fingered” him good and hard, an alarm was sounded----Hal’s prostate cancer was discovered.
Lesson three: A good internist is your best ally and your first defense against all ailments.
This brought us to the Urologist Dr. D and numerous diagnostic procedures such as biopsy and radio-active scan which confirmed a stage-two prostate cancer (Gleason score: 3+3=6) without metastases. Out of panic, we grabbed books on prostate cancer and searched for its treatments. We eventually followed Dr. D’s suggestion to go with the Oncologist Dr. W who then performed a series of hormonal and radiation therapies.
Even when medicine is as advanced as it is today, this field is still filled with uncertainties when it comes to treatment of certain diseases. For example, there is simply no best treatment for prostate cancer. Some physicians believe that prostate cancer patients over 70 should not be treated at all as the treatment itself often leaves many lingering negative effects. Since prostate cancer is a slowly growing disease (only 4% of the prostate patients will eventually die from the disease) and most elderly men will get it sooner or later (ages 65-70, 45%; ages 75-80, 76%; and above 85, 97%), the therapeutic goal is thus to control the cancer and hope the patient will die of some other diseases.
Lesson four: Knowledge is power. To fight the battle against any disease, you should know well your own body and your enemy, the disease. Do research; keep records of doctors’ visits, test results and medications taken.
Much of 2004 passed like a blur with dream-like scenes of hospitals and laboratories. The treatments went well and the cancer disappeared, but heart arrhythmia (atrial fibrillation) surfaced at the end of Hal’s radiation treatment. Early in 2005, he was hospitalized for the rapid pulse staying at 160 per minute. Dr. M, a cardiologist, came to the scene and prescribed Digitek and Sectral (a beta-blocker) which forced Hal’s heart to beat below 60 per minute. Hal became depressed, fatigued and acted like a zombie most of the time. In the meantime Hal went through a hernia repair. This was the fourth hernia operation he had and recent advances in surgery made the dreaded operation simply a breeze. He recovered quickly, and we were most grateful to our surgeon, Dr. T.
Lesson five: Modern medicine has made tremendous progress. In some area, the result is simply astonishing whereas in other areas more is still needed.
It was obvious by now that Hal’s health was deteriorating rapidly. The medicines not only didn’t work effectively, they were killing him. Out of desperation, we even tried acupuncture for his heart irregularity which actually helped. Dr. M’s reaction to our repeated appeals was to add even more dangerous drugs. On October 1, 2006, Hal had his first stroke. Fortunately it was a TIA (transient ischemic attack) which did not leave permanent damage. A week after he was out of the hospital, he went to see a different Cardiologist Dr. W, who took one look at the chart and exclaimed: “Wow! You are on Digitek!” Taking a high dosage of Digitek for two years probably had poisoned Hal.
Lesson six: Don’t have a blind faith in your doctors. They are only humans and are liable to biases and limitations. If the treatment is not working well, ask questions, do your research, and seek different opinions. Or, change to a different physician.
Dr. W right away replaced Digital with Coumadin, a blood thinner to prevent blood clots which can lead to strokes; a similar ingredient is used in rat poison to make rats bleed to death internally. Hal passed the critical period of three months without another stroke but did have bruises over his body, indicating internal bleeding. He also was depression and had severe headaches. When our regular internist saw this, he chided Hal, “Are you still on that rat poison?” He showed us the latest research indicating the dangers of Coumadin.
Hal then requested Dr. W to drop Coumadin completely and to reduce the daily dosage of sectral in his regimen. Dr. W reiterated the risk of stroke if patients were off Coumadin, but agreed that it did carry negative side-effects. When he realized that Hal had made up his mind, he finally relented and asked Hal to take one aspirin a day instead.
On January 4, 2008, Hal had another stroke, 15 months after the first one. He was under the emergency care right away and luckily escaped permanent damage again. We then realized that he would always be taking Coumadin and anti-arrhythmic medications for the rest of his life. All these anti-arrhythmic medicines carry strong negative effects, for instance, Sectral, Diltiazem, Toplol are all meta-blokers and can cause blood pressure to drop precipitously and make patients feel depressed and anxious. Hal finally settled with Flecainide Acetate, which made his heart beat deeper and the medicine itself was a little easier for him to tolerate.
Lesson seven: Many medicines carry strong side-effects. You should know the medicine you are taking, their benefits and drawbacks. Sometimes you should switch to different medicines while some other times you have to choose between two evils—go with the medicine that is less likely to do you in.
Around this time Hal’s PSA rose to 1.2 from 0.1 after radiation therapy. We learned that it was the speed and the ratio of increase rather than its absolute level that was crucial in the diagnosis of prostate cancer. The same urologist Dr. D again performed digital and biopsy tests and announced that Hal’s prostate cancer was now at the same second stage. He strongly urged Hal to take the cutting edge Cyberknife treatment as it was the most precise and effective radiation treatment to deal with cancer. By now, we have studied some newer and alternative approaches to cancer treatment through food and nutrition, and we began to have increased doubts of the traditional and radical approach of chemotherapy and radiation.
We told Dr. D in no uncertain terms that we preferred “watchful waiting” and would not want any more radiation or unnecessary tests. We reminded him that Hal had had two strokes and the risk of further stroke far exceeded that of the prostate cancer. He nevertheless ignored our wishes and went ahead to set up appointments for Hal’s Cyberknife consultation, and sent Hal’s specimen to an extremely expensive “only one in the nation laboratory” to “get another piece of the puzzle.” We have to write a formal protest letter to stop him.
Lesson eight: Some doctors seemed to be biased toward unnecessary procedures and are inclined to push patients toward drastic treatment. Is this the way they are trained nowadays in medical school? Is it possible that they harbor monetary motives in their practice? One thing appears to be certain: With so many specialties in Western medicine, the specialists tend to focus on their own specialty and ignore patients’ problems in other specialties.
Hal continued with once every 6 months test of PSA and took Flecainide for his heart irregularity. We have also followed natural treatment of cancer by using proper diet, almost daily exercise and good nutrition. It has been almost three years now and the recent round of physical examinations with full blood tests and three physicians all indicated that he had passed in flying colors. He has more energy, his mood is positive, he looks well and his health is the best in the past seven years. He now has a new lease on life.
So, Hal is probably out of the danger of dying of cancer, and are enjoying the relative luxury of dying with cancer. Dying with cancer means to live with cancer—what a strange and formidable bedfellow that is---nevertheless, the important fact is that we are still alive and kicking! Living with this bedfellow reminds us constantly of our mortality, whereas the alternative is nothing less than morbidity itself.
Lesson nine: In a sense, fighting against cancer is like pushing against a Sisyphus stone, a never ending uphill struggle to take good care of our health and to keep the cancer away.
And finally, I would like to conclude with:
Lesson ten: This Sisyphus stone will always be there in our lives and each day is a triumph as long as we can keep pushing at the stone.
Journey to a Remote Corner of China
We recently went to China as volunteers for Ran-Deng Program. The trip took us to a remote region in Guizhou, whose major population is ethnic minorities and where ordinary tourists seldom set foot.
Ran-Deng in Chinese means literally, to light the lantern. The Enlightening Education Program (www.2ep.org), as it is known in English, started unceremoniously in 1992 in the northeastern part of the States by a small group of Chinese with a mission to help the educational development in poverty stricken regions of China.
Currently, a number of charity organizations are working actively in China to fulfill the unmet educational needs, and many of them have produced impressive results. We selected Ran-Deng as the focal point of our charity work for a number of personal reasons. First of all, we identify with its mission in building schools and giving financial aid to students in poor rural areas where the government has either neglected or has not been able to reach. As it turns out, the attempt of Ran-Deng to build schools often arouses the attention of the authority, and the schools that are eventually built are almost always the joint result of community support, with land and labor, and government’s matching funds, often as much as ten times of the amount Ran-Deng put in. Thus Ran-Deng serves as a spark which may light up the lantern and become a catalyst to galvanize the hidden forces toward change. As we all know, China is becoming wealthy in recent years; however, this newly developed wealth is concentrated mainly in the costal region and along the Yangtze River basin while there are still pockets of extreme poverty in the northwest and southwest. Once the educational needs of a target area are deemed no longer critical, Ran-Deng moves on into new territories. In the last fifteen years, Ran-Deng has finished its work in Sichuan and Shanxi after 12 years, and is now completing its projects in Guizhou and Guangxi. Qinghai is the newest frontier for Ran-Deng and its abject poverty coupled with physical realities of high altitude and extreme temperatures will pose particular challenges as Ran-Deng forges ahead into this province next to Tibet.
We also appreciate Ran-Deng’s policy in that money is to be delivered directly to schools and students, never through intermediaries. All of us must have heard horror stories of how money donated by well-wishers disappeared in the hands of some unscrupulous officials, or shrank as it trickled down the system. In order to deliver money directly, volunteers are needed who will personally travel to these remote sites. There are no paid officers in Ran-Deng; the administrative work has also been performed by unpaid volunteers. In fact, volunteers have to pay all their own travel expenses out of their pockets, without incurring a burden to the local people and siphoning money from the intended schools and students. Volunteering is indeed the spirit of giving. Although we have donated money for building schools and sponsoring students, we always felt that we were not really doing our share unless we could also serve as volunteers.
At our advanced age and with my husband’s language limitation, we were probably more of a burden than help to the organization; however, Ran-Deng accepted us wholeheartedly as volunteers for the spring 2007 visitation tour. They considered our needs and assigned us to visit southeastern Guizhou, probably a less demanding route. Our teammates were four young men who have been veteran volunteers and they treated their elderly companions with great compassion. When schools could only be reached by long hikes through treacherous mountain trails, they trekked off by themselves and left us to visit nearby schools that were reachable by car. Sometimes, in order to get back before the darkness fell in these deep mountains, they jogged their way back.
The region we visited was scenic and serene, similar to that of Guilin, with rolling green mountains and slowly flowing streams. As it was spring, wild mustard, azaleas and silver locusts were blooming with yellow, white and pink flowers in the mountains and countryside. No matter how high we were in the mountains, we could always find long and thin strips of terraces where local people plant their crops, and weathered wooden buildings perched on hills which people call home. Most of the people who reside in these high mountains are Miao minority tribes who are subsistence farmers. Local officials told us that these people now have enough food from their land to feed themselves and starvation is past history. On the other hand, life is very hard and these people have little cash income. If a member of the family needs medical care, or if a child needs cash to attend school, the family will be in a crisis. The current education policy in China enforces mandatory education with two “exemptions” and one “assistance” for all students until the end of Junior High School, or the ninth grade. The two exempted items are tuition and book fees, and the assistance is for lodging. For those students whose homes are in remote corners without commutable schools, they have to live in the dormitory for their schooling; food expense becomes an extra burden to the family. These students often haul home-grown rice to schools which will then exempt them from the required rice tickets; however, dishes such as vegetables and meat still have to be bought. Most of the students we talked to simply skip these dishes all together, and eat rice only with the thin soup that the kitchen provides free of charge.
For those who are academically outstanding enough to pass the examination to enter high school, tuition and book fees along with lodging and food costs become a huge burden to their farming parents. At college level, the costs are so astronomically high in proportion to their meager family income that few students from this region dare to entertain this audacious dream. Ran-Deng’s student assistant program provides financial help mainly to high school and college students who have above average academic standing and with proven financial needs. This is called “mouth-to-mouth” assistance, since sponsors provide critical assistance to these students, and students send letters, photos and report cards twice a year to their sponsors, making a linkage between them possible.
In the southeastern region of Guizhou where we visited, Ran-Deng has built more than eighty schools and assisted close to one thousand students over the last five years. Officer Heng who was our local coordinator said that the need for schools has dwindled down but many desperately poor students still remain who can not attend school without assistance. He suggested to us to shift the emphasis from school building to rural clinic building and to provide assistance to a larger number of students in the future.
For six days our team traveled to remote sites to inspect six schools which ranged from simple 2-storied wooden and traditional structures, to impressive 2 to 3 story high modern buildings with concrete, tiles and bricks. Students lined the roads and welcomed us with colorful flags, officials gave enthusiastic speeches, and villagers came out in droves to give their thanks. We knew very well what we gave was only a small spark, and it was people’s effort and determination which made these schools a reality. As they thanked us, we realized that we really owed them much more. We enjoyed watching children who studied attentively by reading their texts aloud in their new classrooms. To them, schooling was a luxury and they treasured it as a precious gift. These rural children seemed to us to be very different from American children who tend to take their privileges for granted. The villagers we talked to impressed us by their sincere reverence for education. To these folks, education is the only avenue leading to a better future for their children, and they are willing to do anything they can to make this possible.
We met with over 300 students and gave them their monies. We also interviewed close to 100 students who applied for financial assistance. We had the chance to talk to students in small groups. This was the most rewarding and heart-felt part of our journey. These students became real individuals to us; with their earnest faces, trusting eyes, each had a unique story to tell. We were often in tears, touched by their stories of extreme hardship and impressed by their daunting courage. One common element stood out among all these stories was their desire to learn. Many of these students carried a dignity and maturity beyond their age which could only be achieved through overcoming adversities in life. These students did not indulge in self-pity rather they considered themselves lucky for having our assistance and for being the first from their village to attend high school or university. We were particularly moved by a group of graduating students of Kai-Li Normal High School, who told us they all intended to return to the mountains as teachers. Life might be harsh in the village, they said, but that was where they came from and that would be where they return to help others.
The life that is centered unto oneself is inevitably lonely and empty; those who reach out and give a helping hand to others will find happiness and contentment. Life is extended through a myriad of connections to others, and its meaning is thus realized.
We returned from a remote region of China with feelings of good will. Many new faces and new places became part of our enriched memories. Indeed we are the blessed ones who received far more than what we gave away. It was an unforgettable journey where a spark of light was ignited and new hope now grows. Many lanterns have been lit along the way, and one was inside us.
A Thumbnail Sketch of Chinese Women’s Role and Status
Ten thousand years ago when a group of Neolithic people first settled on the banks of Yellow and Yangtze Rivers, they were matrilineal/matriarchal and used stone stools. Another six thousand years later, these people started to use metal tools and became patrilineal/patriarchal. This custom of passing the family line through male heirs and the men being the dominate figures became the norm in Chinese culture from this point on. One thousand year passed, during which many small kingdoms came and went, and a diversity of thoughts and ideas flourished. Scholars and philosophers such as Confucius 孔子and Mencius 孟子dialogued and debated among themselves, similar to that of the ancient Greeks such as Aristotle and Socrates. The First Emperor of Qin秦始皇 (previously spelled as Chin) united China in 221 B.C. and enforced uniformity in thoughts and policies. His dynasty gave China her name.
Up to the Tang Dynasty 唐朝 (618—907 A.D.), women were portrayed as physically strong and independent of spirit. The only Empress of China, Wu Ze-Tian武則天, ruled Tang Dynasty forcefully 624—705 A.D, and had multiple lovers, although not without controversies. When the Song Dynasty 宋朝 (960 –1115 A.D.) came around, women’s fate changed drastically. Women’s chastity and honor were considered synonymous, and that women should die (of hunger or widowhood) rather than live with dishonor. Women had to abide by three obedience 三從 (to father, husband, and son) and four virtues 四德 (in appearance, character, speech and handicraft), while men could have three wives 三妻and four concubines四妾. There was a famous saying that a virtuous woman was the one without talent 女子無才便是德. Marriage became arranged and widows could not remarry even if the marriage was never consummated. Around the 11th century, foot binding 綁小腳became fashionable and women were effectively suppressed in Chinese society both physically and mentally.
The Republic of China was formed in 1922 which officially put an end to these feudal customs, although in reality they lingered on for quite some time. Communists took over China in 1949 and declared equity between genders. However, during the first forty years of the Communist regime, ideology was put ahead of economy and both men and women suffered great economic hardship as well as social and political upheavals. In 1992, China issued the law on Women’s Rights. The United Nations’ Fourth World Conference on Women (FWCW) was held in Beijing in 1995. The 1st Chinese Women’s Development Plan was implemented from 1995 to 2000. The second Program for the Development of Chinese women was implemented in 2001 and continued until 2010 to help women participate in all areas from economy, decision making, education, health, law and environment.
During the past twenty years China’s economy has been growing by leaps and bounds; along with improved educational and income opportunities, women’s political and social status has risen steadily. Since 1995, research studies began to emerge which indicated that women’s occupied 36% of the government, provincial, autonomous regions and municipalities positions, and 44% of the 514 mayor/vice mayor positions. Women also counted for approximately 1/3 of university graduates, technical worker, managers, researchers, university teaching/research, and other professions. Women were 46% of total employed workers, and 76% of them gave birth in the hospitals. One in every five entrepreneurs in China was a woman.
It is important to keep in mind that women’s status relates to, and in turn is affected by their educational opportunity and economic powers. Poverty is the biggest problem hampering women’s participation in politics and employment. Whether women can participate equally in business, society, and politics is dependent upon the availability of the law protecting them from early or forced marriage; domestic abuse and property ownership; the existence of social stereotype dictating their sole responsibility for child and domestic care; and the availability of health systems to ensure maternal and child health. Women in many parts of China, especially the poverty stricken rural and remote regions still suffer social-cultural biases, face many barriers in accessing economical and educational opportunities, and are often the victims of domestic violence, kidnapping and slavery-trade.
Indeed, there are wide differences in women’s status between rich and poor regions, rural and urban residences and among different ethnic groups, In the East Coast of China and along the Yangtze River valley, especially in their big booming cities, both men and women have enjoyed increasing opportunities for development. Most urban families today don’t have a stronger preference for boys over girls, and many would tell you that having girls was better than having boys because “With a girl, you will gain a son someday; while having a son, you are going to lose him to another woman.”
On the other hand, in pockets of extreme poverty in the Southwest and Northwest regions, women’s status has not improved much. Similarly, women who reside in the rural and remote regions have much lower status and more traditional role than their urban sisters. Ethnic difference is particularly wide and most fascinating. While Han people constitute 99.5% of Chinese population (estimated at 1.301 billion in 2005), there are 44 ethnic minorities in China. Most of these minorities have kept their unique cultures and traditions throughout centuries. A large number of Miao women in Gui-yang today still live like traditional Chinese women, while Uyghur women in Xing-jian carry on their daily living separated from the outside world dictated by their Muslim faith. Naxi minority people in Yunnan standout in that they are distinctively matrilineal and matriarchal even to this day. Naxi women head the family and raise children on their own without marriage and husbands. These women do all the work inside and outside of the house, including building houses, running businesses and cultivating the land. Indeed, Naxi region is often referred to as the “Women’s World or Queensland”. Naxi men seem quite content living in their mothers’ houses, doing nothing but playing music and chess, writing poetry, painting and writing (琴棋詩畫). Naxi women may enjoy a high status and hold the authority in their society, but I personally think these men are the ones who really have it made.
Social norms are changing in China. A survey (2000) of 19,512 women between 18-64 years old provided the percentage of those who agreed with the following statements:
“Men call the shots while women keep the house.” Urban 0% vs. Rural 50%.
“Women do well by marry well.” Rural 39% vs. Urban: 34%.
“A woman is not complete without a child.” Rural, Urban both 24%.
“Husband should undertake half of the housework.” Rural, Urban both 80%.
It would be most interesting to see how men, both rural and urban, react to these same questions. The difference between men and women might be greater than that of the urban and rural division.
In another survey (July 2007), 40,374 young Chinese women were asked what was most important to them. They rated “economic independence” the highest, followed in turns by “time and space for oneself”, “association with one’s own friends”, and finally, “a man to love.”
As further economic advances are made and social-cultural norms alter, we can expect more change to come in Chinese women’s role.
