Memories for Free Ninety Nine

When I walked through the entrance and surveyed the restaurant, a cozy but standing-room-only little joint in the middle of the student barrio, the only thing I remember thinking was "I'm coming for you, kung pao chicken." This was at about six o'clock on Saturday night at a happening place stuffed with a bunch of hungry college students; nothing unusual. The class monitor and another student were my escort, and while I knew they took me there to celebrate my birthday, they kept me in the dark about other specifics, so I assumed it'd be just the three of us. After all, it was a holiday weekend and I was aware that most students were going to try to make it home to be with family. So, focused only on the damage I planned to do to an order of kung pao chicken, I stayed close behind those two as they bobbed and weaved through the crowd, up a flight of stairs, and past several private parties tucked away in private rooms, thinking along the way that they were being rather managerial about scouting out a table. Finally, they halted in front of the last door. I thought at this point we'd about-face and try elsewhere for a table. They knocked though, as to announce our arrival and then pushed me into the dimly-lit room, where twenty six of their classmates crowded around a birthday cake and began crooning "Happy Birthday." It took me a moment to register what was going on because I was utterly shocked, but once I came to I felt like a bona fide dignitary, the biggest kahuna on the planet.

After the song and the blowing out of candles, I was led to the honorary seat facing the door, given one of those paper crowns to sport for the evening, and one by one each person toasted to my happiness and health. I KO'd lots of kung pao chicken, I had a cake that was gussied up with peaches and grapes, and I got to hang out for an evening with some of the sweetest people I've ever met. The only lamentable moment of the night came when several students implored me to stand up and sing them a song, and although I really gave a few Neil Diamond tracks some serious consideration, I declined. (I once sang a cappella with some American friends at a Christmas party in Spain, and I vowed afterwards never to do it again.) Anyway, when Christmas rolls around this year, maybe I'll find my friend Dolly Parton's Christmas album and she and I can duet some tunes for the class. I'll start storing up the courage.

I intended this post to be about my students' kindness instead of my surprise at the party. I've been thinking about this whole experience a lot recently and wondering what I did to deserve this--them--and there's no good answer. The good karma is pouring in for who knows what reason, and I know I better reciprocate and spread it around. Maybe I should rewatch that overdone disaster of a movie Kevin Spacey and Helen Hunt made when they were relevant, Pay It Forward, for some inspiration. Then again, movies like that make me lose faith in such ideas. Only thing left to say I guess: despite the fact that twenty seven is no real feat or milestone as far as birthdays go, this was one to write home about. I'll never forget it.

I've Got a Name

A picture of the sophmore geniuses who came up with my new Chinese name, Mooncake Xià Mù.

Call me Mooncake Xià Mù (月饼 夏木). Some time ago--nevermind how long--I grew tired of saying "Kevin" in Chinese (Kǎi wén) when introducing myself, so I decided to let my students give me a new Chinese name. After some debate, the students (in the above picture) decided upon Xià Mù. When pronounced, the name sounds strikingly similar to "Shamu" the well-known orca, but translated it means "summer forest." Xià Mù is a peach of a name, I think, and I totally dig it because I can remember it and pronounce it with little difficulty. Admittedly, when they call me Xià Mù I like to picture myself as a killer whale, not a summer forest.

More about my students: I have eight classes and about 350 students in all. I picked up two oral English classes of nursing students at the Medical College, sixty girls in each class, and boy are these two classes fun to teach. The first week we recited a short essay from the assigned textbook that was titled "Romance and Reality," but next week will be the real treat when we tackle "Will You Go Out with Me?" and "My Daughter Smokes." I quite literally believe all of my students are the kindest and best students in the world. They seem to hang on my every word, they laugh at even the lamest of my jokes, and they really get a laugh out of gifting me mooncakes and watching me devour them. I have no doubt it's unhealthy to scarf down the amount of mooncakes I've eaten the past week, but I daren't refuse a homemade cake, ever. This is the reason why one of my students added "mooncake" to my name. Thus, my official Chinese name became Mooncake Xià Mù. There's some serious irony to this lilting name, and I love it.

I'm very endeared by the effort my students and their families have made to scoop me in and feed me. One student invited me to celebrate the Mid-Autumn Festival this Thursday with her husband and their parents. This is a big deal because it's a day for families to be together, and their parents don't speak English. I hope not to shame myself by flinging food everywhere with my chopsticks as I frequently do. (To be fair, how is a fella' supposed to hoist up a steamed potsticker the size of a baseball and eat it without making a mess?) I also shot pool with this same couple yesterday--poorly shot pool, that is. He's an adroit player, a regular hustler and shark. She, however, is very pregnant, and although it was a labor for her to manuever around the contours of the table and bend at the waist to shoot, she got the better of me, too. This won't happen again.

Anyway, being invited into someone's home is unheard of in China; best friends don't invite one another over because the home is the most private of places, I've learned. Another student informed me that her folks, who are both professors at the Medical College, would like to have me over to their apartment for dinner later this month. Yet another invited me to attend an agricultural / farming celebration later this autumn with her family. An entire class of students wants to throw me a party on my upcoming birthday. I feel very honored, and soon I'll be the sated, bloated, and contented Mooncake Xià Mù.


One of three writing classes, junior English majors. Picture taken by an anonymous woman who wanted to sit in on class, so I put her to work as classroom photographer.