Grateful for 17 Years

Their kindness, I can never forget

I don’t have a legendary backstory, only an ordinary 17 years of life. Like everyone else, I live a life that keeps moving forward. Now I’m trying to give thanks for my seventeen years.

—A note

Seventeen years ago I was born, and from then on I started growing up, from a kid who could only bawl his eyes out into the quick-witted teenager I am now. On that long road, I don’t know how many times I fell before I became who I am today; I don’t know how much my parents gave to make me who I am today; I don’t know how many times each of my teachers scolded and taught me before I gained more good sense. What I do know is that it took countless falls, endless giving, and countless rounds of scolding and teaching to bring me to where I am today.

My parents: my mom holding my hand, my dad watching over me

A mother can’t be described by the word “great” alone; mostly you can only feel it with your heart. My earliest memories are all about my mother. She’s an essential character in so many of my childhood stories. The days when I was just learning to babble have gone blurry in my memory, but in my “Baby’s Growing-Up Diary” my mom once wrote: “Jiajia gets upset easily, but he’s very cute.” Reading that, I can’t help thinking that as a little kid I must have given Mom so, so much trouble.

When I first started remembering things, the year I was two, I went to Beijing with my parents and we lived there for half a year. Apart from spilling a big bottle of Coke on the train because I loved making mischief, and getting scolded by my parents for it, Beijing roast duck, and running all over the Beijing Zoo looking for a bathroom, I have pitifully few memories, and that’s it. When I was little, my mother raised me with endless patience and care, never complaining. I think every mother does this; it’s instinct that makes them do it. Yet I was always making trouble for Mom, leaving her to quietly clean up my messes. All I can say here is: “Thank you, Mother!”

In elementary school, I remember that public service ad “Mom, let me wash your feet” was everywhere, and our teachers kept telling us to learn to be grateful, so I copied what the kid in the ad did. Ha, it seems so childish now. I figured my mom would give that same gratified smile as the mom on TV. That day I filled a big basin with hot water, and since it was too heavy to carry, I dragged it all the way over to her, said “Mom, let me wash your feet,” pulled off her shoes and socks, and started washing her feet. Mom watched me with a big smile, but why couldn’t I feel like I was being grateful? That feeling was missing, and I couldn’t help feeling let down. I asked myself: what does it really mean to be grateful?

Elementary school was a time I’m proud of. I had a real talent for drawing, entered quite a few art competitions, and did very well in them. Every time I brought home a certificate or medal from a drawing contest, Mom would grin from ear to ear. Only then did I realize that repaying Mom with actions and with results is the best gift, the best way to say thank you! Mom’s smile let me taste the sweetness of gratitude.

My elementary school years went by fast. I grew up in happiness, and I grew up with scoldings and spankings. Here I have to talk about my father.

My father was a soldier, with a strong build and thick, solid hands. As a kid, whenever I did something wrong, I never escaped a scolding and a spanking from him. The one I remember most was in fourth grade. That year, so I could show off toys in front of the other kids, I secretly took 200 yuan from home. Where did I get the nerve? I was usually such a timid kid, and just for that bit of vanity I did something like that. I bought a whole lot of toys, and then my father found out. I said a classmate had bought them for me as a gift, so my father went and asked my classmate, and naturally the lie was exposed one day. I remember my father coming up to me that day and asking, “Where did all this stuff really come from?” “A classmate gave it to me.” I knew the lie would be exposed, but I stubbornly kept lying. “Smack!” My father slapped me across the face, and the tears started falling right away. “Waaah…” “No lying. I hate liars more than anything. If you do something, own up to it.” “He did give them to me.” But I still kept stubbornly making excuses. My father found a wooden ruler and whipped me with it. It hurt so much I started sobbing. “Still lying? I already went to the school and asked. You bought all of this yourself, didn’t you? Where did you get that much money? I told you not to lie and you keep on lying.” I had no choice but to confess. My father stopped hitting me and started having a proper talk with me. With tears running down my face, I felt deeply ashamed and listened carefully to every word he said. After that, I never “took” money from home again. I broke my bad habit of sneaking around, and I never again did something wrong just to show off. It’s been 7 years since that lesson from my father. My father taught me how to be a decent person, what’s right and what’s wrong, how to get along with friends. He taught me so, so much. Thinking about it, the gratitude wells up and I can’t help crying. What have I done to repay my father? Nothing! How have I shown my gratitude? I haven’t! My father has always treated me like a friend. He raised me without a single complaint. He quietly supports me and teaches me. He doesn’t have a mother’s tenderness, but he has a father’s strength. A father’s love is like a mountain! It moves me deeply.

My parents have always given me room to grow freely. Here I want to say: “Mom, Dad, thank you. I’ll never be able to repay all you’ve done for me in my whole life!” If I could, I’d give two hundred percent, so I’m working really hard now!

My elementary school homeroom teacher: she watched me all the way into middle school

My elementary school homeroom teacher, I can’t remember what she looked like anymore; her face only drifts vaguely before my eyes. Recently I flipped through my elementary school photos and found a picture of the two of us together. We’ve only seen each other a handful of times since. Now she’s gone to teach in another city and we’ve lost touch. Maybe in a few years we’ll meet again!

I remember it was the end of the last century when I started elementary school. As soon as I walked into the classroom I met my homeroom teacher. She was young, kind and full of energy. Our very first lesson in elementary school was “Love Our Motherland,” and curious as I was about school, I couldn’t wait for my future to begin.

One afternoon in second grade, my mom came to the school. All I knew was that my grades weren’t very good back then and my homework was always sloppy, so the teacher decided to call my parent in. Because I was being told off, I cried my heart out.

“He’s been very careless with his schoolwork lately. Look at his recent tests, each one worse than the last.”

I was bawling.

“Mm, lately he’s been playing with the kids in our compound until really late. I tell him off and he won’t listen, he just throws a fit,” my mom said.

“Oh, is that so?” The teacher looked me in the face and said, “You can’t keep doing this. Look at your grades. Aren’t you embarrassed? The other kids all have such good grades, and yours…”

I kept crying. All I know is that from then on I didn’t goof off as much, and my grades shot straight up. My homeroom teacher kept pushing me the whole way, and only when I got into a really good middle school did she finally stop worrying.

Six years of quiet guidance, six years of selfless giving, six years of asking nothing in return… After elementary school graduation, my classmates and I talked it over, pooled some money, and bought her a big cake that we brought over on Teachers’ Day. We all got together to celebrate with her, and that’s the day the photo was taken. The next year she moved away. For the Teachers’ Days in the years after that, I could only wish her well silently in my heart: “Ms. Wang, happy Teachers’ Day!” It’s been four years since I’ve said that to her in person, and I really regret it. My very first mentor, and now all I can thank her with is a wish, and I don’t even get the chance to do that. I choke up quietly.

“Ms. Wang, thank you! Thank you for six years of teaching me! Thank you! This is the only way I can show my gratitude, but it carries everything I feel.” These are words I never said when she was by my side, and now I can’t say them to her. Now I know: gratitude can’t wait. Don’t let a single minute or second slip away and leave you with regrets.

The one I call my life mentor: Mr. Lu, the man who pointed the way

He’s my teacher, my computer teacher. Meeting him was by chance, but it also seems it was bound to happen. Meeting Mr. Lu is the honor of my life.

Meeting him was pure chance. I was in eighth grade then, and because of a computer magazine I happened to buy at a newsstand, I got hooked on computers and kept digging into them on my own at home. But that digging had no direction; I was lost. Then my mom said to me: “I found you a place to learn about computers. Go. It’s better than fumbling around by yourself at home.”

So the next day I went there, and when I looked, wasn’t that Mr. Lu, who had taught me English before? I met him because I loved computers, and that was bound to happen, because he loves computers too, ha.

“What do you want to learn about computers?” he asked me with a smile.

“Programming!” My answer was quick and sure.

“Mm, programming is the foundation of computing. Let me teach you C, then!” And so he started teaching me…

Back then I was in middle school and knew nothing about programming. I learned it half-understanding, in a fog. Mr. Lu taught me the syntax of programming languages, typing out each example program on the computer, and then had me rewrite it again from memory. And so, following Mr. Lu’s lead, I grew bit by bit. Gradually he had me write some small games on my own, and I got completely absorbed in the world of computers and came to understand the magic of programming.

I didn’t like English, and since he’d taught me English long before, he knew me well. In middle school, every time I had an English test I went in grumbling. I resented it, I hated it, I was sick of teachers spouting grammar all class and boring recitations of the textbook. Mr. Lu knew exactly what I was thinking. One day he sat down next to me. “Come on, you’ve been writing code for so long, let’s read a little story and take a break.” I nodded. Then I sat down next to his computer, and he translated an English story for me in a really lively way. I can’t remember what the story was anymore, but I was completely captivated by the English he described, and from then on I got interested. From that point, the me who used to sleep through English class started taking notes, and the me who used to copy other people’s English homework started doing the exercises myself, translating them one by one. I had a goal back then: to be able to read lots and lots of English stories, and to read computer books in the original English. A lot of translated computer books are unsatisfying and leave you scratching your head, which is why I got that idea. Back then I didn’t even know the basic subject-verb-object pattern, and sometimes I’d put two bare verbs in a row in one sentence. Looking back now, I was ridiculous, but that’s just how it was. As an eighth grader, my English was worse than a sixth grader’s. I was an English idiot. I started from the most basic vocabulary, memorizing words from the middle school vocabulary list every day. Mr. Lu didn’t believe in rote memorization, though. He usually slipped in explanations and memorization of words while we translated English stories together, and that’s what I liked best. It was this way of teaching that got me interested in English. With my own willpower, I finally memorized all the words before the high school entrance exam. Mr. Lu has a blog, and it’s well known. I became a regular there, checking online every so often to see if he’d posted anything new. Now I’m subscribed to his blog and I’m a loyal reader. Sometimes I nitpick and offer suggestions.

In eighth grade I ran into problems I’d never faced before, and everything felt lost: lost in my feelings, lost in my studies, lost in how to deal with people, and so much more. I couldn’t find my way forward. Sometimes I really wanted to give up on everything I’d worked for and sink along with the classmates around me who’d already given up. But right then I met Mr. Lu, which was chance, and I met computers, which was meant to be. After that, with Mr. Lu’s guidance, I found a bright path. Through Mr. Lu I learned about Kai-Fu Lee, Steve Jobs, Shing-Tung Yau and others, people I’d never heard of or cared about before, and so I had farther, bigger goals. Because Mr. Lu’s kid had applied to an American university all on their own, without an agency, he encouraged me to go to college abroad too. It was something I’d never thought about, never dared to think about. Back then I knew nothing about studying abroad, but I was full of confidence. Later, on the high school entrance exam, my English score made a huge leap, from a paper where I used to get a dozen or so points to over a hundred (out of one hundred fifty). My heart overflowed with gratitude, and I said to Mr. Lu, “Thank you!”

With him it’s like being friends. We really click. It’s what you’d call a friendship across generations, ha. We’d dig into problems together and think through the details of programs together, and have a great time doing it, like a big kid and a little kid hanging out. That’s why learning English didn’t feel so tiring. Now that I’m in high school, because of schoolwork I rarely go to study with him, and I can only teach myself English and programming.

“Mr. Lu, thank you! When I look back on middle school, I see that I didn’t make a single wrong choice. From losing my drive and feeling lost, to getting hooked on computers, to meeting you and coming to love English, it all seems like a script that was already written, waiting for me to act it out. I’m just being wise after the fact; I’ve only put all this together now. Mr. Lu, you’re a great teacher I met on my way to growing up. Thank you again!”

Thanks to Taisha: for bringing back my dream of studying abroad!

After a year of high school, the me who had sharp edges in middle school got worn smooth. I lost my spark and could barely breathe under the heavy coursework. My middle school dream of studying abroad got buried in the back-and-forth between the bus stop and school, dull and helpless.

Lost once again. It was the second time I’d felt this way since middle school. It was like I couldn’t see the goal in the distance anymore. The goals I set for myself got shattered by failure again and again, and finally vanished in my parents’ sighs. The summer after tenth grade I worked at my mom’s shop, which let me feel the pressures of society even more, and the lost feeling grew even deeper! I was walking through a fog, every so often running into a utility pole I couldn’t see, leaving me battered and bleeding.

That’s when I realized I really had to find the sun ahead of me. If I kept going like this, I might wander into the sea and be swallowed by the noise. Time to wake up! … The summer of ‘09 dragged on forever. That day I was wandering aimlessly online and accidentally clicked a link: “Taisha Forum.” Ha, I laughed. “Taisha, ‘Too Dumb’? What kind of name is that? Let me take a look…” Out of curiosity I started browsing the threads, and found out it was a forum for discussing study-abroad applications and exams. The forum was huge and covered everything, so I added it to my IE favorites and registered an account.

So I went to the forum every day, because deep down I was still thinking about my dream of studying abroad. Seeing other people’s TOEFL scores made my eyes go red like a rabbit’s. Seeing other people get perfect SAT scores made me itch with envy. Seeing other people get offers from top American schools, I could only look on and wish. Then one day, after browsing the forum, I got my spirit back and wrote down my dream. I looked up at the sky, and I knew the future had saved a piece of sky for me to paint. “Is Mr. Lu’s guidance going to end with me, right here? Is my dream just going to die?” “No!” I rekindled my dream of studying abroad, and it was all because of Taisha. Because of Taisha, I had the will to keep chasing this dream again. It relit the lamp in my heart that had gone out. May it be the guiding light for me from now on!

After that summer I started preparing for the TOEFL, and I talked with my parents about studying abroad. They were very supportive. Before, I didn’t have the courage to bring this up with them, because they thought it was better to go to college in China. Taisha gave me that courage. Thank you! Even though I’ve only known Taisha for a few months, it’s been changing everything about me and pushing me forward. “Thank you, Taisha. I met you at the most important moment! When I was lost, you showed me the way! Thank you for providing this place to share. You let me start my dream over again. Thank you!”

A curtain call that isn’t the end

Without a legendary backstory, all I can do is work step by step to get everything I want, and finish my dream drop of sweat by drop of sweat. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for giving me this small life and a body of my own; thank you, teachers, for giving me my own mind and letting me swim in the ocean of books; thank you, Taisha, for helping me find the dream I once had! Maybe someday down the road, when I look back on the past, I won’t regret my choices. I believe: “Your mission in life is to fulfill your very first dream!” The road ahead is long, like a play with no ending. I’ll always be standing on the stage, giving it my best performance, and the curtain will never fall.

Thank you all for your kindness, including the people I haven’t mentioned who have helped me. Thank you! Everything you’ve done for me over the past 17 years I’ll keep in my heart. All those little things have gathered in me and become an ocean. On some nights, looking up at the stars, I’ll find myself in tears, because your kindness, drop by drop, moves me again and again. I can’t thank each of you in words, but I’ll bless you in my heart. May heaven watch over you, and may gratitude keep being passed on.

My pen name: Jianfeng Yiyu

January 19, 2010