My Son Graduated Kindergarten

My son is eleven, and he’s in sixth grade.  Without any hint of shame and a thumbs up, he proudly posed for a picture with his Chinese kindergarten textbook.

Since last June, we worked for twenty minutes a day, four days a week – after eight months, we finally completed Level K MeiZhou Chinese.

For as long as I have these American-born kids, I have been lectured over and over by strangers – cashiers at the Chinese supermarket, ladies at Fay Da Bakery, and even a Caucasian mom that I met at a kiddie birthday party.  They all asked, “Your children don’t speak Chinese?!  And you say you are fluent?  You should teach them!”  Meanwhile, my Cantonese father-in-law is ever the more subtle.  Every time we see him, he gives me brand new Chinese textbooks, published by the Taiwanese.

I got the message loud and clear.  The big question was, how do I get my kids to want to learn one of the most difficult languages in the world? A language that has no tense,  four tones, and that uses characters that are not exactly hieroglyphic.

“Kids, do you know that one out of four people in the world can speak Chinese?  It would really help if you can speak it, too.”

(You think that would convince them.  It didn’t.)

I thought I knew enough Chinese to get them through a few grades.  Having three kids meant paying three times the amount for any formal classes.  So would I use what I know to save money? You bet, even if that means taking eight months to finish one grade!

We had some challenges initially.  My older daughter refused to learn.  I can’t tell you how many tears, my tears, were shed to get through the very first few lessons.  I could have given up, and I almost did.  But the thought of having one child not taking advantage of my free class was eating me up.  I prayed warfare prayers for her to come around.  She did come around, so surprisingly and wonderfully.  Nowadays, she would ask me how to say this or that in Chinese.  She would even speak to me with the little Chinese she knows.  Her favorite phrase? “不要” (pronounced “Bu Yao,” meaning “I don’t want to.”)

I don’t want to get it into anyone’s head that we have arrived.  My kids still don’t speak Chinese, and please don’t walk up to them expecting to chat up a storm in Mandarin.  If they are ever stranded in China, they could probably ask where the bathroom is.  If they eat something that doesn’t agree with their stomach, they could probably tell you that their stomach hurts.  And maybe they will even ask you for some juice and cookies (Emily will probably ask for ten cookies since that’s the highest number she can count to).

Today we started on 1^st grade Chinese. We celebrated with ice cream.  They will now learn to write Chinese characters.  Victoria pouted, but she willingly sat through our first lesson.  Emily said she will take care of her own textbook and classwork from now on.  Jeremy felt confident he’d do well.  He is the best student in my small Chinese class of three after all.  “Mom, I will be in college when you get to 10^th grade Chinese.  I guess you will just have to do it without me.”

Oh, if the Lord wills, I hope to teach them my native tongue until they leave the house.  For twenty minutes a day and four days a week, I shall pour into their lives.  Why?  Because we have so much fun together, because we often laugh until we fall on the floor, and because we simply, simply love to be with one another.