Incidents of the Day
Today two sets of parents have brought their college-aged kids to my home to ask me the million-dollar golden question of “How do you learn English”.
One is a boy just out of high school and going to college this September. Once the door shut his dad and my dad out of earshot and sight, he jumped onto my beloved one-man sofa like he’s jumped onto it for a millionth time already and started chatting about all the funny pranks his classmates and he pulled on the principal and teachers of his high school. I probably enjoyed them a little bit too much because although we go to the same high school, several years’ gap apparently could produce a new evil generation of students that could raise hell like no one. Compared to them my generation were like permissive slaves to the all powerful whip-wielding teachers/masters. All their graffitiing teacher’s names and rude words onto school walls and crashing the PE teacher’s crotch into the door frame in the made-up game of “airplane” are to me perhaps some healthy release for all the bitterness pent up and strategically stacked away all the three years.
Obviously we didn’t talk much about learning English, and that boy isn’t really smart in many aspects, but he means what he says and has a vision for things he’s really interested in, like raising fish. What struck me most is his sheer optimism out of nothing: a third-rate obscure university is in his words nonetheless “the impending golden gate to a bright future”. That combined with all their funny pranks in and out of class struck me as something the resembles a life that I would have wanted and loved to live during my school years but were too scared of trailing off the golden path of a good student (and perhaps a decent professional career) to even try for one day, until the point that I am physically and mentally incapable of that kind of life anymore. But somehow through his chatting and laughing it was kindled again, but this time it seems all that remains in me is some melancholy sighs at the life that could have been, too wild a dream to ever live but only fondly entertain.
The other one who comes to me is a parent - the girl, whom I’ve known since I was little, is too shy to come. I talk to her about exactly what she asked and gradually become a little complacent in my own minuscule authority over the matter. After a while I see myself turning into one of those people that I hate - ego profiting from the so-called “IQ gap”, like the less stupid leading the stupid. And then my complacency is put off, to my delight and relieve. I’m never going to become one of those pumped-up “savants” blinded by their lesser ignorance over the many’s general ignorance. I’m going to be Socrates that knows nothing much all the way.
