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life essay: part 6
Our group was definitely a high-security proposition. Including our chaperones, there were 44 of us on the trip -- and then add to that the 26 bodyguards from the Central Government's intelligence bureau. Each one of these guards was assigned to guard two of us. In addition, a massive American police presence followed us everywhere we went. Nobody knew what might happen to mainland Chinese in the U.S.A., so patrol cars escorted us in cavalcades and hundreds of officers kept the public away from us. Some of the others might have found it nerve-wracking, but I thought it was great fun. I'd never been so close to policemen before.
I was growing up...and I was becoming mischievous. Lots of the other kids had been very naughty before they joined the wushu school, but gradually, the discipline had made them obedient. I was the opposite. I'd been a very meek little boy, but as I grew older, I was becoming more playful. Cheeky, even. In fact, after being away from home for almost a month, I was starting to feel bolder and bolder about satisfying my curiosity. For example, I was fascinated with the guns that the bodyguards carried. Despite the fact that the guards were officially discouraged from speaking to us, I kept asking the guys if I could look at their guns up close and maybe hold them. I especially remember that I was always trying to joke around with my own bodyguard. Because I was short for my age and only came up mid-torso, I'd gotten into the habit of holding on to his shirt as we walked. He would walk in front and I would tag along behind him. My height gave me excellent access to his belt, which is of course exactly where his holster was located. "Hey, cool!" I'd say as I reached out to touch his gun, and he'd tense up.
I believe I did this at least once every day.
Such nice memories!
During the etiquette training in China, we had been drilled on table settings. Each plate, we were told, would be flanked by an army of forks and spoons and knives and butter dishes. This knife was intended for spreading butter, that one was for something else altogether. Every utensil had its own specialized function, and I was convinced that if I misused any of them that my motherland would lose face and that my future would be over. And to be honest, we kids were having a bit of trouble coordinating the knives and forks. "Please let me not forget my table manners," I told myself over and over again.
But after a while, we noticed that our bodyguards -- who ate alongside us -- didn't always use their utensils properly. In fact, they would grab the chicken with their hands and chomp away. Instead of cutting up the meat carefully with their knives and forks, they would just tear into it with their mouths wide open... as we looked on dumbly.
What you must understand is that the system of etiquette that we'd been taught had come straight from Buckingham Palace. They were the kind of rules you observe if you're dining with the British royal family -- they were that formal.
- When seated at the table, keep your legs pressed together just so.
- You must never place your arms on the table; instead, keep your hands neatly folded in your lap.
- As the host brings out the food, do not move. Only after the host picks up his own knife and fork can you begin to do the same.
In short, we had come to America prepared to be impeccable.
Then we noticed that all the food was prepared in advance and sitting on long tables. What's more, you were expected to pick up a plate and to move along the table; whatever you wanted to eat, you took, and as much as you wanted. Then you walked back to your own table and set your plate down. And you could start eating right away.
Looking to the right, we heard the loud clatter and the hubbub of eating.
Looking to our left, we saw trays being slammed down and people sitting with their legs propped up.
All the rules were being violated -- and nobody cared!
We were experiencing the American style of eating at its most casual. Everywhere we looked, people were slurping up their food and misusing their spoons. I started to realize that everything we'd been taught did not necessarily apply in this society. At the age of 11, I was starting to think for myself -- or at least notice discrepancies.
Back in school, we'd been educated to think: "China is good. Everything in China is good." and "The Western countries are decadent societies. Everything about America is evil." When we actually found ourselves walking around in this Western country, however, we couldn't help but notice how different everything was from China -- and not necessarily in a bad way. "Wow, there are so many cars here. Hey, look at those tall buildings! Geez, Americans actually have swimming pools in their backyards!" There were so many new "wow's" everyday.
None of us dared say the words -- "Hey, it's pretty nice here!" -- but everybody was thinking it.
TO BE CONTINUED ...
