In J.D. Salinger's "For Esme With Love and Squalor" Esme's choir instructor sternly warns the students to "absorb the meaning of the words they sang, not just mouth them, like silly-billy parrots." At the Cornell American School, where I have recently become useful, the Kindergarten class is working on "What is it?" They are shown a series of flashcards and asked "what is it?" They usually reply in unison which makes me feel as if there are 3 or 4 kids in the class who genuinely know "it is an apple!" and the rest are merely miming those 3. I ask them individually "what is it?" and I hold up a picture of an object like an "umbrella" or a "calculator." Whatever sick individual designed this lesson made sure that every word had either an "L" or an "R" presumably so he could be entertained when teaching the lesson day after day after monotonous day, repeatedly asking "what is it?" I am surprised at how quickly they learn though, mastering "it's a ball!" and "it's a calculator!" at the top of their squealing joyful little voices. Mixed in with the "what is it?" flashcards however, there is the occasional "what can you do?" card that says "run" or "sing" or possibly another verb with either an R or an L. Students are supposed to respond to these cards with "I can run" or something, but when they say instead "it's a run" my heart sinks. It would seem as if they are merely "silly billy parrots."
The same is true of whomsoever is in charge of English signage over here. There is a sign out at Yangmingshan mountain which warns against trapping animals for food, as this is now considered cruel, whereas before it was common practice. "Placing animal traps the beast clips" the sign begins "which causes the body of the animal serious to be incomplete" it continues "the important organs loses or the death will be fined" it finally threatens. I think a valid argument in a Taiwanese court would be to claim the "incomprehensible of the sign make." I wonder who translated this sign from Chinese to English and whether or not they had any education in English. I ask myself what kind of teacher this person must have had to be this ignorant of basic grammar. When I consider my lesson third period, it occurs to me that I know the answer.
I'm teaching a lesson in the "language lab" a sophisticated computer based classroom where the teacher speaks to children through a microphone and they respond through headphones networked together so that the student can hear only the teacher. They can't hear each other, nor are they distracted by anything else. It's brilliant. But according to former Salinas Union High School District Superintendent Mr. Roger Anton, the benefit of technology in the classroom does not outweigh the cost, so I'm a bit dubious. We'll see. The computer screen shows a scrambled up word. It looks like "molodeb." To me this reminds me of "molotov", which bespeaks the old "molotov cocktail." Hey! This is a "teachable moment!" Do you kids know what a "molotov cocktail" is? I ask. Blank stares. I guess now isn't the right time to teach them how to torch a police car with gasoline. We'll save that one for the 5th graders. "Well what does this word spell?" I ask and a nearby kid presses the "call" button so that he can talk to me. I call on him and he spells aloud "B-L-O-O-M-E-D. Brooomed!" I say "yes, bloomed. That's right!" and we move on with the lesson. This kid's a future sign-maker of Taiwan.
The next scrambled word is "realdd." Real DD? That's my favorite kind of porn! I don't say it though. If this were High School I probably would have said it. It would not have made anyone laugh, but the comment might have received some attention which was what I was always looking for as a High School Teacher-- just some sign of life on their overly bored faces. But these kids aren't bored at all. Rather, they're awake and engaged and enthusiastic about "ruhr-ning." So I show a greater level of restraint than in the past. It's possible that I'm growing up.
At lunch I have to run some errands. I need to go to the bank and exchange a 100 dollar bill for some "New Taiwanese Dollars"-- about 3200 of them. At the bank they give me the skeptical look I have become accustomed to here and point down the road to another bank. I go to the other bank where i have to give my whole life story and fill out an elaborate form in Chinese. I just write random things in the blanks, hoping it won't matter what I write. I write in poor handwriting resembling caveman scratch on a stone wall. The bankers take about 20 minutes with my bill and scrutinize my passport extensively, handing it back and forth from one confused banking clerk to the next. After some time I realize they don't believe that my passport is my passport because in the photo I have a beard. Ritik once told me that in Asia (especially India) "easy things are hard and hard things are easy." If you want to ride an elephant up the steep steps of a temple to arrive at a room which has been decorated for your arrival with blossoms from the rarest forest lily, this can be arranged. But see what happens when you try to exchange money at a bank. I stop in at a restaurant for some Chinese food. The message inside my fortune cookie says "A bird in hand makes hard to blow nose."
When I get done with the silly billy parrots I get on my 50 cc scooter and brave the asian traffic. This month is ghost month, and tonight is a full moon. In the more morbid vein of ancestor worship, the Taiwanese believe that their dead relatives need to be appeased or they will haunt the living. They do this by burning spirit money, cheap paper copies of bills, in the streets in tin barrels which send sparks spiralling into the night sky. The dead ancestors will have good fortune this way. I cough and speed through the noxious fumes of exhaust and smoldering paper and I think about my ancestors and the many former selves I have left behind. As a temporary amalgam of west and east, someone who seeks to understand his own world by immersing himself in another, it seems as if I am (for the time being) a "bird in hand"-- and Lord knows I can't change.
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