the kids

I was hit, deep in a spiral of guilt and self-pity.
Looking at the outside world with no love, and finding enough to detest in every friend I'd ever met in the papery reel of memory whirring in my brain, I was hit.

Hit with the virtue. Hit by the children.

My brother, I forget the false name I gave him in my blogs so I'll just go with Scales...he opened me up to his world.

The malaise I had found myself under for the past months was a combination of outward forces drawing out my own inner weakness. The fear of failure is probably the single biggest of my life. It strangles me, sometimes, when I lay in bed. I fear looking back at my life with regret when I'm older, and I grow anxious at the though of others judging me negatively to the point of paranoia. I endlessly capitulate to that worry, and when I inevitably do I enter a vapid state of near inconsolable despair. A former lover called it me getting into my moods.

During this period, I felt I was doing dull boring work (actually true) and that I was destined, due to poor choices made, to not be able to find any kind of interesting career in the future. This last point is a guilty terror felt by privileged, middle class young people everywhere. That the hard work put in by our parents, often the first generation to get into college and then to continue to tertiary or higher degrees, will be unable to be repaid. That we will take our silver spoons and lick them clean and whine when there's no more because we never learned to do anything for ourselves. We enviously cast glances at our peers who took the spoon and ran to the finish with zeal and cadence to institutions like Harvard, Yale, Oxford and Cambridge. We especially feel small when we look at those, who like our parents before us, did more with less and clawed their way to heights in a way we can't fully comprehend. That guilty conscience: not living up to expectations.

This tangent might seem to be a beam of toxic green light firing away from my intended subject, but it's coming back.

I still said to myself sometimes, At least I'm not teaching English for a living.

English teachers. Teaching English. The terms are weighed on a unique scale in China. In my view this is true. The scale consists of perceptions and values, and measures the worth of the job. Teachers in the USA are largely viewed as under appreciated, underpaid, and infinitely crucial to society and the future of the country and world. It is a hard job, and a stressful one. Not everyone is cut out for it. Patience, authority, social skills, understanding, knowledge, humility, and experience and education are the facets of teaching required to be effective. Teachers should get more pay, and praise, for the new generation they are bringing along. That is the perception in America towards the teachers of America.

In Shanghai, I quickly learned that if someone asked you what you did, a good response is NOT "I'm a teacher". Why? I asked. Because to teach English you just need to have graduated from college, be from America (or the UK, or Canada, etc.) and it helps if you're white. Some large schools require certification, but if you apply online you can get it through a short training course at the school. In short, if you can speak English and went to college, you can make good money in China. Many people (both Chinese and foreigner) dismiss the English teacher as a job requiring little skill. "I guess I could always teach a little English on the side, you know for money, you know, while I look for a real job," is a fairly common thing to say and hear here. My roommate Rocksteady once told an asker, I work for a company called Berlitz. Berlitz is a very well known language institution, and he was an English teacher for them. It goes to show that even those good teachers working for good places feel the need to add a little something, to defend their position. The "Yes I am, however..." is something many of us feel necessary.

I have a lot of respect of teachers, having taught a class and tutored before myself a little. It isn't easy to control children, and it isn't easy to motivate adults and young people. The rewards can be quite stunning, but more on that later. I have respect for teachers, but definitely found myself under that shroud of not wanting to "resort"to becoming an English teacher. The most tangible reason wasn't the taboo of course, it rarely is when you're being paid more money, but rather the lack of career path afterward. In a country where English teachers are ALWAYS in demand, and the salary is quite high, you might wonder why teaching English doesn't get more respect in a city where money is the cat's meow. If you can afford to get a table at Guandi (I'm showing myself to be a hasbeen on the club scene, right here and now) or Richy (still oscillating with the most delectable nectars of Sino...ok I'm showing myself to be a sleaze) then who cares where the money comes from? Probably because unless you're really going to be G.T.x and be a teacher for life and rise through the ranks of administrations or evolve into a professor, you're only doing it part time. And everyone seems to know it, just as you do.

So in my combination of arrogance and despair, I pushed that world my bro was a part of into the recesses of the basement. Satisfied to spend the light droning on and on, and in the night battle pathetically with perceived demons from my past I feared were haunting and judging my current state-hovering over my bed with wicked malice. When in fact...they weren't thinking about me at all. You prolly think this song is about you...

And so I went to Scales's school where he teaches science and English among other things. It was well out of the city, from the advertisements and the products. From the shopping. He introduced me to his coworkers and showed me the new building of the school. Most importantly, all around me where the students, the children. Their ice cream faces (I'm partial, as anyone knows...to Asian kids...ain't gonna change because they just ruin me with their cuteness) and jokes at my expense were delightful. Scales alternated between keeping them in order and playing with them. Though I sensed that if they formed up into a mob they could easily overtake him, the key thing I saw was a connection with his kids.

What did I do? I ran up prices on accessories to everything in an online store and answered emails on why those accessories were breaking or not arriving and figuring out how to make people buy more of the accessories and market our image as a brand that had accessories to everything...that wouldn't break. That and teaching others how to do my job so I could go to more meetings. That's what I did.

My bro? He's about to sign his 4th teaching contract. A fourth year working with the cutest, most ice-creamy faced kids you've ever seen. Kids with bright smiles and futures who have a lot of love for him- and he for them.

And when I look back at days spent at summer camp as a counselor...when I taught Michael long division one of those summers and the unmatched joy it brought both of us...I realize that he is doing something I happily did, and saw myself doing and up until today had looked upon with the ugly, grey filmed over eye of the vulture.

Children melt away hardness of the heart, and sweeten the bitterest taste of defeat until it gives way to things that matter more. The ones who make us remember we were all children, and so were they-the demons of our past big and small. Their innocence forces a smile from the miserable, and stays the hand and harsh words of the angry. In each and every one of them, from the shy one reticent to enter the ball game, to the loud one yelling in your face the words of a juvenile playground song, carries a seed of benevolence as pure and delicate as layers of sugar paper softly folded together. To nurture that benevolence in them is a precious gift.