Two more posts... observations from around this home of mine

First, a quick observational post that means little without context, but I liked even without the context...

 

It was progress, the kind of progress explained in rubble and displaced migrants and families with nowhere to go... progress that looked like a wasteland of busted concrete and the ghosts of lives gone by.

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Now, a more involved observation...

I've always loved being a voyeur. Not in the trench-coated, lurking old man sense, but I've always thought about and enjoyed being a secret part of other moments, other lives... someone in the background of a photo who is surreptitiously sneaking a grin to add color to an event. I'm at the pub before dinner has begun, listening to a somewhat stereotypical pre-shift pep talk being given to the staff before a busy Friday night. The brewpub I'm in definitely caters to western preferences... bar stools at the bar set before multiple big screens with any number of sports showing, music just a bit too loud to allow for annonymity, good food and drink selection, and, of course, happy hour. The music has been muted to allow for the speech. Even though we're in a western-style establishment, parts of China peek through from under the façade. The speech from the supervisor is peppered with Chinglish clichés like, "Be happy every day" and other supportive cheer about making sure everyone is on-point, repeating the idea that all the clients who come in should feel "sexy". This is encouraged by telling staffers to make flirtatious eye contact. Social skills 101. Other grand, lofty slogans and goals are thrown around. Classic China. If you don't believe me, spend time walking around a busy restaurant area, but do so before the dinner rush starts... you'll see shouted slogans, calisthenics, dance lines, fireworks, propaganda repetition... just depends on the day. Back home, this would be eye-rolling nonsense, but here, it's ingrained in the business culture. I'm not entirely sure where it comes from. Possibly the military training done in schools, the Cultural Revolution propagandizing. It's hard to say. I also wonder about who is writing the speech about happiness and sexiness. Is the cute shift supervisor the one behind spouting the party line? Or is she simply the deliverer of the words that come from the big boss, who sits aloof across the bar in a trendy suit and personally tailored leather shoes?

As the speech wraps and the (expected) applause dies down, the volume on the stereo is back to full and everyone gets busy. I get back to my novel and my burger, wondering when things that used to seem so strange began to look so normal.

T

The distance... an entry from a few weeks ago

This is an entry I wrote a few weeks ago following the passing of my aunt, but never got around to posting...

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For those who live abroad, being away has a dark side that we rarely talk about... that we try to avoid acknowledging. It's the type of reality that keeps us from our family and friends that we love, but from whom we are so far removed. We have an endless number of reasons for our departure. Some leave to cure a broken heart, some seek adventure, while still others are being practical and pursuing economic ends. Still others are left with few options and walk across the tarmac to somewhere new because few options remain in the place they used to call home. Often, it's a combination of these factors. I've quoted this before (and probably will until my end of days), but it's something I believe about our travels... "For the longest way 'round is the shortest way home." My own plans for one year of recovery and rediscovery have turned into 6 years and a potential career abroad, at least for the forseeable future. This distance, though... sometimes it cuts deep.

My aunt passed away this morning. My uncle's wife. We weren't close, nor had we ever really been. I spent quite a few holiday get-togethers with her and my uncle and my cousins at big family dinners. We were friend, but I knew her only in a superficial way. That's probably the case for many nieces/nephews/aunts/uncles. I remember her laugh and a few other details, but much of what I'd known has faded from years being out of touch. But, I remember her laugh. I liked it. It was comforting.

We were strangers, though, for no reason but a lack of proximity and a generally broken relationship between my father and his older brother. It was also just a reality of different lives, different towns, different priorities. It has been a few years since I saw her last. The most recent memory, I remember noticing how much her and my uncle had changed. Her silvered hair looked good on her, but for some reason it still surprised me. I'm sure I'd noticed before, but in my mind's eye, she remained a youngish 40-something. She'd aged, but seemed to have aged well. My uncle was different too in my recent experiences. He had softened, and seemed to have an easy smile and a ready joke. Maybe being a grandfather had brought this out in him... or maybe my own memories are skewed. He was curious about my life in a way I'd never experienced with him. They both were. 

I have mixed memories of my uncle. When I was a child, I recall being equal parts intrigued by him and scared of him. He was so much like my dad in many ways, but was still different. Sadly, it's the more negative memories that define my early recollections, but my later memories as an adult (and, to a certain extent, when I re-met him) were much more positive. I remember a few occasions asking my mom why he and my dad never talked and always seemed to be walking a razor wire of intensity when they were together. She'd explained a bit of the backstory, but I remember little of it other than the long-standing reality of distance between them. This is a tough bit to swallow when you're young and idealistic, thinking you've got it figured out. I couldn't understand why they couldn't just forget about it and be buddies. Now that I'm in my 30s, I understand a bit more. Grievances are harder to shake, harder to forgive, maybe impossible to forget. History marks us all, and the scars sometimes become all we can see.

I got the message this evening. My fiancée is getting a massage with a friend and I was sitting in a nearby pub, enjoying a stout while reading my book. It was grey outside. Cold. Windy. Vancouver in January. Checking my email, I see the note from my cousin's wife, N...

"Hey T, not sure what kind of hours you keep on the other side of the big ball... just thought I would let you know that [your aunt] passed away peacefully in the night. Tragic and calming all at the same time. The suffering is finally over. Take care."

The guilty part of me feels like the message is undeserved and too kind. I haven't made the slightest effort to contact them in a meaningful way since she got sick. I kept think... "I'll make the effort when I'm home in the summer." So selfish, this thought.

Why are the young so confident in the belief that there will be more time? And even as I age, why have I not become any wiser to this reality?

Aunt J, you will be missed.

Finding enough time

Over the past five years, I've always found it hard to corner away enough time to see everyone and do everything I want while back in Canada during holidays. Every day there's one more person to see and one more thing to add to my ongoing schedule of coffees, brunches, cocktails, and dinners. I feel endlessly lucky... I've found friends who continuously keep in touch and seek out an hour or two every time I'm back in Canada to hang out and catch up. And even more luckily, over the years the time apart has not driven a wedge between us... when we meet up, it seems like little time has passed, except in the case where those friends have had kids and they've jumped up 6 inches since the last visit).

I also consider myself lucky that I don't have anyone who begrudges my decisions to be away. If they did exist, they've likely fallen from my periphery. I know my parents worry, and I know my siblings and some of my friends would like a little more time, but all the people who fill my schedule back in Canada know that this overseas life has helped bring me to a point of contentment and strength that I'd lost before I decided to hop on a plane with little notice to start a new life on the other side of the Pacific.

I guess the point of me writing this is just to say thanks... thanks to those people who continue to hound me for brunch dates and beer meetings, who are understanding when I don't quite have enough time to meet up or when I have to cut a date short, who always find time to listen to my long-winded, never-brief stories, and who have kept in touch over the years and have not allowed this time and distance to prevent us from continuing on as friends. Knowing all of this is what makes this life overseas worthwhile.

I joked around with my good buddy SP today, saying I am dirt poor but I have a full passport, the love of an amazing woman, and a smile on my face... this is how I measure success these days. See you all in six months.

T

One of the few times you'll hear me complaining about air

One of my most vivid memories from the past five years is that of returning to Vancouver Island after my first year in China. I'd just spent ten days in Yunnan province in southern China, enjoying the mountains and the China-famous Tiger Leaping Gorge.

As my plane touched down, I remember the feeling I had in my gut of coming home after my longest period outside of Canada, a sick mixture of anxiety and excitement bordering on elation. I had a big stupid grin on my face. Home.

The best part hadn't even happened yet. As we pulled up to the terminal and the doors opened, and after filing down the aisle single-file and stepping onto the tarmac, I took a deep breath and actually tasted the fresh west coast air. I've told this story before, but that air was delicious... drinkable... sweet. For the first time in my life, I appreciated the air I was breathing in Canada.

Don't misunderstand, though. I never noticed the more smoggy air in Dalian. There were a couple of really hazy days, but even teaching outside I never ever felt affected by it. That's mainly because the pollution in Dalian was limited, particularly due to the location of our schools (out by the ocean). It was windy there, so it often blew all the smog and rubbish away.

Now, in year five, in Shanghai, I am finally noticing the bad air. And really, it's only recently... for the first 3.5 months since my arrival, it was never on the radar. Sure, I saw AQI ratings that weren't positive, but I was still running outdoors and never got too riled up.

Until today. Until this:


The AQI readings for Shanghai have officially reading "Beyond Index" at a reading of more than 500 all day. "PM 2.5" readings refer to particulate matter with a size of 2.5 microns, which can get into your lungs. They can't get into your blood stream unless they're MUCH smaller, but even still, it's not good. Right now, the app on my iPad reads that the PM2.5 level is 602. I can't wait to get to my buddy D's house where his air purifiers are cranked.

You can't see more than a kilometre down the road, and eyes/lungs are burning amongst kids and staff alike. Again, don't panic... it's not the end of days. But it's kinda like filling a tent full of cigarette smoke. And living there. A tent filled with nearly 30 million people. And I have to wait until June to come back to Canada.

If anyone has a direct line to the Philippines, tell them to order me clear skies... I'll be arriving there soon for Christmas holidays and I want my lungs back.

T

Sometimes teaching has benefits that can't be measured...

This post will probably seem self-indulgent. However, I'm sharing because it's a proud moment for me. Over the past six or seven years since becoming a certified high school teacher, I've often rethought my decision. I have often asked myself whether or not I was meant for this profession or if I should continue to pursue teaching as a career. I've had many a flighty thought about other occupations, but the draw of amazing holidays and reliable employment and the ability to get paid to travel have all trumped these uncertainties. I've enjoyed my time with the students, but these same students are also responsible for some of the most difficult times in my life, whether this means being threatened with knives or receiving news that one of my English 11 students had died. Although the holidays, pay, and work environment generally justify the job, it's not particularly often that we get a sincere pat on the back.

I'm reblogging the following story from a mother of one of my students. She sent this story to our Head of School and Principal, who passed it on to our staff. I spent some time talking to this mother about 6 weeks ago after her son had an issue with an incomplete assignment. I didn't think I did anything particularly special, but it seemed to have made an impact. This is the part of teaching that makes me want to continue in the profession. Apologies if it seems a bit too over-the-top. And thanks for letting me indulge.

T

A Mommy Moment
October 12, 2013

In the past seven years, I’ve trudged through some slimy, murky waters trying to keep my child from drowning.  When Matthew was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome in the second grade, I really had no idea how far my heart and mind could be stretched and challenged. To me, ASD is not a disorder or disability but more an identification of someone with an amazing potential,  quirky sense of humor and fascinating mind. I wasn’t prepared for others who wouldn’t see it that way, who just don’t “get it”. There is nothing more terrifying than standing on the shoreline, watching your child going under, gasping for air and feeling like you are absolutely helpless to come to their rescue.  I spent a few years swimming alongside, trying to throw my child a lifeline. Elementary teachers don’t think they should have to teach a child how to swim. There just isn’t any mention of this in the Common Core curriculum and it certainly won’t earn any points on the high stakes testing.  Middle school teachers have too many students to notice if someone is drowning. That was the prevailing sentiment, at least. When your child looks at you through tear soaked lashes and tells you that he would die without you because there would be no one who could help him, you know it’s up to you. No one is going to be the hero you are hoping for. Our public schools should have warning signs that there are no lifeguards on duty. Swim at your own risk.

Eventually I decided to charter a little schooner and sail away to a peaceful remote island.  An island without bullies, without teachers who would humiliate him. A place where he wouldn’t have to sob all the way home after school every day.  I made the decision to resign my own teaching position and we shored up like castaways in Clermont doing virtual school.  It was a sacrifice that I don’t regret. 
When David first asked if I would consider traversing the Pacific Ocean to Shanghai, I thought he was out of his mind, end of conversation.  The storm waves had finally settled down and we were enjoying beautiful sunsets with swaying palm trees and Jimmy Buffet music. Why rock the boat? Over time, we began to investigate and weigh out what an incredible opportunity this could be for our family.  We finally concluded that the worst case scenario would be that we would continue to virtual school from Shanghai.  Totally feasible, not the end of the world, we can do this. I crossed my fingers that our little Shirley schooner could weather monsoons.

I had no delusions that private international schools were going to be the nautical utopia that I’d resigned myself just didn’t exist.  Private schools have no obligation whatsoever to special needs students.  Been there, done that, have the scars to prove it. I steeled myself for another round of rejection, misconceptions and frustration.  Four out of six potential schools in Shanghai took one look at a student with an IEP and told us not to bother applying.  My expectations were way below 20,000 Leagues.  Due to pregnancy complications, I was stuck horizontal in my bed making imaginary Rorschach pictures in the knocked down ceiling when the school visits were done.  I tried to allow myself a little cautious optimism when Matthew Skyped to say that he had found a school where he felt welcome and safe.  Megan liked the same school, miracle of miracles! Shanghai Community International School (SCIS) had won their vote but I was guarded. The Olympic swimming pool was nice, but were they really only interested in students who were already proficient swimmers?
Matthew was adamant that he wanted to be independent, and even more emphatic that he wanted to be treated just like everyone else. He was ready to dive in and swim on his own. I’ve never been more proud and more panic-stricken. This Mommy would be hanging out on the pier with a pair of binoculars.  I sent my kids off to school in a foreign country and went a little mad trying to kill time until they returned.  Every day felt like forever for weeks.  Matthew struggled to adjust, had to deal with upset stomach and difficulty sleeping. The homework and organization were the biggest hurdles, not unexpected. We had some sleepless nights, working through anxiety and projects until the wee hours. I was determined to let him work it out with his teachers but wondered when the tide would start to carry him out as it had so often in the past. So far he was keeping his head above the surface but I wasn’t sure how long he could tread water.

Three weeks into school the pivotal moment struck.  Matthew came home and reported that he’d had an issue in class when asked to do an oral report.  Deep, cleansing breath.  Memories of a past horrific experience with an oral report flooded my mind.  But I donned my neutral Mommy face and prompted him to continue with the story.  It was his turn but he shook his head when the teacher asked if he was ready.  Oh, Lord.  The 65% of my body that’s water froze instantly and my left eye began to twitch but I smiled and asked him what the response was.  The teacher tactfully went on to the next person and said that he’d like to talk to Matthew after class.  Ok, I thawed a teeny bit, but let’s get to the next phase, still much potential for a typhoon.  I never realized until this moment that I had so completely given up on the possibility of finding empathy and compassion in my son’s teachers.  What happened next shocked me.  The teacher got Matthew to talk to him and explain how he was feeling.  He suggested that an after school one-on-one oral report might be in order and stressed to him how important it is for Matthew to talk to him when he’s feeling overwhelmed.  A little saltwater leaks from my eyes just thinking about how I felt at that moment.  Did this teacher  just throw Matthew a life preserver??  Is he actually  going to get in the water with this child?? This response is what I’ve been begging of his teachers for so long.  So simple and yet so elusive… until now. What makes this even more impressive is that the teacher didn’t know Matthew was ASD.  He was being sensitive to who he is as a person and treats all of his students with this level of respect.  Even more incredible is that the entire staff seems to be infected with this pervasive culture of accommodation and reckless desire to see their students succeed. If they can’t swim, they teach them. If they can swim, they teach them whatever it is that they need.  How completely and utterly astounding!

It’s been two months now and the child who used to be terrified at school is trudging through the desert in Inner Mongolia with teachers that he trusts enough to immerse himself in some of his greatest fears.  Yesterday he texted us that he rode a makeshift sled down a sand dune and ate dinner while viewing Mongolian entertainment (?)Tonight he is camping in a yurt with camels and other equally odiferous animals nearby. If you know my child or anyone with ASD, you will understand how completely extraordinary this is. Matthew is not just treading water. He is doing some serious deep sea diving.

Being a Disney family has brought us many special moments, but boarding the Shanghai boat has really ramped up our magic. I never would’ve imagined I’d find my dream school 12,000 miles on the other side of the world. SCIS is a godsend for our family. My teacher faith has been restored and more importantly, Matthew has finally gotten the chance to show what he’s really been capable of all along with just a little understanding from some real life heroes.  I think I’m having a Disney magic Mommy moment.

From: http://shirleyshanghai.wordpress.com/2013/10/12/a-mommy-moment/

Thoughts, continents apart

It's sad to think that tragedy is what makes us reflect on health, safety, and happiness. However, it's a simple reality. A good friend of mine lives and works in Kenya as a teacher, and actually frequents the mall in which the killings are happening. Luckily, he was nowhere nearby over the weekend. Sadly, though, one of his best students was a victim of the gunmen. Losing a student is heart-breaking business.

Spend a minute giving thanks for all that you have. CS, thoughts are with you buddy.

T

Sorting out life's philosophies (via coaching). (And not really about China at all).

One of things ruling my mind more than anything lately is thoughts about coaching, sport, and what it means to be a leader in this regard. It's the first time in about six years that I've thought about it from a coaching standpoint, as I haven't been a bench boss since my teaching days in Canada. It's amazing how quickly the years zip by (especially considering this is year five being an ocean away from home).

I coach JV (grades 9-11) volleyball. I do not coach a finesse team. They're not a team that people look at and say, "Wow, they look polished. They look strong. We're in trouble." That's not us.

We're a team that hustles. We're a team that gets that unlikely shanked pass back into play off a serve and does their damnedest to get it back over the net. There are a couple of players that react like lightning, bodies be damned. This makes me really happy. Don't get me wrong... I don't want broken ankles. Nope... I just want to see a bit of heart and a bit of skin left behind on that court after a game.

Over the past week or two, though, I've become frustrated in practice. Silly mistakes, players ignoring skills and practice after weeks of repetition, laziness. Maybe I've just been out of coaching for a while and this is totally normal. Or maybe I'm heaping too many expectations on this group of 15 year old dudes. Particularly the setters. But I hate to see a ball drop when it's only a step away. I hate to see apathy. There's enough apathy out there... I want them to care about every point. It's in their control and right in front of them, and is as simple as a decision to say, "Yes. That's mine." Or, "I can get there." In life, this isn't always the case and it isn't always that simple. But in this game... it can happen.

The thing I've come to realize is that I don't really care about winning all that much (even though many of you who've seen me would disagree, particularly if we've played Settlers or Scrabble). I do, however, expect my team to compete. I expect them to show up and focus and play with their hearts and minds in the game. I expect them to rally from a series of bad points, and to occasionally make plays that look like volleyball. To take control of this little moment to get hands on a ball that others gave up on seconds before. The one relatively consistent remark I've heard from other coaches is that we're the kind of team they like to play... one that doesn't give away free points and doesn't give up on a play when it seems unlikely. I feel proud of this, and I'm holding on tight. This is the team I want to be. And this is how I want to win when wins come.

I'm definitely green and have lots to learn about this role, but one of the benefits of my new adventure down here in SH is that I'm looking down the line, long-term. It may be the first time in the last ten years that I can look to next year and likely the year after and say, "Yes. I am here. And I'll be here." And it makes me smile.

T