By Tom Xie

“See you soon, Bei Bei. Make some friends,” my dad said as he patted the dirt off my head and face like there was any. 

It was the first “Check-in” day for elementary school, a half-day session before academics began. It was also my first time willingly, albeit reluctantly, leaving my parents.

“Do you want a hug?” my mom asked with her arms already open.
“No, I’m fine. I should probably go now.” I pointed at the moving crowds as if they were hoarding necessities at markets.
“Come on, I know you want one,” my mom reached for my shoulders. 

Because of my earlier unpleasant kindergarten experience, I was angry that I even had to go to school again. I was afraid that I would get in trouble if I was late. I was scared that I would have to talk to unfamiliar adults again. But the fear also motivated me to prevent these things from happening. Plus, I didn’t want others to think I was still a baby, incapable of handling things on my own. 
“I said no, Ma!” I pushed her hands off and speed-walked across the street towards a short-haired, tanned woman. She held a post that said “Grade One (Sixth Class).” 

“Hello, honey,” she smiled. “Your name?” She looked tired as I caught a glimpse of her cheeks spasm. I looked directly forward at the grey concrete block wall. “Xie Zongxu.” She moved her pen down the checkerboard and put an X on it. “Number 36, Xie Zongxu.” She looked at my forehead. “Don’t be shy. Go line up behind me and get to know each other.”

I wiped off the sweat on my neck and followed her instructions. I could still see my parents looking at me from where I left them. My mom was waving at me as my dad wrapped his arm around her waist to avoid contact from the flowing river of other parents. I waved back but quickly turned to the other side, pretending that someone was talking to me. I could see from the corner of my eyes that my mom was talking to my dad. He slanted his eyebrows but relaxed and smiled right after. The facial expression was enough to encrypt it for me – my mom was worrying whether I would have any struggles or issues with other students, or if the teacher wouldn’t like me. I tilted my body back after seeing my parents leave in the car.

After about ten birds landed on the tree in front of us, all the teachers started to move.
“Follow us. Don’t get lost,” the teacher shouted amongst us. We all moved together like one giant caterpillar, towards the gate that was shaped like the Forbidden City architecture, but the caterpillar was formed of marlins or ants. When we finally sat in a seat of our choice, she didn’t waste any time.

“Hello, guys, my name is Ms. Lu, and I’m your homeroom teacher for grade one!” she said excitedly. I didn’t feel comfortable and natural with the way she said it, like it was a staged scene. “I teach Mandarin Language Arts, and I’ve been teaching for twenty years.” The whole class was in sync as we all opened our mouths, jaws dropped. 

“So you were teaching before we were born?” a skinny pale child with a bowl cut blurted out. 
“Good math, and indeed,” she smiled, “but I hope you won’t ever blurt out again. We will go over these rules tomorrow. Anyways, let’s start with attendance.” After the roll call, she told us to socialize or rest. 

Any talking without action and playing was frustrating and boring for me, so I sat in one of the wooden chairs with dark silver legs. My arms formed a rectangle, one on top of another. The birds were chirping, accompanied by the chatter of students. To me, the room was like a boiling hotpot. I laid my forehead on my arms with my eyes closed. My round and fatty biceps covered my ears. Tears naturally fell off my pink cheeks after a few yawns. As boring as it was, I had no idea a bigger challenge awaited me.

  “Line up by your height on the turf,” Ms. Lu said. It was like a human fire drill call or amber alert. Even the birds stopped. “Go!” 

We lined up hastily, all looking confused, with me standing near the end of the line. It was a sunny summer day. I felt like I was standing near a grill, sweat quickly trickling down my neck. Not soon after, the wind would whip my back as it pressed the saturated shirt against me.

“No one moves. Stand up straight! No slouching! Your feet are the roots for your body,” Ms. Lu shouted as she lined up with other teachers behind us. 

In a short while, the whole turf was filled with children, like an empire of ants. There were 17 classes in total for my grade, each class consisting of 40 students. Chit chat and whispers quickly filled up the entire campus. However, I remained silent, like a scarecrow among the crops, lonely and rigid. I didn’t know who to even talk to. 

A middle-aged looking woman, the principal I learned soon after was about 60 years old, walked up to the stadium with a wired microphone. She wore red lipstick with heavy eye shadow. She stood with her shoulders open, facing our whole grade. She held the microphone to her face, with her pinky slightly bent and paused like a smiling mannequin. Ms. Lu and other teachers immediately shushed us and said, “If you keep talking, you are going to stand beside us. That’s not a good look for your parents, just to let you know.”

“Good afternoon, everyone. Let’s stand up straight, arms to the sides,” the woman finally spoke. Her eyes seemed to be focused on me and everyone else at the same time. “Face the flag and sing our national anthem.”

“Stand up, for all the people who do not want to be enslaved...”  Six hundred and eighty young voices all sang the anthem with pride in their country. My lungs vibrated, and so did my brain. 

It was only the movements of my mouth, but the heat radiating from the turf, from the sky, reflected off the mirror, all seemed to be targeting me. I did not move an inch. I barely blinked. I didn’t dare to move in any way. I began to see the irregular floating shapes in my eyes. 

“Welcome, class of 2011. Welcome to Beijing No. 2 Experimental Primary School, the best school in the whole country!” The microphone channelled her voice through our heads, throughout every building near the campus.  

“Look at that boy,” I could faintly hear Ms. Lu’s discussion with other teachers. “He doesn’t move, eh? It’s like he’s a small tree.”
“Yes, indeed. He is a good seedling,” another teacher responded.

I thought they were talking about someone else, and I couldn’t let another student take my moment of fame. It was only revealed to me two years later that Ms. Lu was talking about me. I stood up even taller. My soaked shirt only fueled me to keep fighting. 

At the end of the woman’s speech, she remarked. “I believe that by the time that you walk out the front gates for the last time, after six years, you will be the best version of yourself.” She kept talking. “I’m sure of it, and I’m certain that all of you will make me proud, make No. 2 Elementary proud.”

Everyone clapped for over thirty seconds until their hands were red and itchy. I could feel the blood flowing through my whole body as my heart pumped faster. Maybe I was overwhelmed by the great population of unity, or maybe it was the blazing hot weather, but I could feel that the clouds were in reach. I could even see myself throwing the mortarboard hat in the air as my dad lifted me up. 

The blotches of sweat made my sapphire blue plaid shirt even darker. Every time I swallowed, my spit felt like sawing a piece of wood. My nostrils breathed fire and blinking was a pleasure. The gulps of water could only relieve so little pain. Nevertheless, the only thing on my mind was giving my parents a big hug.

As young as I was, I had no idea how much time passed.  As we lined up again in front of the gate, I could see crowds of parents waiting to pick us up. Thankfully, I was tall enough to see, but my parents were nowhere in sight. “Did they forget to pick me up? Did they misread the pickup information? Was it the traffic?” I worried. Anxiety and anger made my lungs expand as pressure heightened. 

“Xie Zongxu!” Ms. Lu looked at me with a smile again, in front of my parents. I waved goodbye at Ms. Lu’s stomach, avoiding her eyes, and snatched my parents’ hands, dragging them away from the campus. 

When we finally found our car, I looked left and right to see if there was anyone around. I told my parents to squat down to tell them a secret. I hugged them by their neck. My mom wrapped her arm around my back. 

“Woah, Bei Bei, why is your shirt all wet?” she questioned. “You guys did a lot of exercises?”
“Ye… yes, I played with them and ran around,” I stuttered. I didn’t want to concern my mom on my very first day of school. I definitely wasn’t comfortable at school, but I knew that I needed change, to exceed my parents’ expectations and strive for the better. “Let’s go home. I want to see my brother.”

Many check-in days and other ceremonies after, that summer day is still the most memorable of all. The unbearable heat, the absence of my parents, my innate competitive mentality have all made this experience unmatched. Being disciplined at a young age certainly made me become a more likeable figure in all of my teachers’ eyes and earned me the label of a role model to my peers. People would always admire and praise me for having such mature qualities at a young age, which is a factor that pushed me to always do the “right thing,” the behaviours teachers would like to see. I would be lying if I said I did not enjoy the compliments; however, I often questioned if I deserved the recognition. In retrospect, ever since the very beginning of my formal education, my discipline was built on fear–fear of being criticized, fear of not standing out, fear of not being the best of the class. In my four years of experience in the traditional Chinese education system, I became more accustomed to fear. The constant compliments from my teachers, parents and family friends helped me build my confidence and pride to a point that I was no longer afraid of my teachers and the strict policies. I knew that I could control my behaviour. Discipline from fear is undoubtedly a relatively unhealthy method for a child’s growth and development. Luckily, I was capable of conquering my uneasiness with an ambitious mindset and growing confidence, which formed the person I am today.