Today I fell off Mt. Everest.
Whatever am I doing, as a seventy-year old “beginning” Chinese student ?
Today in class we had a ten-minute test--in written Chinese--four questions. I needed seven minutes to recognize that the typed characters on the page resembled my chicken-scrawled practice ones. Before I half-way deciphered the questions and answered two, time vanished. And for sure, I'll visit the Dollar Store for stronger reading glasses before the next exam.
Chinese is memory, memory, memory work. I've always learned concepts quickly, but at age nine I gave up the impossible-feeling task of memorization. That was the year my piano teacher said I had to play from memory in a recital. (I also gave up recitals that year.)
However, today, I climbed part way back up Mt. Everest, when I understood Teacher laoshi as she raced through sentences in Chinese, a first for me after 11 lessons. Partly I understood because we heard so many words from today’s lesson when we lived in China. In China, we had no idea what the vocabulary meant. Today, I did.
Today, Llaoshi also explained more grammar concepts. Concepts…I love them.
Each class, I’m surprised when a rustle of papers as students stash notes and books in back-packs announces the end of class. I think, ‘But we’ve only been here five or ten minutes.’ Laoshi’s fast pace captures my interest and I don’t realize how quickly class goes.
Will I really learn Chinese? My ancestors were Vikings. We’re fighters. Plus, our friend in Jurong, China, Mr. Pei lin, believes in me. Thank you dear young man. I’ll try climbing Mt. Everest for another day.