我的第一堂英語課
上第一堂英語課時我大約8歲。 整件事都是因為去了一趟理發館引發的。那個時候，8歲的孩子自己出門還是蠻安全的，所以我一般都是自己一個人去理發。 但是那天正趕上星期天。那時候，周末隻有星期天一天，隻有這一天大人們可以不上班。 正好我母親要去理發館附近采買，於是就和我一起去了理發館。
快走到理發館的時候，母親看到理發館門上貼了一張在粗糙紙上寫就的廣告，上麵寫著：“教授英文。 每星期天一課，每課一小時，每四課五元。” 沒人知道當時母親是怎麽想的，但可以肯定的是，她的一顆虎媽之心被激發了。
五元錢可不是小數，至少對我們家是如此。 可母親卻鐵了心。那天回到家，她和父親就這個事兒稍有商量。但其實父親在這種事上根本插不上嘴，母親才是真正管事的。
具體我也不知道母親是如何聯係上了那位後來教我課的老師，也許她又去理發館麵見了他。反正有一天母親通知我說，我要開始上英文課了，教課的是一位北大學生，是理發師的親戚。她和那人商定了，每節英文課一小時，每四節課五元錢，我和妹妹一起上課。
說這些時母親臉上浮現的笑容我至今記憶猶新。她當然高興啦，我暗自想著，她這可是做成了一樁買一送一的好買賣呢。可是我對這一切卻一丁點兒也高興不起來，去上英文課，我周末玩耍的時間可就要減少了啊。但是我對此無力改變，我可不傻，不會對母親的決定提出反對，虎媽是絕對惹不起的。
如此這般，我和妹妹就開始上英文課了。課就設在理發館裏，近在咫尺的地方就有人在理發。
一旦虎媽跟啥事卯上了勁，當孩子的絕對是小心順從為妙。為了上英文課，我們不僅犧牲了周末玩耍的時間，還要擔心課後如何應付母親，因為她會在每課之後檢測我們的進程，
有趣的是，比我小兩歲的妹妹在語言學習上天賦缺缺。別看她上課時似乎很專心，一下課，還沒到家，那天學的東西就差不多忘得一幹二淨。倒是我自己都沒有想到，我居然對英文課來了興趣，上得很認真。很快我就學會了所有26個字母，學會了唱字母歌，還學了不少單詞和簡單的句子，譬如“pig (豬)”，“This is a pig (這是頭豬)”，“sheep (羊)”，“That is a sheep (那是隻羊)”。當然還學會了說“Chairman Mao (毛主席)”。
那時我們家住在一棟和中南海隔街相望的三層樓裏。 那是座年代久遠的曾屬於舊政府的建築。圍繞建築的院子的前麵有一座花園，裏麵有精心布置的太湖石假山。每次上完課，母親就會把我和妹妹帶到這花園裏來考試一番。我至今記得很舒坦地坐在一塊涼沁沁的巨大太湖石上背誦當天學過的內容。母親的學習掌握能力令人吃驚。我這邊才把東西背出來，她那邊就已經都學會了。可是她卻總是發不好“i”這個短元音。
我： You are a student (你是學生)。
母親： You are a student。
我： This is a pig (這是頭豬)。
母親： Thees eez a peeg.
我： 不是，是 pig。
母親： Peeg.
我： Pig.
母親： Peeg. 屁嗝？
我： This is a pig (這是頭豬)。
母親： You are a 屁嗝。
我： （翻白眼）
盡管妹妹從課上一無所獲，母親卻仍然很高興。我私下有個滑稽的分析：母親之所以還高興得起來，全因為她能從我這裏二手學習，以至於她那個買一送一的得意之作還算是完美實現了。不管怎麽說，當初為了要上課和考核而發愁，如今這些卻成了家人共享的趣事，留下令人永生難忘的甜蜜記憶。
那時我們的鄰居中頗有些會各種外語的人才。 每天早上我們都能聽到花園裏有人大聲用外語朗讀。我私下裏為自己也有可能成為懂外語的人而感到興奮。 另外讓我對英語課倍感興趣的是教課的老師。那人個子高高，人長得很精神，20大幾歲，備課認真，課上得生動有趣。最重要的是，他對我們耐心多多，讓我們覺得很心安。這一切都讓我在學校裏的那位刻板嚴厲的老師相形見絀。
可是沒辦法，那個時代，好事總是不得長久。又到了星期天，我和妹妹來到理發店上第四堂課，而我們那位年輕英俊又耐心非常的老師卻缺席了。母親知道後氣急敗壞，立即前往理發店查探究竟，結果卻是敗興而歸。我們後來聽母親說，老師確曾是北大的學生，但是他失陷在一場政治運動中，戴上了壞分子的帽子，被學校開除了。在此之前他一直靠教授私人課程勉強糊口，如今卻被公安局視為對首都安全有威脅的人，強迫遷居到大西北哪個鳥都不拉屎的邊遠地方去了。
年幼如當時的我，仍然為我的老師傷心非常，同時也為自己傷心，為我那才做了不久就已夭折的成為外語通的夢傷心。
多年以後我也被遣送到內蒙古沙漠裏一個軍墾農場去做苦力。有那麽一天，我獨自一人站在高高的沙丘之上環目四顧，如落魄遊魂般檢視自身所陷入的無望境況。入眼隻有漫漫無盡的黃沙，入耳隻有亙古不變的沉默。斯時斯刻，心中忽然想起，多年前那個和藹可親的英語老師是否就是被流放到了這個寸草難生的地方？
沒想到的是，當時那個淒涼慘淡的回憶其實卻催生了我的福音，因為那回憶讓我起了一個念頭：與其荒廢青春，何不重拾英語學習的舊夢。撫今追昔，當初那一念引領了我後來的思想追求，助我進入大學，更導致了後來我出國留學和永居的決定。總而言之，若非當初那一念之生，我便無以為我。 所以我要永遠感謝那位給我上了第一堂英語課的年輕老師。
My First English Lesson
I had my first English lesson when I was about 8 years old. It was a trip to the barbershop that led to it. In those days, it was quite safe for 8-year olds to go outside on their own, and I ordinarily went to the barber’s by myself. But it happened to be a Sunday, the only weekend day then when grownups did not have to work. So Mom went with me as she had some shopping to do near the barbershop.
As we were approaching the shop, Mom saw this crude sign taped to its door, which read: “English Lessons. One One-Hour Lesson per Week on Sunday. ￥5.00 for 4 lessons.” It is anybody’s guess what exactly went through Mom’s mind at that moment, but it is safe to say that a tiger, such as would be found in a tiger mom, stirred to life in her.
￥5.00 was no chump change in those days, not for my family anyway. But Mom was determined. She had a brief discussion with Dad once we got home. But Dad did not really have a say in these matters; Mom was the boss.
I’m not sure how Mom got in touch with my would-be teacher; maybe she went back to the barber’s to find him. All I know is Mom declared to me one day that the lessons would be taught by a student who was a relative of the barber’s and who was attending Beijing University, and that she had made a deal with him: ￥5.00 for every 4 one-hour once-a-week English lessons for both my sister and me.
I still remember the smile on her face when Mom announced all this to me. Of course she was happy: she got a buy-one-get-one-free deal, I thought to myself. I, however, wasn’t happy at all about any of this, as the lessons would cut into my weekend play time. But there wasn’t anything I could do: I knew better not to voice opposition to mom’s decision lest the tiger in her should take offense.
So it happened that my sister and I started to attend Sunday English classes offered in a barbershop with hair cutting going on no more than a few feet away.
Once a tiger in a mom is roused, kids had better watch out. Not only did we have to sacrifice our precious Sunday play time for the lessons, we also had to worry about facing Mom after each lesson, as she would test us to see if we had made progress.
As it turned out, my sister, who is 2 years younger than me, wasn’t much of a talent for language learning. She seemingly attended the classes attentively, but would almost completely forget everything taught to us once we got home. On the other hand, quite to my own surprise, I found the lessons interesting and got into them with gusto. I learned the 26 letters as well as the Alphabet Song in no time. I also learned quite a number of words and short sentences, such as “pig”, “This is a pig”, “sheep”, “That is a sheep”, and, of course, “Chairman Mao”.
We lived at the time in a three storey apartment building across from Zhong-Nan-Hai. It was an old government building. Its courtyard was fronted by a large garden decorated with beautifully arranged Taihu stone. Mom would take my sister and me to this garden and test us after each lesson. I remember sitting on a huge, pleasantly cool, Taihu stone, reciting what I had just learned that day. Mom was an amazingly quick learner. No sooner did I finish my recitation than she had learned by heart what I had just regurgitated. But she could never get the short vowel “i” right:
I: You are a student.
Mom: You are a student.
I: This is a pig.
Mom: Thees eez a peeg.
I: No. Pig
Mom: Peeg.
I: Pig
Mom: Peeg, 屁嗝？
I: This is a pig.
Mom: You are a 屁嗝 .
I: (Eye-rolling)
And Mom seemed happy even though my sister didn’t have much to show for the lessons. I had this amusing thought: Mom remained happy because, she being able to learn second-hand from me, her buy-one-get-one-free deal was kept intact. Anyway, the once dreaded lessons and tests turned out to be the sort of family time that was to give rise to lifelong sweet memories.
Quite a few of our neighbors at the time knew one foreign language or another. We could hear people reading foreign language text out loud in the garden every morning. I was secretly excited by the prospect of being on the way toward becoming multilingual, too. What also motivated me to take the lessons seriously was the teacher. A tall, handsome, young man in his 20’s, he was well prepared for the lessons, tried to make them interesting for us and, most importantly, he was very patient with us and made us feel comfortable; he was nothing like that mean teacher of mine at school.
But alas, good things did not last in those days. Another Sunday came. My sister and I arrived at the barbershop for our 4th lesson, only to find that our young, handsome, very patient teacher was a no-show. Mom was none too pleased at the news. She immediately went to the barbershop for an explanation, only to come back dejected. We kids learned from her later on that our teacher was indeed a student in Beijing University once, but had been snared by a political movement and, labeled an “evil doer”, had been expelled by the school. He had been scrambling for a living by offering various kinds of private lessons before the police deemed him dangerous to the safety of the capital and forced him to move to some remote out-of-the-way place out west.
Young as I was, I felt very sad for the teacher. I also felt very sad for myself, grieving my short-lived dream of becoming multilingual.
Years later, I was also sent away, to toil on a farm in a desert in Inner Mongolia. One day, while standing alone on top of a sand dune looking around, a forlorn soul surveying his bleak surroundings, seeing nothing but miles and endless miles of lifeless sand, and hearing nothing but an ageless unbroken silence, I found myself wondering if that nice English teacher of mine from many years ago had also been exiled to the same desolate place.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, that sad moment of reminiscence has a silver lining. It gave me an idea: I should perhaps try to pick up my English study again so as not to let my mind go to waste. Looking back, that idea paved the way for my later intellectual pursuits, college entrance and, eventually, the decision to continue my studies, and live my life, abroad. In short, that idea has had a huge role in making me what I am today. For this, I owe eternal gratitude to that tall, handsome, young teacher who gave me my first English lesson.
Young people who were unfortunately sent to toil on a farm may have missed the golden years of education they deserved. But you still succeed and shine, thanks to your first English teacher who inspired you, and to the interest or passion that were roused. I believe that on top of your inherited talent, it is your persistence that pays off in the long run. Bravo!