UNIT 8 AFTER-CLASS READING 1; New College English (II)
A Long March to Creativity (I)
1 The Jinling Hotel is a comfortable, modern hotel in the heart of Nanjing, a big city in eastern China. My wife Ellen, our year-and-a-half-old son, Benjamin, and I lived there for a month in the spring of 1987 while we were studying arts education in Chinese kindergartens and elementary schools. The key to our room was attached to a large plastic block with the room number printed on it. When leaving the hotel, a guest was encouraged to turn in the key, either by handing it to an attendant or by dropping it through a slot into a container. 1 Because the key slot was narrow and rectangular, the key and the block had to be inserted carefully so as to fit into the slot.
2 Benjamin loved to carry the key around, shaking it vigorously. He also liked to try to place it into the slot. He would move the key to the vicinity of the slot and then try to push it in. Because of his young age, lack of manual dexterity, and incomplete understanding of the need to orient the key "just so", he would usually fail. Benjamin was not bothered in the least. He loved to bang the key on the slot and probably got as much pleasure out of the sounds it made, and the physical feelings it gave him, as he did those few times when the key actually found its way into the slot.
3 Now both Ellen and I were perfectly happy to allow Benjamin to bang the key near the key slot. We were usually not in a hurry, he was having a good time, and this "exploratory behavior" seemed harmless enough. But I soon observed an interesting phenomenon. Any Chinese attendant nearby and sometimes even a mere Chinese passer-by would come over to watch Benjamin. As soon as the observer saw what our child was doing, and noticed his lack of initial success at the appointed task, she (or, less often, he) attempted to intervene. In general, she would hold onto his hand and, gently but firmly, guide it directly toward the slot, reorient it as necessary, and help Benjamin to insert the key. She would then smile somewhat expectantly at Ellen or me, as if awaiting a thank you and on occasion, would frown slightly, as if to criticize us as parents.
4 Unfortunately, even for the sake of Chinese-American friendship, we were not particularly grateful for this intervention. After all, it was not as if Benjamin were running around wildly or without supervision; clearly we were aware of what he was doing and had not ourselves intervened. But it also became clear to us that we were dealing with totally different attitudes about the preferred behavior for children and the proper role of adults in their socialization.
5 Spending a good deal of time with a baby in China, we had plenty of opportunity to compare Benjamin with Chinese babies and to observe the relationship that generally occurs between adults and young children. Time and again, adults would approach Benjamin, sometimes just to say "Hello" or to play with him (actions encountered the world over), but often with a particular agenda in mind. Sometimes adults would tease Benjamin, pretending to give or to show him something, but then withdrawing the promised reward. More often, these adults would aid Benjamin with some task retrieving a ball with which he was playing, helping him to sit straight in his seat, fixing his shirttail or his shoes, directing him away from a dangerous spot, or guiding the stroller he was awkwardly pushing around.
6 It became obvious to us that for some Chinese, babies are "fair game". Some adults (and even adolescents) feel little hesitation about intervening in the child-rearing process. Now it might be thought that Benjamin's appearance he is Chinese, and we adopted him in Taiwan encouraged this intervention; but similar intrusive interventions are reported by Westerners whose children do not look the least bit Chinese. It was equally clear that these Chinese agree on what is right or wrong in child rearing; in casual encounters with Benjamin and other Western children, they were exhibiting their shared beliefs.