我的第一堂英文课

上第一堂英语课时我大约8岁。 整件事都是因为去了一趟理发馆引发的。那个时候，8岁的孩子自己出门还是蛮安全的，所以我一般都是自己一个人去理发。 但是那天正赶上星期天。那时候，周末只有星期天一天，只有这一天大人们可以不上班。 正好我母亲要去理发馆附近采买，于是就和我一起去了理发馆。

快走到理发馆的时候，母亲看到理发馆门上贴了一张在粗糙纸上写就的广告，上面写着：“教授英文。 每星期天一课，每课一小时，每四课五元。”  没人知道当时母亲是怎么想的，但可以肯定的是，她的一颗虎妈之心被激发了。

五元钱可不是小数，至少对我们家是如此。 可母亲却铁了心。那天回到家，她和父亲就这个事儿稍有商量。但其实父亲在这种事上根本插不上嘴，母亲才是真正管事的。

具体我也不知道母亲是如何联系上了那位后来教我课的老师，也许她又去理发馆面见了他。反正有一天母亲通知我说，我要开始上英文课了，教课的是一位北大学生，是理发师的亲戚。她和那人商定了，每节英文课一小时，每四节课五元钱，我和妹妹一起上课。

说这些时母亲脸上浮现的笑容我至今记忆犹新。她当然高兴啦，我暗自想着，她这可是做成了一桩买一送一的好买卖呢。可是我对这一切却一丁点儿也高兴不起来，去上英文课，我周末玩耍的时间可就要减少了啊。但是我对此无力改变，我可不傻，不会对母亲的决定提出反对，虎妈是绝对惹不起的。

如此这般，我和妹妹就开始上英文课了。课就设在理发馆里，近在咫尺的地方就有人在理发。

一旦虎妈跟啥事卯上了劲，当孩子的绝对是小心顺从为妙。为了上英文课，我们不仅牺牲了周末玩耍的时间，还要担心课后如何应付母亲，因为她会在每课之后检测我们的进程，

有趣的是，比我小两岁的妹妹在语言学习上天赋缺缺。别看她上课时似乎很专心，一下课，还没到家，那天学的东西就差不多忘得一干二净。倒是我自己都没有想到，我居然对英文课来了兴趣，上得很认真。很快我就学会了所有26个字母，学会了唱字母歌，还学了不少单词和简单的句子，譬如“pig (猪)”，“This is a pig (这是头猪)”，“sheep (羊)”，“That is a sheep (那是只羊)”。当然还学会了说“Chairman Mao (毛主席)”。

那时我们家住在一栋和中南海隔街相望的三层楼里。 那是座年代久远的曾属于旧政府的建筑。围绕建筑的院子的前面有一座花园，里面有精心布置的太湖石假山。每次上完课，母亲就会把我和妹妹带到这花园里来考试一番。我至今记得很舒坦地坐在一块凉沁沁的巨大太湖石上背诵当天学过的内容。母亲的学习掌握能力令人吃惊。我这边才把东西背出来，她那边就已经都学会了。可是她却总是发不好“i”这个短元音。

我：           You are a student  (你是学生)。

母亲：       You are a student。

我：           This is a pig (这是头猪)。

母亲：       Thees eez a peeg.

我：           不是，是 pig。

母亲：       Peeg.

我：           Pig.

母亲：       Peeg.  屁嗝？

我：           This is a pig (这是头猪)。

母亲：       You are a 屁嗝。

我：           （翻白眼）

尽管妹妹从课上一无所获，母亲却仍然很高兴。我私下有个滑稽的分析：母亲之所以还高兴得起来，全因为她能从我这里二手学习，以至于她那个买一送一的得意之作还算是完美实现了。不管怎么说，当初为了要上课和考核而发愁，如今这些却成了家人共享的趣事，留下令人永生难忘的甜蜜记忆。

那时我们的邻居中颇有些会各种外语的人才。 每天早上我们都能听到花园里有人大声用外语朗读。我私下里为自己也有可能成为懂外语的人而感到兴奋。 另外让我对英语课倍感兴趣的是教课的老师。那人个子高高，人长得很精神，20大几岁，备课认真，课上得生动有趣。最重要的是，他对我们耐心多多，让我们觉得很心安。这一切都让我在学校里的那位刻板严厉的老师相形见绌。

可是没办法，那个时代，好事总是不得长久。又到了星期天，我和妹妹来到理发店上第四堂课，而我们那位年轻英俊又耐心非常的老师却缺席了。母亲知道后气急败坏，立即前往理发店查探究竟，结果却是败兴而归。我们后来听母亲说，老师确曾是北大的学生，但是他失陷在一场政治运动中，戴上了坏分子的帽子，被学校开除了。在此之前他一直靠教授私人课程勉强糊口，如今却被公安局视为对首都安全有威胁的人，强迫迁居到大西北哪个鸟都不拉屎的边远地方去了。

年幼如当时的我，仍然为我的老师伤心非常，同时也为自己伤心，为我那才做了不久就已夭折的成为外语通的梦伤心。

多年以后我也被遣送到内蒙古沙漠里一个军垦农场去做苦力。有那么一天，我独自一人站在高高的沙丘之上环目四顾，如落魄游魂般检视自身所陷入的无望境况。入眼只有漫漫无尽的黄沙，入耳只有亘古不变的沉默。斯时斯刻，心中忽然想起，多年前那个和蔼可亲的英语老师是否就是被流放到了这个寸草难生的地方？

没想到的是，当时那个凄凉惨淡的回忆其实却催生了我的福音，因为那回忆让我起了一个念头：与其荒废青春，何不重拾英语学习的旧梦。抚今追昔，当初那一念引领了我后来的思想追求，助我进入大学，更导致了后来我出国留学和永居的决定。总而言之，若非当初那一念之生，我便无以为我。 所以我要永远感谢那位给我上了第一堂英语课的年轻老师。

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 4^th 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.