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It goes without saying that there is nothing funny about 9/11. It was a black day in American history and the aftermath has yielded even more darkness.
Chinese students are very interested in American culture, so I figured that I would do a lesson on 9/11 for all of my classes this week. I only had two classes today and the lesson went well with a discussion about why they felt that America was attacked and an examination of why countries fight and alternatives to war.
What I didn't realize was that I hadn't yet met the second class, because last Monday I had to skip it to go into town for a medical exam.
This meant that their introductory class to oral English was about tragedy, death and war and absolutely NO explanation about who I am.
Can you imagine?
Me up there, looking all Chinese and shit, speaking pretty awesome English, just spouting off on 9/11 like I'm some kinda American.
The most amazing part was that they were so well behaved, no one asked me who/what/why I am. So, next Monday I'm going to have to make it up to them with a real introduction and try to explain that with over 1200 students, I just didn't realize that I hadn't seen that particular group of 60.
I've been watching live coverage of the fifth anniversary events in NYC as I study Chinese. It's bizarre to be practicing the characters for soil, rock, wood and tree over and over again with tear-filled eyeballs. In China thinking about America, listening to indiscernible Chinese commentary.
It all makes me think of how lucky I am. How I can write a lesson plan about 9/11 and talk about disagreeing with my country's government. How I have the freedom of movement to just traipse into red China and discuss why I think my president made many wrong choices. How I didn't lose a loved one in the horrific violence of the World Trade Center, in Iraq or in pursuit of someone else's myopic mission.
I am most lucky because I am allowed to speak about how I love and hate the fact that I am an American. God bless that shit.
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