by Lori Qian
Dad was still somewhat himself on most days, but the Alzheimer’s was clearly in high gear at other times. It was odd how in one moment he would know who I was and that I was visiting from China, and in the next breath, he’d ask me to go to Zink’s Grocery to get him a candy bar. We’d decided to stop trying to explain that Zink’s was a store in Starbuck, Washington, where he’d lived seventy years earlier. When he made his candy bar requests, I just went down to the machine and got him his candy bar, and when I returned we continued our conversation. For him, both things could be true—that is, he could sit there with his grown daughter who was home from China and eat a candy bar from Starbuck at the same time.
On some days, I was glad he wasn’t too clear, because when his mind was clearer, he got depressed. He knew, for example, that he was wearing diapers and could not use the bathroom by himself. I felt his humiliation when the attendant came in to change him and he waved me out of the room. He knew he wasn’t at home—but he also knew, I believed, how loved he was, particularly by Mom.
My mom and dad had always had an interesting relationship. I had never seen them kiss or hold hands. Theirs was a different kind of marriage, but there was love there—humor and love.
I saw them hug exactly once. I’ll never forget it. I was nine years old, and it was in the house in Wisconsin. I remember Dad’s soft, baby blue shirt and Mom’s tan wool coat. She was heading out the door to the hospital for some kind of minor surgery. I don’t remember why he wasn’t taking her to the hospital himself, but it seems her friend Joanne was driving her instead. Mom was getting ready to walk out the door, and I remember that she turned and looked at him as he held the door for her.
“Well,” she said. And they smiled at each other. And then they hugged. Chrissy and I looked at each other, surprised and happy.
Even working ten hours a day babysitting, Mom was at the rest home every possible minute she could spare. She took Dad to Bingo and encouraged him to play. She brought him hamburgers and Cokes from McDonald’s. On her days off, she was there all day. She joked with him and tried to make light of things. I had never realized before leaving for China just how deep their love ran. I watched him look at her as she fixed his bib, saying, “There ya go, Louie. Here, looks like they gave you a good meal tonight”—and his eyes didn’t leave her. The love they had for each other was beyond the physical. They’d endured so much hardship together and this, in some ways, was just another phase of their lives. They were taking it in stride.
While I was there, though, Mom did take a little break, which she needed. She didn’t need to keep Dad company every minute while I was there, and I actually appreciated the time with just him. I tried to spend as much time at the home as I could listening to Dad talk about the past, which sometimes he believed he was still in. I found myself actually encouraging that belief so I could learn more about him. While he was sleeping, I read about Alzheimer’s—the professional medical articles as well as case studies and personal stories. Most of them agreed that we should try not to be freaked out when the patient thinks he’s somewhere else. I was trying not to let it scare me or make me sad when he was confused, and he seemed more at ease if I just let him be wherever he wanted to be.
It was depressing and wonderful at the same time. Part of me loved sitting there in a chair next to his bed, sipping my Diet Coke while he munched away on his candy bar “from Starbuck.” He was genuinely happy as we chatted and even laughed about old times. Some of his memories were from before my time, but I tried to go with the flow and just imagine. He asked me a lot of questions about China, and this got him talking about World War Two and the time he spent in the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps). This got him back on to history and it just cycled from there . . . but it was wonderful. Sometimes I almost forgot where we were and just how sick he was.
Then, suddenly, I could not feel much of anything except helpless and rotten. What kind of daughter was I, anyway? Five minutes earlier, Dad had been fine—and then something changed. He started talking about “the sheriff” and began to cry. He begged me not to leave, saying someone was going to get him. When I tried to comfort him, he began using odd phrases that had never come out of his mouth before. He swore. He was not himself. For a full ten minutes he was extremely sad and worried.
I gently caressed his head and arm. “It’s okay, Dad. There is no sheriff. This is a good place and even if there was a sheriff, he’d be a good sheriff. You’d like him.”
“Okay,” he said. His eyes didn’t even blink. He was in some kind of trance, and I was helpless to get him out of it. I didn’t get it. Minutes earlier we’d been talking about the skating pond he’d made for us when we were kids and then he’d started ranting about the sheriff.
“Close your eyes and lie back, Dad,” I said. I adjusted his pillows and dimmed the lights. He was tired. He was like a baby now, my strong daddy.
I stared at his face. His face was precious and told so much about him. It was a kind face, a humble face. It was a face that had seen a lot and withstood great trials. He was a good man, my dad. Tender. Loving. Sensitive. I thought about the fact that I hadn’t seen him in a long time, and I began to comprehend the great burden my family had been carrying since I’d left. I’d gone to China and left the stress of this behind. It was no longer in my face every day; my immediate world no longer consisted of Dad’s sickness, Mom’s financial problems, and tensions with other family members. My world was a good job, a beautiful place to live, running club, tai chi in the park, and journal writing. I had escaped to the wonderful world of China, but while I’d been off discovering myself, these problems had continued to exist. They had not gone away simply because I had.
On the night before I was to return to Guangzhou, Mom and I sat at the table doing a puzzle. I didn’t like puzzles at all, but she did, and putting the pieces together seemed to give us both something we needed.
“Mom, I feel awful about leaving tomorrow.” I couldn’t even get the words out without the tears coming. “It’s not fair that I left you to deal with all this. I don’t know how I justified this. . . .” I couldn’t talk. The sobs were in my chest, coming more quickly by the second.
“Lori, don’t you do that.” Mom’s mouth was trembling, but she kept going. “Don’t do that. You have a chance and you are where you need to be.” She was holding a puzzle piece, moving it around between her fingers as she spoke.
“But I’m off having this great life and you’re here, just . . . holding it all together.”
“Lori, the problems would be here whether you were here or not. Now, Dad is doing okay. They take good care of him there, and we get to see him every day. I’m okay. We’re all okay.” She put the puzzle piece in its place and looked at me. We’d never been good at the eye-to-eye thing, Mom and me, but she looked right at me. She took a breath. “You had such a hard past. I remember so often thinking you would die young, that you’d put yourself in a situation you wouldn’t be able to get out of. You’ve had such good luck at times, but also such bad luck in your life.” Now her tears came.
She was talking about things neither of us wanted to remember, things we wouldn’t verbalize. Insecurities I’d had as an adolescent surrounding self-image. Choices I’d made as a teenager, mistakes that had brought incredible pain. There were things a mother should have overtly warned me about, talked to me about, and times she should have put limits on me, limits that would have kept me safe. But we both knew my mom never could. I knew in that moment she was thinking about the car accident I’d been in at sixteen—which hadn’t taken my life, but had destroyed my chances of becoming a professional dancer, something that had given us both hope for so many years. She was talking about my high school boyfriend, who’d started off charming, but by the end of our relationship, had become violent. I’m sure Mom wondered why I’d allowed it. I still didn’t know, but it had to do with self-worth, I guess, and those critical teenage lessons that I hadn’t really learned. Years where young girls can be vul
nerable if they don’t have a strong sense of who they are and what their standards are.
I remember going to church and every Sunday reciting the Young Women Theme in our class. This was meant to remind us that we are all children of God, but it especially emphasized knowing our individual worth, and having self-love and self-respect. I’d known it, but I guess I hadn’t always internalized it. It was something I so wished my mom had talked with me about. I wish those ideas and values had been more present in my everyday life. I learned valuable lessons on Sunday, but then I went to junior high, and high school, and was hit with different messages, different temptations. I’d made mistakes, painful mistakes which brought regret.
That was a turning point, though. I was always, always able to start over. To pick myself up, to carve out something new. Always. My mom was talking about all of it—the ups, the downs, the extremes, a life that seemed like several lives, and how I’d managed to pull it all together, to finish college, to finish graduate school, to find peace. And that I’d grabbed on to this precious opportunity to go to China.
Somehow that night we finished the puzzle, and our conversation. I boarded that flight for Guangzhou the next morning feeling a mix of emotions, but mostly feeling peaceful and ready to return to my life.
chapter 20
The new school year was off to a good start. I was walking around the school and the city with a new level of confidence. First, I was in incredible shape and I felt fantastic. I had become a runner, yes, but I’d also discovered several types of exercise that I genuinely loved. I’d found some great deals on stylish clothes while I was home over the summer, and I now found that local Chinese sizes were flattering as well. This was a huge deal to me, to say the least. Beyond that, I was now the director of the English Language Center—an administrator in charge of my own department. My Chinese was coming along, and I’d developed a very good reputation at the school with everyone from the maintenance people to the Chinese administration. Life was good.
Getting the ELC in the shape I wanted it to be in was challenging but also a thrill. I was already noticing some success with decisions I’d made, and I had a good group of teachers who were willing to work hard with me to make the ELC the best it could be. This center had always been the “underdog” department of the school, but every year it had gotten a little bit better—and I was determined to continue that trend. I had so many ideas that I found myself there until nine o’clock most nights. I usually went out and ran from five to six and then came back up to my office and worked. I liked it, though. I’d turn on my CD, kick my shoes off, and just write policies, make plans, and think. I truly loved my job.
“Goodnight, Lori,” I heard one night as I sat engrossed in typing the latest class schedule.
I looked up to see Qian Zhi Ming, whose English name was William. “Oh, William, goodnight. See you tomorrow.” He was one of the new teaching assistants in our department, and lately, I’d found myself thinking about him a lot more than I probably should. After all, I was his boss. He was from an entirely different culture and probably would never consider dating a Western woman. Actually, he probably had a girlfriend. Why wouldn’t he? He was incredibly good looking and was a true gentleman.
Still, there did seem to be a connection between us of some type. He always said good morning and goodnight to me, and I know he had smiled at me in the past.
Oh stop it, Lori. Get a life and quit fantasizing. As if it would be that easy. “Hey William, I know I’m your boss, and American, but hey—how ’bout going out to dinner with me?” There are not too many things less likely than for me and William to start up a romance. I’m sure he has never even thought twice about me.
Okay, back to work, Lori, I tell myself. But I can’t. I’m looking at my computer screen and I’m thinking of him.
What is it about this guy? It’s been years since I’ve been interested in anyone romantically. I haven’t always made the best choices when it came to relationships. In the years leading up to my coming to China, I’d taken the dating equation out. I was logical enough to know that it wasn’t likely I would find someone to spend my life with, and it was better to just keep that part of my life untouched. In truth, it had been several years since I’d even had the slightest interest in someone. I hadn’t thought about the idea of love or romance in years. Until now.
I’d been watching William, taking notice of him, for the last few months, and there was something completely special about him. I felt a strong desire to know him better, to have him know me. Assuming for a moment that he didn’t have a girlfriend and had even an ounce of interest in me, I wondered if he could ever see past our differences. The cultural divide was so great—and at school, everyone was in everyone else’s business, thinking it was their own. Still, I’m a strong person, and I knew I could handle that. Something about the dignified way he carried himself suggested to me that he could handle such a situation too. The question was, would he would want to?
I had met him before going home for the summer, in the two weeks in July I’d stayed at school to prepare for my new position. He’d been interviewing for a teaching assistant position, and since there was no one else around to interview him, I had agreed to do it. It was only the second such interview I had done, but it went well. Irene, our secretary, brought him to my office and introduced him by his English name, William.
I thought he was handsome and dignified; if I had to describe my first impression, that was it. My second impression was that he was a strange combination of nerves and confidence. He asked good questions and spoke eloquently about teaching methodologies and his experience with teaching adults and children. I guess it wasn’t nerves I noticed as much as caution. He chose his words carefully and sat rather stiffly. He thought before he spoke and wasn’t concerned with making small talk. He wasn’t trying to put on a façade, a rare trait in any culture, and perhaps that’s one of the things that impressed me most.
After we’d spoken, I had led him downstairs to Irene and waited for him to leave. He thanked me for my time and we said good-bye. It wasn’t love at first sight; actually, the only feelings I had for him at that time were that he would be a wonderful teaching assistant to have in the ELC. He was capable and serious, and I needed that in my department. I told Irene so, and made her promise that when they made TA placements in the fall, Qian Zhi Ming—that, I learned, was William’s Chinese name—would be placed in the ELC. She said she’d do her best.
Despite that promise, things changed when I got back. When we returned in August, I learned that the elementary principal had made other plans. I looked at the list of my new TAs, and William’s name was nowhere to be found. I went to Irene to see what the situation was and she shrank into her desk. I guess I looked intimidating, as I was mad. I had gotten a reputation among the Chinese staff as being very li hai— which, loosely translated, means someone with whom others don’t mess. It was a title I didn’t mind having. I think I was known as a nice girl as well, but when it came to work and the ELC, which had become my “baby,” it was known that I would speak my mind.
I had many friends in the school and I dealt directly with people. I never played the games or had the same frustrations other Westerners did about “the Chinese,” because I knew them as individuals. If I needed something fixed in my department, I did not take the thirty-two steps through the various departments; I had had the head of maintenance over for dinner before with a group of teachers, and since that day I simply went to him directly if I needed something. Some people may have said this wasn’t fair, but it was perfectly sensible to me. While everyone else filled out forms and complained about the inefficiency of the Chinese system, I made friends and learned just how swift the system could be. Now, in all fairness, I have been on the other side of the system at times, and it can be a nightmare—but that shouldn’t stop people from trying to know others as individuals. It makes life so much easier, not to mention interesting.
So, with my “li hai” reputa
tion, it was no wonder Irene didn’t know what to do that day. I wasn’t mad at her, of course, but how was she to know that? She just saw me storming into her office, asking where Qian Zhi Ming was!
Irene explained that Shelly, the elementary principal, had placed him with a fifth grade teacher. Her words continued, like a bubble hanging in the air—but I was already walking forcefully toward Shelly’s office. There, I put on my best assertive face and explained that I had interviewed William that summer and had been promised he would be placed in the ELC.
“Well, I know,” she began, “but I really think that Kathy needs a strong TA, and his credentials are quite impressive.”
“I know they’re impressive,” I said. “I interviewed him. That is why I want him in the ELC. We are short on TAs as it is, and I think it’s only fair that because of that, we’re allowed to have some of the stronger ones. He is an experienced teacher, and I need his experience in my department.”
“Well, let’s talk about it and see what Ginny thinks,” she said. She called Ginny, the TA coordinator, over and explained the situation to her.
“I’ll be honest, Shelly,” I said after Ginny joined us. “I feel strongly about this. I would like Qian Zhi Ming in my department, where he was originally placed. I stayed here for two weeks of my vacation interviewing these TAs, and I feel that I should have a choice in the matter.” Because I was starting to get more confrontational, my mouth was starting to do that weird twitching thing it does when I get nervous. I hate that, but I have yet to learn how to control it.
“Well, okay,” Shelly said, “that actually sounds fair. Maybe we can put another guy in with Kathy. I just really feel that she needs a male TA to help her with discipline.”