Back in my younger days, I went to Chinese school, just like much of the Chinese second generation teenagers. For those of you who don't know the structure of American Chinese school, Chinese school is a weekly thing, usually on Sundays, which attempts to teach its students to read, write, speak, and other Chinese related materials. I spent six years as a student in Chinese school. After graduating (it doesn't mean much to graduate, graduating means that you have reached a level above which no one wants to teach anymore), I volunteered to teach first grade. First grade in Chinese school does not quite correspond to first grade in our normal education system. It just means the students just learned their alphabets and are starting to read characters. Now though my volunteer time was rather limited (once a week for the duration of a school year), it was a fun experience. The students were rather timid at first, but after a while, they came to recognize as one of their teachers. I would teach them to read, write, speak, and best of all, sing. For those of you who have heard me sing, you'll know that it was a pleasure for me to lead them in singing, but not quite the pleasure for everyone else (or anyone else that was not deaf, which was everyone). But it was fun and I believe the students had a lot of fun. Volunteering at Chinese school became topics for various college essays, since it brought out the community-minded and caring side of me (try to be imaginative, OK?). Anyway, here they are, my lovely students.
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