It’s “back-to-school” time. Parents are helping young children picking up new clothes and supplies for the new school year. College freshmen are out in force piling up dormitory necessities. Although decades have gone by, my first “real” school day is still fresh in my memory.
My new uniform felt a little stiff. My perfectly shined black shoes contrasted strikingly with my new white socks. (Well, black shoes and white socks were common requirements for all students.) My canvas bookbag was as big as my upper torso. But, it was almost empty except for a pencil case and a handkerchief. By the end of the day, I would have picked up a few textbooks—things that made me felt grown-up and proud.
My school was within walking distance from our house. I had been there a few times: taking entrance tests, interviewing with administrators because of my under-age status and hand-delivering documents with mom. But, on the first day of school everything was different. The front gate was open. There were cars, rickshaws and people. . . lots of people. I was already a bit apprehensive meeting new people. The hustle and bustle made me even more uneasy.
My classroom was in a small one-story building behind the first row of classrooms and offices, on one side of the courtyard. There was only one other classroom in the same building. In addition to the courtyard, there was also space behind the building for outdoor activities. There were bamboo timbers for climbing, swings, seesaw and monkey bars. AND, there was a small concrete bunker! It was a large pipe, half buried underground and covered by dirt and vegetation. It must have been constructed during the last world war and left abandoned.
My teacher was young and soft-spoken. Her last name was 時, same as “hour” or “time.” I didn’t know anyone of that name. Her shoulder-length wavy hair made her face seem slim. After introducing herself to us, she started instructions right away.
I cannot recall what I learned that day. But, I remember being puzzled by the people that came to pick up my classmates. They all looked very young. Soon, I found out that they were the parents of my new friends. It was the first time that I realized that my family was different.
That was the beginning of my decades of student life.