Up until I was 14, I used to hate Saturday mornings. I mean, really hate them. Because Saturday mornings meant that everyone else I knew got to watch Saturday morning cartoons while eating pancakes (and as I got older, it meant sleeping in after a night of partying), while I got dragged to Chinese school and go through concentration-camp-like language drills for 6 hours. Through all my grumbles and sulking, my dad told me sternly "Someday, you will appreciate this."
And I did.
On the 30th of August, when we were trying to buy a bus ticket to get out of the hell-hole aka Guangzhou, where no one had a soul, and definitely would not give anyone the time of day if they did not speak Chinese, I finally appreciated all the Saturday mornings I had sacrificed to go to Chinese school.
So thank you Daddy. You were right.
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1 comment:
Lucky... All I got from Chinese school was verbal abuse and 8 years worth of Saturdays wasted that I could have been playing Super Nintendo.
At least I can write my name...
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