I was safe, or so I thought.
I left the cafeteria bound for home, and dry shoes and socks. The staff gate locked, I cut thru the dormitory area and made for another exit. From under my ragged, grey umbrella I spotted a class of Grade 1 boys in yellow and red rain slickers, marching in two rows to their naps.
Damn, I thought, much like a starlet, I hope I wasn’t recognized.
I continued towards the gate, twenty yards away. The puddle-covered, white tile ground required some fancy foot work to stay upright and reasonably dry. I glanced to my left as I walked; the bushes had been recently pruned. Between two fine examples of manicured shrubbery stood Rick.
Rick, my toothless fan
He looked at me. I looked at him.
He smiled his toothless Grade 1 smile.
Damn, I thought.
“Si Di Fu,” he said.
“Hello Rick.”
“Si Di Fu,” he said, his voice stronger, his smile wider.
“Goodbye Rick,” I said and headed for the gate.
“SI DI FU!” he exclaimed.
Then, in Chinese: Look! Look!
“Si Di Fu!” he called again, parroted by several of the Year 1 boys I had avoided.
“Si Di Fu!” I heard yelled again, from more of the group.
Within seconds it was a chant from 20+ Year 1 boys. My (incorrect) Chinese name echoed off the surrounded dormitories. I raised a hand and gave a half-hearted wave as I dodged a large puddle.
Then they stopped. A dorm mother must have put an end to it.
I know only five or six of that group, former students of mine. When I encounter them they inevitably have their entire class chant my name. I can’t complain. It’s a tremendous ego boost until I remember if a dog walked by they would be yelling, “Look, a DOG!”
Ahh, to be seven again.
