Ming never really liked his old man. He didn’t know exactly why. While everyone he hang around with had something to brag about their fathers, Ming felt contemptuous toward his in the depth of his heart, since he was neither tall, nor talented, nor powerful, nor good at anything manly. To him, his father’s voice sounded too high-pitched, and the things he did were all too trivial. Besides, he seemed to be just too nice to everyone except him and his younger brother. Fortunately, as a petty CCP cadre, he was always on a work trip somewhere.
When Ming was sent to live with his aunt in Lotus Village, he felt as if he had been abandoned by his parents. While he had to work like a real child slave, he never saw a smiling face there. The only occasion that he received some serious attention was the first Chinese New Year’s Eve he had in the country.
It was a chilly and snowy evening in 1968. While all the adults in his step grandpa’s big family was getting ready for the grand reunion dinner to be held around two door panels laid together as a make-do table, he and his cousins could not wait to eat all kinds of meat dishes and fried snacks that had never appeared since exactly one year before. In a quiet corner, he was anticipating the call for the dinner and dreaming about getting a hongbao [red envelope of money] after the party when his father popped up from nowhere, waving a brochure in his right hand, which Ming readily recognized as his school report.
“On you kneels!” ordered his father sternly and loudly.
So did Ming obediently, knowing that his father must have been more than disappointed with what was written on the report this time.
“How dare you! You have only a passing grade for almost every subject. Listen up, here’s your teacher’s general evaluation: ‘This pupil tends to be a trouble maker in the classroom. In comparison with other fifth graders, he is a weak performer.’ How dare you! How shameful! You’ve really pissed me off!”
Before finishing what he had to say, his enraged father began to slap his face forcefully, pinched his ear hard, punched and kicked him until he was too tired to continue.
“Don’t move! Just think about your school performance, and repent!” His father yelled at him as he turned around and left the room.
“A living Buddha outside, but a true tyrant at home!” protested Ming in his mind. As a foster child, he usually saw his father once in a year, and thus seldom thought of him, but each time he did see him, he would have a hard time enduring his short temper and harsh disciplining. This time, he had been beaten so badly that he made up his mind to run away. So, hardly had father left his aunt’s house for his step-grandpa’s before he jumped up and made a dash for the wildness beyond the crop fields in front of the houses. About five minutes later, he was beginning to slow down to catch his breath when he heard one of his uncles shouting aloud not far behind him, “Stop, Ming! Stop running! Come back!”
But he wouldn’t stop; instead, he sped up again to avoid being caught up with by his uncles. Realizing that his second-hand coat, which had become whitish after too much washing, might betray him as a clearly visible target at twilight, he took it off while running without stop. A few more minutes later, he managed to shake off all his pursuers. Since all his relatives knew who his best friend was and where his house was located, he asked Zhuying to relocate him in a neighbor boy’s home. When Ming heard his uncles coming to check with Zhuying about his whereabouts, he was playing cards smugly with his pals just a house away in the back. However, he was eventually outwitted by his uncles, who returned at midnight to catch him in Zhuying’s house, where he felt safe enough to stay after they had left earlier.
“We had a talk with your dad before coming here again. He agreed not to beat you again as long as you follow us home!” said one of his uncles, smiling half good-naturedly and half slyly. “That won’t happen, mark our words!” said the other.
Taking their reassurances for granted, Ming returned home and had an undisturbed dream, in which he found the dinner dishes in Zhuying’s home much fewer but way more mouthwatering than what he had seen in his own home.
“How dare you! Where did you learn to shake off your uncles? Like an evil Kuomintang special agent! Just where?” asked his father at the top of his voice, waking him up by pinching his ear early next morning.
Ming was angry because neither his father nor his uncles had kept their promises, yet he could do nothing about it except feeling all the more sad for himself.
As he wept silently, he came to realize that an adult’s promise was just crap.
