‘One of the best things about friendship is that age doesn’t matter.’
– Anonymous
I have a young friend in my neighbourhood. He lives with his parents in a single-storey terrace house opposite mine.
He is only nine years old. I can’t recall how our friendship began. Maybe it began with me giving him gifts like biscuits. You see I have a grandson and many grandnephews and grandnieces and the friendly boy reminds me of them.
Whenever he sees me parking my car or reversing it in front of my house, he will call out “Poh, Poh” (grandmother in Chinese) loudly. I will, in return, shout “Good morning” either in English or in Mandarin to him.
He has a complicated Chinese name which I cannot remember. For the sake of today’s column, let me call him Johnny.
There is a big gap between Johnny and I not only in terms of age but also the language we speak. You see, Johnny only speaks Mandarin with me and my Mandarin is at a very elementary level.
I blame my primary school Mandarin teacher for my poor command of the language. Miss Tiong was a fierce teacher and any student who failed their Mandarin tests would have their palms beaten with a thick round stick.
I think Miss Tiong was sadistic. She seemed to delight in bringing tears to our eyes.
When it was time for me to continue my secondary education either in a school which offered Mandarin as one of the subjects or one which did not offer it at all, I happily opted for St Elizabeth’s Convent School, a famous all-girls mission school in my hometown in Sibu.
While some of my classmates in St. Elizabeth continued to brush up their command of Mandarin on their own by reading books in the language, I ignored Mandarin completely.
I only regretted doing so many decades later when I tried to converse with friends who only spoke Mandarin.
Last Thursday, I was in the garden in front of my house busy pulling out weeds from my pots of plants when Johnny came over and started to converse with me.
He proudly showed me a toy gun bought by his father who is in his 30s.
“Poh, Poh. See this gun. My father bought this because I have shown an improvement in my English test,” he told excitedly. “My father will give me more gifts if I continue to improve.”
Johnny, I guess, is a lonely boy. He is the only child. His father looks after him and sends him to school, tuition and co-curriculum activities while his mother works in a restaurant. There are only three of them in the big house.
I’m glad Johnny is not afraid of me. Some people are because of my stern demeanour.
Last Thursday, Johnny was quite talkative. He asked me about my male dog, Cookie, and female dog, Bailey, which I had tied to the gate after I bathed them.
“How old is Cookie?” he asked me.
“Ten or 12 years old,” I replied. “ It’s older than you.”
“ How old is the smaller dog?”
“About two years old,” I said.
He was quite observant and remarked that Bailey was quite naughty.
While Johnny was talking to me, Bailey was barking at him.
“Don’t get too near the dogs. They are jealous and may bite you,” I warned him.
Johnny went on to talk about the forthcoming Chinese New Year.
“I want to give you some oranges when the festival comes because you are always giving me something,” he said.
“It’s okay. You just keep the oranges for yourself. I also have oranges,” I told him.
Johnny then asked me a surprising question. “Are you going over to your son’s house for the reunion dinner? “
“Yes,” I said.
“Why do you have to go to your son’s house for the dinner? Shouldn’t he be coming over to your house?” he asked.
I laughed at his question and said, “It’s okay for me to go there.”
Johnny, who goes to a Chinese school, must have been taught lessons on filial piety by his school teachers.
Yes, in the olden days, children would go back to their parents’ houses for reunion dinners. But times have changed. To me, it does not matter where the family members eat the reunion dinner as long as they gather , eat, celebrate and make merry together.
In fact, on the eve of Chinese New Year, many restaurants are fully booked for reunion dinners
But as traditional values slowly erode or become less significant, the reunion dinner has undergone a transformation of its own.
Many urban families, in fact, now find it easier to eat out on this special occasion instead of preparing an elaborate meal for a huge group of extended family members at home. Indeed, it is a hassle at least for me to plan, prepare and cook the spread of symbolic dishes.
With my elementary Mandarin, I did not explain to Johnny why I would be going to my son’s house for the reunion dinner. One day, when he is older, he will understand.
That entire afternoon, Johnny kept me company while I weeded almost the entire garden. We both went back to our respective homes as the sun went down.
Thanks to him, I had an interesting afternoon. I am also glad I am learning Mandarin again after a long break.
