The Small Chinese Boy and the Stupid Eraser – the power of words

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Today’s Blog Post


The Small Chinese Boy and the Stupid Eraser – the power of words

The small Chinese boy sat his desk with his head resting on his hands. He was listening to his teacher talking about taking care of their things.

Remember this is China when the cameras are rolling. It was a film being featured on our local TV… a million miles from where this scene is taking place. That million miles is not just the distance but rather the cultural distance from where most of us are located in our lives.

The Class Monitors walk around the room inspecting the eraser of each student. The boy’s easer is taken by a monitor and brought to the front of the class with four others.

The Monitor has discovered that his eraser was full of holes and kind of chewed up looking. It appears to be well used and in the boredom(or frustration) that he might have felt he has poked holes with his pencil lead… stabbing it many times.

As the class votes on which eraser is the worst of the four, the camera catches the little boy’s face as he listens to the reporting and the reaction of his class mates.

His eraser was the worst.

The teacher calls him to the front of the class and explains why it is happening. Two of his fellow classmates stand near by and then join into the cacophony of addressing the poor little guy down. They berate him, scold him and ask him if he has anything to say… to which he hangs his head down and asks for forgiveness… saying that he has been very bad and apologizes to the class for having made his eraser such a mess.

The discipline is not over. The teacher pulls out an old sweater that is very old, probably dirty and has many holes in it. It is a disgraceful piece of clothing compared to the sharp uniforms that he and his classmates have on. She makes him put it on in front of the class.

The little boy is 7 years old. His head is hanging down as he looks at the floor. He returns to his desk and takes the foul sweater off… lays it on top of the desk and begins to cry openly… tears spilling on to his desk.

As I watched the TV screen and listened to the commentary about the Chinese Class, picking up many new things about the culture and the way that teachers operate in China… I am now sick at heart for what I have seen.

I am that little boy. I am the one that destroyed the erasers as I poked holes in them with the lead of the pencil. I was listening but I destroyed the eraser – just like he did. That was 62 years ago and I want to vomit now.

How could any system of education be so cruel and so ridiculous?

When we lived in Hong Kong and helped at the schools, it was not uncommon to have the discouraged students jump from the school roof to their death seven stories below. I hated the exam times and the pressure times to be better than was humanly possible... with parent’s and teacher’s demands that could never be met.

I complained at times as I went through school. I found homework interfering with my private life. I found the rules hard to take. I hated it when a bully showed up to hurt others. It was school and I was like any other student.

But as I watched the face of this young Chinese boy I was deeply moved.

Then I remember my dad’s story after one of my teaching sessions to a group of Children’s leaders/teachers. I was traveling for the head office of our church as their featured speaker across Canada.

Dad choked up when we were alone after the session.

He told me of time long ago in a small rural school. It was southern Saskatchewan. He was instructed to read a poem in front of the class. He stumbled on the words and became red in the face – sputtering nothingness. The teacher looked at him in scorn… and said… “Ah sit down… you will never be any good at this kind of thing anyways!”

He looked at me and said, “From that minute on I could never read in front of anyone.. I could never speak in front of anyone… I believed what the teacher said…”

It was at that moment that my dad told me how proud he was of me, his son… the minister… that could speak easily to so many people… without stumbling over my words.

It wasn’t always that way. At first in Walkerton – at my first church responsibility… I nearly died some Sundays when I spoke. My mouth was dry and I was frightened to death of the audience.

I told my wife about it. She said that she believed I could do it.

I went on and kept trying… and after a wonderful miracle… I was set free to speak… forever.

I watched the little Chinese boy and on wondered if he would pass his year at school or be returned home many hundreds of miles away… without schooling. I cannot stop seeing his face when I close my eyes.

Oh I didn’t tell you that it was a Boarding School as well… no mommy and daddy to tuck him, or listening to his faint crying that night of his destroyed eraser.

Today is raining outside. The clouds are heavy – like my heart and thoughts for that little boy in China.

Would you think of just that one… with the eraser problem?

~ Murray Lincoln ~
http://www.murraylincoln.com/