Happy Birthday, Professor - STORYTIME
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Several years ago, I met an aged professor of philosophy from Jinan Teachers' University. It was happenstance; a friend had an important, ritual-filled family meal at an exclusive restaurant and wanted me there for 'moral support'.
I sat next to this 85-year-old thinker, grandfather of the one who invited me, and I didn't think we'd talk all that much. I was the only white face there anyway: More "we have a white friend" one-up-manship than actual friends. After we were assigned seats (again, ritualistic) we sat and made furtive small-talk. Hello, I'm X from Y, it's a pleasure to meet you, etc. etc.
The old man quietly got out an old box with faded text written in clerical script, placed it on his lap, and pulled out a bottle. Then, he offered me a glass of old and rare rice wine.
The restaurant, the wine's box, the bottle, the serving china, the way he asked; it all said: "This is special."
I accepted - it's rude to refuse - and took a sip. The power hit me like a trans-Siberian train. Being white, I showed this on my face. Chinese people are very good at not showing emotion. Anyway, after the initial shock, the flavour settled into something austere and quite profound. I remember staring at the drink in the tiny glass for quite some time until the prof gently touched my arm; almost unsure of his 'place' in the table hierarchy vis-à-vis race. He asked a simple question:
"Were you present when you drank my wine?"
...
Can you feel the portent of that question? There was a way to experience this drink. With expectation, without guidance. And while the offering was in my hands, it remained, by his question, his. I told him, apologetically, I was not.
"Where were you, my new friend?" He smiled at me. The wall fell.
I was in my mind; trying to wear the face of what I expected in such a time and place, with such people, as to bring as much harmony to proceedings as possible while leaving the least of footprints. "I was trying to be what you (pl) wanted."
"You can get lost in the ocean, but the river tracts true. Here, with me, you are on the river."
We met many times after that. I was studying in Beijing, he teaching in Jinan, so it was quite a distance for me, and worse for him due to age, but once a month, we'd meet. We'd talk. We'd share our cultures, our languages, our moralities, modalities, and incentives. What he lived through would shock most. To him, they all "aided in his life-long education".
He died four months before I left China. I wasn't invited to the funeral; I never found out why. Shame. It would have been an honour to say goodbye to such a thought-proking natural teacher, a humble being of compassion, a person who broke barriers with such grace.
Today was his birthday.
#HappyBirthday #Philosophy
