Children’s Day

The recent newsletter from my son's primary school described the activities for Under Eight's Day. We didn't have a festival like that when I was growing up in China. Instead, we had Children's Day on June 1st for all children before they entered secondary school, which is probably the closest equivalent.

I can still remember that there was usually an evening carnival held in the open air at school. Each class would put on a performance on the stage, such as a choir, a dance, or a drama, but as usual, it was none of my business. I was never on stage throughout the years at primary school. Even when everyone else danced to "Jingle Bells" in Grade Three, I was the only one left in the audience area. I didn't mind that at all and even felt lucky as it gave me much freedom to do whatever I liked, such as staring at the moon, counting the weeds on the ground, and looking for uniquely shaped rocks.

When I was in Grade Five, my mum bought me a new pair of pants for the carnival. "Though you won't participate in the drama, you should still dress smartly and enjoy the activities," she said.

When I arrived at the classroom, my teacher was instructing some students on how to perform the play "The Fisherman and His Wife". She glanced at me as I entered the room. She was telling off the boy who was supposed to play the fisherman, saying, "Why are you wearing such brightly coloured pants? You don't look like a poor fisherman at all! Please find someone wearing grey to swap with you."

"Who is wearing grey?" the boy asked. The teacher gestured to me, signaling for me to come over. She then said, "You two go to the bathroom and swap your pants, please!" I was highly reluctant to do so, but since it was the teacher's instruction, I had no choice. "Hooray!" "Well done!" All others cheered as the boy performed on stage. "The drama was very impressive!" the principal remarked. But I sat there unhappily, staring at the blue pants I had exchanged with the other boy.

When the carnival ended, we went back to the bathroom to swap our trousers back. "Why are my trousers so dirty?" I asked. "It's none of my business," he replied, “The teacher told me to rub some dirt from the ground onto them. She said it was the only way I could look like a poor fisherman." At home, I cried and blamed my mother for giving me a pair of grey pants. I sweared I would never wear them again.

As I grew older, I realized that this was simply a form of schoolyard bullying. It was the teacher, if not the boy, who wanted to embarrass me. While art imitates life, it also elevates it. In a drama, one does not need to wear exact replica clothing to portray a character convincingly. There are many other ways to convey your role to the audience; that is the true art of the stage.

Recently, I sang Cantonese opera, performing both the male and female roles. I do not attempt to sing exactly like a woman, as that is impossible. Instead, I alter the two voices just enough to make it clear that there are two distinct characters: one male and one female.