Some Chinese practices: 09 (Contributing to the family kitty.2)

I was determined to be financially independent as soon as possible, not wanting to be a financial burden on my mother who had to be the breadwinner to her brood as well as support her younger siblings and cousins.

    When I failed to get into medical school, I decided to do a secretarial course as one could be a secretary in any line of business in those days.

    I'd done a short stint of teaching at a secondary school as a temporary teacher, while waiting for my Pre-U ('A' level) results from Cambridge (Overseas Syndicate Board).

    Two of my students at that school were from Indonesia.  Their parents had sent them over to receive their education in Singapore, and they were sharing a house with other children (cousins or children of their parents' friends).  I ended up being approached to give a number of them private tuition (on all the subjects that they were struggling with, as it was an English stream school, with every subject, except the Second Language, taught in English).

    So, I was giving private tuition in the morning (sometimes at the weekend as well), and attending my secretarial course in the afternoon.  This meant that I was able to start giving my mother money towards the household kitty.

    How much to contribute is not laid down clearly as such.  I think it depends on how much money is actually needed, and how much the contributor can afford.  In a family where money is not short, it's then a case of a token sum as a token of one's filial piety.

    I was earning three times my third sister's monthly salary as a bank clerk.  She had stopped giving my mother money because she was building up her nest egg, knowing she was going to marry the man she'd met, so I decided to contribute a third of my earnings towards the household kitty.

(Singapore, 1973–74)

The disruptive student (Singapore)

I was 19, teaching a class of 14-year-olds English Language as a temporary teacher waiting for my A-level results from the University of Cambridge.  

As if that was not daunting enough in itself, one of the students was a cocky boy who took the mickey out of every teacher and out of everything the teacher said.  (Much of the staff room talk was about him and how to deal with him.)  

Whatever you said, he’d either parrot in a funny voice (which made the class laugh), or make some kind of smart-aleck remark (which made the class laugh).  Most unnerving for any teacher, never mind one who was only five years older than he and inexperienced in teaching mainstream to boot.

After a number of these disruptive wisecracks, I decided to send him out of the classroom, to stand in the corridor.  I don’t know what it’s like in Singapore these days but luckily in those days students were at least a little respectful of authority, so he accepted the exile with equanimity.

I carried on with the class.  I said things (I can’t remember what now) which the students found entertaining, so they laughed a lot.  The exiled boy couldn’t resist sticking his head into the classroom again and again to see what the fun was all about.  

I told him, “You have forfeited the right to being a member of the class with your disruptive behaviour, so you have also forfeited your right to any enjoyment that comes with the lesson.  You cannot participate in the fun.  If you wish to, you’ll have to promise you won’t be disruptive and I’ll let you back in.”  

Silence from him, obviously refusing to compromise.

This went on for a few more times, and eventually he caved in and promised to behave, as the class seemed to be having such fun which he was missing out on.  

I let him back in, after which he freely enjoyed the laughs his peers had with my teaching and never again disrupted the class.

No caning, no scolding, just a few words.  

I wonder where he is now, and how he’s turned out in society.

(Singapore, 1973)

See also blog Pandemonium in the classroom, https://piccola-chinita.blogspot.com/2012/02/pandemonium-in-classroom-singapore.html