Memory

I was browsing through some old journal writings last night at home and I found something that amused me rather deeply. It's been slightly edited for timing (i.e., how many years ago this took place), but otherwise it is largely what I'd originally written.

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Was it first grade? Or second? No, wait. It was what we called "Primary 1." That's right. Primary 1 at the Chinese International School in Hong Kong. Mrs. … Bullon. Yup. That was her name. I don't think I'll ever forget it, if only because she resembled a bull. With long hair. Or was that the creepy teacher from Roald Dahl's Matilda? The world may never know. There's a good chance she only slightly resembled that teacher, only now whatever memory I have of her actual face is tainted by what I saw in the movie of said Roald Dahl book. I am positive, however, that she always had her hair up in a bun. And she was a brunette. I'll eat my left foot if she was actually blonde.

I can't say I remember what the project was for, but I do remember it involved everyone in the class making a hot air balloon. Well, the "primary 1" version, which was just a brightly colored piece of construction paper, a couple of strings of yarn, and a paper cup. Oh, right, I remember now. It was the beginning of the year, and we were making these hot air balloons to tack up on our classroom wall. The idea was that every time we did something good in class, we would get little "merits" to put in them. Punishments were given by the removal of those merits. Then, every so often, you could redeem your merits for a little prize. Or a sticker. Or maybe the prize was a sticker.

Mrs. Bullon handed us a pile of "hot air balloons," which weren't really much more than two-dimensional paper circles of varying colors. They already had our names on them… I got a red one, with the word "Vivienne" spelled on it with black marker. Two little holes, punched in by what I now know was a hole puncher (and not incredible skill with a pair of scissors) were found at the base of the paper circle. One strand of green yarn dangled from each hole. It was up to us, she said, to put it together at home. That was homework. Everyone who turned it in on time got a merit.

Off I go, excited about this new project. Well, I think I was. If I wasn't, I damn well should have been. Naturally, the nanny asks me what I did at school today. I tell her, with a sense of urgency: "Big Sister Ping, do we have any paper cups?"

(It didn't come out quite like that… I likely asked something that sounded like "Ping tse, ngo dei yau mou tsi bui ah?" I was still in my Cantonese-speaking phase, you see.)

I remember my nanny's response, not because it was anything profound, but because of the horror I felt when I heard it. "Hou tsi mo woh," she answered in Cantonese, telling me no, she was pretty sure we didn't. If I'd known how to cuss back then, that would've likely been the time to do it.

I can't say I know what happened next. I don't think I was angry, just a little worried. My nanny apologized and then said, "Nei haw mm haw yee tsi gei tsing yut goh ah?" That, I imagine, would make more sense if you read what my brain interpreted as, "Can you make one yourself?"

My mind goes a bit blank right here, and then I can see myself very enthusiastically yanking out a sheaf of perfectly-square origami paper. I picked one that had blue on one side and white on the other, I think. Maybe I say blue because it's now my favorite color. It's certainly what I would've picked today.

I remember not needing my origami books to help me. All I did was fold it, taking my time to get the creases perfect. I didn't need more than one piece of paper! As I tucked the last flap in, I held up my final product. I beamed.

It didn't look like a paper cup so much as it did a trapezoid. But if you held the "cup" up the right way, with the longer horizontal edge on top and the short one on the bottom, and then squeezed the edges in toward each other, a mouth opened at the very top! Now that I think about it, it wasn't so much a paper cup as it was a flattened pocket made of paper, but hey, the book from which I first learned it said it was a cup, and if it was good enough for Cheer Bear, it was good enough for Mrs. Balloon. I mean, Bullon.

During my escapade with the trapezoidal cup, the nanny had gone home. I only know this because when I emerged from my room, my mom and dad were back from work. I can't say I'm sure I know when the nanny left; I might've been too focused on my cup to care.

I ran to show my mom, showing her my cup and telling her as quickly as I could what the project was all about. I remember the look on her face when she saw it; it was probably my favorite part of the project. Her smile was so huge and her eyes looked at me full of pride…I didn't know it at the time, but she was impressed. Impressed! By me! I remember her asking if I did it myself, and I beamed up at her with all my 6-year-old glory.

Mom helped me punch two holes, one in each upper corner of the cup, with a pencil. Then she took the paper circle, made sure it was the right way up, and threaded the two pieces of yarn through the holes. She tied the strings into the holes and held it up for me.

"This," she said in a voice brimming with delight, "is going to be the only balloon of its kind on that wall." (Yes, this came out in Cantonese as well, but owing to the fact that Cantonese is a pain in the ass to type out in English, I'm not going to bother doing so yet again.)

My dad came into the living room then, curious as to what was going on. I didn't hear that conversation, though… I was too absorbed with my hot air balloon.

Fast forward to the next day. Mrs. Bullon was collecting everyone's homework, and I was grinning ear to ear. Everyone else (as far as I know) had plain, boring ordinary paper cups. Thinking back, they were a bit like the little Dixie cups that dentists like to give to their patients during an checkup or a cleaning. Some of the cups were white, some had flowers on them, some had funny cartoon characters on them, some were big, some were small.

But not a single one of them was a trapezoid. I was worried, because I thought I did something wrong.

I remember my friend Hamilton having Barbie's face on his cup. I can't tell you why that sticks out in my head right this second, but it might have something to do with the fact that he's now living in San Francisco (last I heard). Nope. Can't put my finger on it.

I remember showing Mrs. Bullon my hot air balloon, with her saying, "You made this yourself?"

I told her how we didn't have any paper cups at home, so I decided to just make my own. I think I might've asked her if that was all right… as I mentioned, I was worried I got it wrong.

Mrs. Bullon's smile was a tremendous relief. So were her words: "It's lovely. I think it'll go… here." And with that "here," she stapled my balloon on the classroom wall to join the others. It was, as my mom promised, the only balloon of its kind on that wall.

I don't think I knew then that that day was the day I resigned myself to the life of a geek. Well, no, not geek. But a specific kind of person, to be sure. You see, for many years after that day, my mom would love to remind me that I made a paper cup. When would she whip that out? Oh, right about when I was whining about how I couldn't do something.

From there, I learned something that I have carried with me all my life. I know of two kinds of people. One will give you ten solutions to a problem. The other will give you a hundred reasons why that problem can't be solved. Which is better? Which are you? That day seventeen-some years ago marked the day that determined on which side of that coin I fell.

I am a problem-solver. Sure, nowadays I bitch and moan when I feel like I can't do something, when I feel like I've tried every way to handle a situation. But I don't let it end there. Once I get all that nastiness out of my system, it's back to thinking of a solution, of a way to manipulate what I've learned to give me the result I need, of a way to approach the problem from an angle I hadn't tried before.

Something just occurred to me. It might not have been Mrs. Bullon at all. Maybe the fact that her name sounds like "balloon" linked her to this memory. Come to think of it, it might have been in my Primary 2 class, with Mrs. Woods and her teaching assistant, Miss Wood.

Nah. It's a better memory if Mrs. Bullon's in it. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.