In the hot seat

I was trying to recall broadcast class from seven years earlier, trying to conjure my professional on-air voice. But for once I was not the one asking the questions; I was the one being interviewed. Some students had asked me to be a guest on the evening student broadcast over the school loudspeakers.

I stood in a cramped closet-sized room attached to the art building, inside just a couple of receivers and microphones and a fan in the corner. I leaned against the wall in the tight space with three senior students surrounding me and jabbing microphones in my face after each question.

I knew all of the students. One was my student in a senior 1 class. His English name was John. The other two were senior 2 students who had shown me around the city when I first arrived. Rachel was an outgoing, confident girl whose English was the best of all three. I had given the other girl her English name only hours before. Pippi after the children’s book character. The Chinese student Pippi was short and skinny with hesitating English.

John, Rachel and Pippi asked me how students could improve their English (speak more English, listen to more English, watch English TV and movies), where I had visited in China (Beijing, Shanghai, Hong Kong) and how much I knew about Chinese history, including the dynasties (very little).

I could hear my answers echoing overhead through the loudspeakers. My voice sounded distant and unfamiliar, like I was listening to someone else speaking.

So far the interview was a breeze. Then Rachel asked me, “Because China has 5,000 years of wonderful history, do you wish you lived here as a child?”

I fumbled a moment, then found my voice and said, “I feel lucky I could live in the United States as a child and now live in China as an adult.” It wasn’t the most thorough or elegant response, but as simple as that statement was, it is true.

The interview lasted 15 minutes. At the end, the producer, also a student, said thank you and handed me a lollipop.

I walked with the three students toward the senior classroom building where they had to report for self-study period. Rachel had told me before the interview that this was her last broadcast show.

“My parents want me to stop. They want me to study more,” she told me as we talked through the now-darkened campus.

“Oh, but you’re so good!” I said.

I thought of saying something more, telling her that she should keep doing something if she loves it, of encouraging her to not give up on her dream. But I fumbled again and this time didn’t find my voice. She was 15 and her parents wanted her to quit. So I just waved and smiled to them as they climbed the staircase to their classroom building.