My father, J. McRee "Mac" Elrod, died last summer at age 84. I have always been in awe of the fact that he and my mother spent five years in Korea soon after the end of the Korean war, as very young teaching missionaries. They came with a red-headed baby boy--my brother Mark--and added two more kids while there -- me and my sister Cara. 

When my dad reported for work at Yonsei University on the outskirts of Seoul 60 years ago, the small collection of library books was protected from theft behind a barrier of chicken-wire. The card catalogue, I recall father saying, was ravaged by soldiers taking the cards to line their shoes. In the winter, the ink froze in the inkwells.​
​
​My father pioneered the adaptation of Western cataloguing methods for Asian library materials, while still in his early twenties. In fact he was the first Western-trained professional librarian in Korea. He did away with the chicken wire and during his time, the library collection grew from 3,000 to 30,000 volumes...

   I wrote my "teaching philosophy" a few years ago and stand by it today. Competence in English can only be attained by students who acquire some cultural literacy,* therefore we should not be afraid of introducing Western culture into the classroom.

   Now it's time for me to add a big caveat. I have read blog posts and articles by teachers who say, in effect, "hell yeah, I indoctrinate my students with my opinions." That really concerns me.
  These same people would probably have very disparaging things to say about the Christian missionaries who went to China in days gone by, sincerely believing that they were saving heathen souls from damnation. But if you are forcing your worldview on your students, what makes you any different from a missionary? The 'fact' that your opinions are right and theirs were wrong?...

 I've taught four semesters in China at a vocational institute, two in the fall and two in the spring. The usual pattern for me was to chug along, getting busier and more tired, and then catch a 'flu bug and have to drag myself through the final exams. This time, the 'flu obligingly held off until after final exams, and then passed itself on to my husband with a vengeance, so that although we are enjoying a care-free vacation, we are hacking and wheezing.  

I have to think the pollution has something to do with the way our lungs are feeling. Frankly, the pollution in Zibo (and across all of northeast China) this past winter was as bad as we have ever seen it. Smog settled down on the city for day after day; some days you couldn't even see across the street. The filthy air kept us from wanting to get out on our bicycles, too, so we didn't get the exercise we should...

I read some melancholy Twitter posts from some ex-pat teachers in China who are feeling the pain of being far away from their loved ones and their familiar haunts at Christmastime.  I haven't felt this ache or at least, hardly felt a twinge. I don't think this is because I care for my family less, I think it's because of one simple fact -- they are at the beginning of the Christmas life cycle and I'm at the other end.

For a single young man, Christmas is an occasion where you show up somewhere and somebody gives you things you really need -- maybe some socks and underwear and a sweater -- and a great home-cooked meal. Perhaps I paint with too broad a brush here -- perhaps there are young men who are in demand as Christmas party guests because they know how to make killer pecan pie -- but I think it's generally true, for all young people. They aren't yet parents or grandparents, where the pleasure of Christmas lies, in large part, in making a memorable occasion for someone else...