Love For Those You Respect

I think we've all received that email that asks you to name famous people that invented things throughout history or that accomplished grand feats in their lifetime. The final question was something like "Now try and name a teacher that nurtured you and inspired you." Now that's an easy one.

The goal of the email wasn't really testing your strength in trivia but moreso to demonstrate we all remember those whom have made a positive impact in our lives.

I went to a secondary school in Hong Kong called Island School. It was part of the English Schools Foundation that was established for British Expats' children to attend while their parents were stationed in Hong Kong. Being a British Colony at the time, there were huge numbers of these British kids that needed their homeland education so they could still compete with their homeland peers when it was time for uni hunting. Island School was one of the best schools in Hong Kong when I was there; excelled in education, sports, and even drama. It also had House names a lot more interesting than other Secondary Schools in Hong Kong. Ours were separated by famous innovators: Nansen, Da Vinci, Einstein, Fleming, Rutherford, and Wilberforce.

One teacher that really stands out in my memory is Mr Galbraith. He was my form tutor years one and three, if I recall correctly. He was also my French teacher forms one through three. We crossed paths a lot in the seven years I was at Island School since we were in the same House, Fleming. When I got my class sheet on my first day in Form One I was so thrilled to learn French was mandatory. French! That's the language they speak in Paris! That fabulous city that everyone romanticises about!

I knew from first meeting Mr Galbraith he was a "nice" man. He was going to be a "nice" teacher. There was something about him. He had that really friendly aura. He literally had that 'je ne sais quois."One of those people that could never lose their temper. He was all smiles when he welcomed us First-Formers to our new school. Something deep inside me knew I could count on this guy for anything!

Entering secondary school was a big deal to any eleven year old. It's like entering middle school or becoming a freshman in high school. When I was in Peak School (my primary school), I somehow adopted the nickname, Chengy. I can't remember how it came about but now that I was in secondary school could I drop the "y" and make my name sound a little more grown-up? Kind of like Ludacris using his real name when he was trying to break into a serious acting career or P-Diddy doing the same thing when trying to establish a serious fragrance and fahion label?

Even though my name is Ch'ien (pronounced more or less like "Chen"), my friends that joined me from Peak School managed to appease me somewhat by calling me "Cheng." I suppose that sounded a little more mature. I could deal with it.

So fade to black and cut to new scene where I'm sitting in my first ever French class with Mr Galbraith...

He started off by calling off the roster adding a French twang to each name. Robert became Robert (with the silent "t"). Michael became Michel. Helen became Helene. Ch'ien became Cheen. Cheen??? That doesn't sound so fancy! What's up with that. Later in the class as we started to learn some animal names I realised Mr Galbraith didn't want to call me "dog!" That's right. Mon prenom, Ch'ien, c'est comme "le chien" mais il y a une apostrophe apres le "h." I hated my parents for giving me my name! They insisted the name was given by a Chinese God and that my first name meant "healthy" in Chinese. Screw me not wanting to be called Chengy because for most of my first year at Island School I was called the 'Healthy Dog...'

Mr Galbraith was so gracious. There were plenty of teachers that would have teased students at any chance but not Mr Galbraith. He snapped at anyone that called me chien. I felt like I owed him something so I made sure to try my best to excel in French. I did pretty good for the most part. Mr Galbraith was always very encouraging even when my homework came back with a lot of red and I had to redo a lot of it.

By the third year when most of the kids in my year were about thirteen, we drove Mr Galbraith nuts one day. Afterall, isn't thirteen, like the ultimate "Mean Teen" year? I can't remember what exactly happened in class, but Mr Galbraith was as angry as he could be. He couldn't really raise his voice, but he was trembling and red in the face. I wasn't one that was in trouble (why would I be when I was teacher's pet) and I just sat at the front of the class snickering at those who were getting a scolding. After a few minutes I suddenly became the target of his fury:

"Ch'ien-hung, please leave my classroom if you're going to continue being so rude snickering in the corner!" he said with his finger pointing to the door.

I got up and walked out the room. I couldn't believe it. But it was my own fault. I knew he was really upset as he called me by my real full name. Like how you would say it in English. He continued yelling at some of the kids inside and when he was done with them he came out to meet me. His face was still ruby red.

"Ch'ien, don't ever let me catch you smirking again in my classroom. Now get back inside." he said.

I felt humiliated. The hooligans were yelled at but I was sent outside. How could he do that to me? To think that I had once wasted my time sketching a portrait of him and framing it as a thank you gift the year before!

Later in some period where we had to watch some documentary in a lecture hall, I took out some Tipex and started drawing Mr Galbraith getting it doggy style from another male teacher on the table. There were rumours that Mr Galbraith was gay. I knew what I was doing was bad, but I finished this masterpiece nonetheless. My friends sitting next to me thought it was hysterical.

By the end of the third year it was time for us to pick what subjects we wanted to continue for our GCSEs. I still loved French and decided to continue the subject. I ended up with a new French teacher, Ms Church. Ms. Church and I hit it off from the get go, too. And for some reason, her teaching method really clicked with me and I was suddenly top of the class hardly ever getting any red in my homework. I was writing essays in French with no problem.

One day when I was walking down a corridor between periods I passed Mr Galbraith and he stopped to ask me how I was doing and enjoying French with Ms. Church.

"She's great. I'm actually learning something," I said with a smile and continued walking. As soon as I said it I realised how it came out and felt bad. I didn't mean to sound so bitchy or did I? To be completely honest, I'm really not sure.

Through the rest of my time at Island School, Mr Galbraith never stopped checking in on me. I continued French in my A-Levels with Ms Church, but at the end of Upper Sixth Form, I was invited to Mr Galbraith's end of year French Party at his house with his students. I went and he welcomed me like I was still one of his own.

When I got to University, I continued French for another 2 years until I had to focus my time on my major, Mass Communications and Advertising. I always reminisced of my time with Ms Church and Mr Galbraith. When I graduated Uni and was trying to figure out my career path, I somehow got a little retrospective of my life of twenty odd years. Somehow Mr Galbraith popped up. I decided that I would contact Island School and tell them I attended that Secondary School and I was hoping to get an email address for a former teacher. I was informed he had left the school but was still teaching at another school in Hong Kong.

I emailed him. It was a very short email with the usual "getting back in touch" script. Hey it's me... yadda yadda... Remember? How are you? Just thought I'd get in touch... yadda yadda.

I got a response from him the next morning. He was twelve hours ahead of me and pretty much responded immediately. It was a long email. So sincere. But that was him. We continued to write each other. Somewhere in the communications we had come out to each other.

A few years later he was travelling to Toronto and stopped through Boston so we could catch up in person. It was like old friends catching up. He insists on calling him James but to this day I still feel weird calling him James rather than Mr Galbraith. Three years ago I attended his wedding to his partner, Alvin, in Toronto. It was so surreal that two men were getting married at the time! Yay! Go gays! It was thrilling and exciting. Many of my old secondary school teachers were there. It was very awkward at first but pretty soon we were all just peers. Many spoke to me in French but I just replied in English. Je suis tres embarrasse parce que j'oublie beaucoup de mon francais. My sad attempt at a response.

Yesterday I received an email from James that was 1,729 words long. He's really good at keeping in touch. Me, not so much. He and Alvin are doing well and still deeply in love. A big smile always surfaces when I read his emails. Now when I think back on how this friendship evolved I get nostalgic and a little dreamy. I think James was like a Guardian Angel. He was always looking out for me. I like to think he always knew I was different as a kid. A closeted gay. When he kicked me out of his classroom, he was just teaching me how to be classy. Smirking is idiotic. Unless I'm now smirking at the fact I didn't let this mentor slip out of my life.