“Daddy, are you sure that the sand crabs are happy? They don’t look very happy.”
As my dad and I find a less crowded spot on the warm Santa Monica shore, the invasive
sand creeps into every crevice of my body. I pick up a bright red sand bucket, a shovel so
yellow it competes with the sun, and his hand. The crisp sound of the shovel digging into
the sand makes my ears perk up, and I give another four digs before I finally see tiny,
grey antennas appear, anxious and scrambling to escape the sand. I cup my left hand and
gently push away the sand surrounding the crab. When I have a secure grip on him, I
scurry to the bright red bucket that is filled with salty, ocean water.
“Daddy, I think he needs sand, just so he feels like he’s at home!” I call out as I shovel sand into the bucket.
Within two hours, I have captured 25 sand crabs, and I return with my dad to our red and
orange striped towels further back on the beach. I watch the crabs for another 30 minutes,
as they emerge, submerge, and climb over one other in an attempt to achieve the seemingly impossible task of escaping the sand. As the sun begins to set, and pinks and purples fill the sky, I can sense that it is time to say goodbye to my 25 new friends. With all my strength, I lift the bright red bucket and tip it onto its side.
* * *
I lift the key tray off of its side, taking only the rectangular block that leads to my father’s car, and call out, “It’s time to go!”
“Who’s driving? My newly permitted 15-year old, or me?”
“I think we both know the answer to that question already!”
After a minute of struggling, my dad and I burst into a fit of laughter as we realize why the car won’t start – my foot isn’t on the brake. This realization is quickly interrupted by a high-pitched whine from the other side of the garage door.
“Are you sure we don’t want to bring him?” my dad asks, accompanied by his very-own puppy dog eyes.
“You know he’s not actually allowed inside of the grocery store, Dad. And we have a long list of things to buy today.”
“Good thing no one can tell me where my dog is and isn’t allowed to be!” He propels himself out of the passenger seat and into the garage, emerging moments later with our four-month old puppy, Dash, between his arms.
“You do this every morning and it is actually quite annoying,” I passively comment as I pull out of the driveway, and into the broader neighborhood.
“Oh, stop being so dramatic. We all know he’s nicer to me than you and your brother,” my dad responds, as his gigantic smile shoots out the window towards the warm summer skies, and plethora of cacti. He picks up the auxiliary cord, and plays our “Everyday Grocery” playlist, that is exclusively Tchaikovsky, Chopin, and Grieg. These melodies fill the confines of the small sedan, and my dad and I sway side-to-side, amidst the same stoplights, signs, and one-way road we have taken my entire life to our local Bashas.
Once I have pulled into the slanted-parking space, and the car is properly parked, I am distracted by my peripheral, in which Dash’s nugget tail swiftly swings against my father’s uniform khaki pants. My dad opens his door, Dash hurls himself out of the car – an enormous leap for his six-pound self – and drags my dad through two opening, automatic doors.
* * *
I apply just enough pressure to my bedroom door handle, so that it is as close to silent as possible as it opens. For the first time in twelve years of school, I have been awoken by the sound of my phone’s blaring, guttural alarm, and not my father’s soothing whisper, “It’s another beautiful day to wake up and learn!”
As I step out of my bedroom, and my feet contact the ice-cold, tile floor, I am forced to pass through the kitchen, where my dad is seeping his second cup of tea for the morning. We make eye contact, holding it only for an intense, but brief moment before I swiftly move past his viewpoint and into my secluded bathroom. Moments later, he appears and knocks on the bathroom door.
“Amanda, the deadline is approaching, so let’s stop being childish and just talk about it.”
“Dad, there is literally nothing to hash out; stop trying to make big life decisions for me. This actually has nothing to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with me because it’s about how my daughter is choosing to spend her next four years, and her entry into the real world. I’m also paying, so that should hold some weight.”
“It’s honestly cute that you think you can try and force me to spend some of my most crucial developmental years somewhere I don’t actually want to be, just because you’re paying. Please, cut me off. I’d rather take loans to go somewhere I will actually enjoy than suffer for free. Because I can do that anywhere.”
“What’s crazy is that you somehow think I’m trying to make you suffer; as if I don’t want what’s best for you! I know you can’t actually understand what it’s like to be a parent, but you’re not so dumb to think that I wouldn’t want what I actually believe is best for you.”
“Have you ever entertained the idea that I’m old enough now to make these decisions? And know what’s best for me?” “How many times are we going to go through this same loop of fighting?”
“Until you realize and accept that UPenn is an amazing school and where I want to end up, more than anything! And that early-decisioning gives me my best shot.”
“You know, I really can’t do this whole fighting thing. I knew I shouldn’t have sent you there for the summer. You can do what you want, but I think that you know I’m right. Regardless, the choice is yours. Just remember that I know a lot more than you.” He sighs and outstretches his hand; a sign of complacent acquiescence.
* * *
My father pulls with great weight on my hand as he helps me off of the charcoal pavement, chuckling to himself. “I’m going to get it, I swear,” I mumble underneath my breath.
“I can’t believe my daughter is eighteen years old and doesn’t know how to ride a bike.”
“And I can’t believe my parents never thought to teach me. And that I’m going to the one university where a bike is NOT optional.”
“We could get you a scooter?” He jokingly nudges my arm, picks the beaten-up, vomit-green bike from the ground, and places it once again in front of me. I hobble over the seat, grip the handlebars until my hands turn three shades lighter, and let out a deep sigh.
“Well, the good news is: you’ve only fallen twice today. Bad news is: you obviously still need me to push you,” he remarks as he aligns himself with the back-wheel.
I push off of my left foot and begin to pedal. In stark contrast with my dad’s heavy pants, as he sprints to keep up with the moving bike, I refuse to let a single sip of air escape my mouth, and internally scream, “Please don’t fall, please don’t fall,” as I remember my dad’s tips: look straight ahead, and focus on where you’re going. As the pressure of his hands against my back releases, and the sound of his pants dissipates, the words “Keep going! Pedal faster!” encourage me as I speed down the pavement. His laughter fades into the distance as I speed toward and loop around the narrow, dead-end cul-de-sac.
* * *
As my Uber reaches the end of Galvez Street – my new, routine cul-de-sac – I quickly sprint into my dorm room, and answer the persistent ring of a Facetime call from home.
“One second – I’m closing my door! People are being noisy in the hallway,” I call over my shoulder to the computer screen, where my dad is patiently waiting.
When he sees me reappear, he asks, “So exactly which problems do you need help with? None seem too difficult.”
“Wait, before we start, can I see my doggo? I don’t believe that he’s actually twelve pounds now! The vet probably made a mistake.”
“Just you wait and see. Also, he is objectively my dog now.” I roll my eyes as he disappears from the screen, and I hear him distantly seek Dash, “Your old master is calling you, Dash!”
I see their silhouettes approach the camera, and cannot contain my laughter.
“Good God, you really weren’t kidding! How did he get SO big?! I told you to stop feeding him so much human food.”
“I’d rather have a fat and happy dog with a sense of good food than one who only eats kibble. Besides, there’s more of him to love now.”
“I mean, I guess nothing I say will change your opinion on that one.”
“Okay that’s enough about the dog; what problems do you need help with?” I watch as Dash scurries away; rather than contain a simple nugget tail, he himself has now become – well – a sturdy grey nugget.
“I still can’t believe you let the dog get so big.” I pull out my homework and then prompt my father, “Supplemental Problem G Part B. I don’t understand how I’m supposed to go about this – you know I’ve never formally written a mathematical proof.”
“I do know that, but I also know that I tried teaching you in high school, only to be told it doesn’t matter. As always, you should’ve listened to me.”
He spends the next ten minutes walking me through every detail of the problem, checking in every few seconds – “did that make sense? Did you not already go through this in class?” – and making his own comments along the way – “I teach this same way to undergraduates. I love that they’re forcing you to do this. You can’t tell me that math isn’t cool after all of this!”
As I frantically flip through the pages and take pictures for submission, he prompts, “Okay, so how’s everything else? Do you have time to talk with me and mom?”
“Sorry, daddio. Wish I could, but I have to turn this in really quickly; a bunch of my friends are downstairs waiting for me so we can go to the beach. Love you, thanks for the help – talk to you soon; tell Mom I miss her!” The call ends and I bolt out of the door.
* * *
My feet sink into the warm, crisp sand, and my unconscious instinct leads me to sprint straight into the water, where a slight breeze pushes against me. The ice-cold water pierces through my skin, and I stand tall. My gaze ahead is exactly that of when I am biking through the beautiful green and elegant archways of campus, as my father’s words remain: look straight ahead, and focus on where you’re going. And as I stare ahead, mesmerized by the rhythmic percussion of waves against the sandy shore, my mind wanders. Where did all of the sand crabs go?
其实自己真正知道答对的只有大概1／3。
Covid 期间， 我读了我孩子小学五年级的历史书，真是被感动到了。
开篇就说，历史书上的记载，很大概率是假的，我们必须设身处地的去分析，尽可能的还原事件真实的样子，或者其可能性。
对每个历史事件，都从不同的角度来解读，比如对发现新大陆，哥伦布到底是不是个英雄还是刽子手， 就从多个角度，拿出各种证据，让孩子认识到， 历史人物的复杂性，和哥伦布在那时的困境。 问孩子，如果是你，你会怎么选择。
中国孩子呢？ 从小背诵统一答案。完全不教逻辑。
美国高中生准备SAT花的时间和努力比中国高中生差得多了。
It Never Stops Flowing
“Daddy, are you sure that the sand crabs are happy? They don’t look very happy.”
As my dad and I find a less crowded spot on the warm Santa Monica shore, the invasive
sand creeps into every crevice of my body. I pick up a bright red sand bucket, a shovel so
yellow it competes with the sun, and his hand. The crisp sound of the shovel digging into
the sand makes my ears perk up, and I give another four digs before I finally see tiny,
grey antennas appear, anxious and scrambling to escape the sand. I cup my left hand and
gently push away the sand surrounding the crab. When I have a secure grip on him, I
scurry to the bright red bucket that is filled with salty, ocean water.
“Daddy, I think he needs sand, just so he feels like he’s at home!” I call out as I shovel sand into the bucket.
Within two hours, I have captured 25 sand crabs, and I return with my dad to our red and
orange striped towels further back on the beach. I watch the crabs for another 30 minutes,
as they emerge, submerge, and climb over one other in an attempt to achieve the seemingly impossible task of escaping the sand. As the sun begins to set, and pinks and purples fill the sky, I can sense that it is time to say goodbye to my 25 new friends. With all my strength, I lift the bright red bucket and tip it onto its side.
* * *
I lift the key tray off of its side, taking only the rectangular block that leads to my father’s car, and call out, “It’s time to go!”
“Who’s driving? My newly permitted 15-year old, or me?”
“I think we both know the answer to that question already!”
After a minute of struggling, my dad and I burst into a fit of laughter as we realize why the car won’t start – my foot isn’t on the brake. This realization is quickly interrupted by a high-pitched whine from the other side of the garage door.
“Are you sure we don’t want to bring him?” my dad asks, accompanied by his very-own puppy dog eyes.
“You know he’s not actually allowed inside of the grocery store, Dad. And we have a long list of things to buy today.”
“Good thing no one can tell me where my dog is and isn’t allowed to be!” He propels himself out of the passenger seat and into the garage, emerging moments later with our four-month old puppy, Dash, between his arms.
“You do this every morning and it is actually quite annoying,” I passively comment as I pull out of the driveway, and into the broader neighborhood.
“Oh, stop being so dramatic. We all know he’s nicer to me than you and your brother,” my dad responds, as his gigantic smile shoots out the window towards the warm summer skies, and plethora of cacti. He picks up the auxiliary cord, and plays our “Everyday Grocery” playlist, that is exclusively Tchaikovsky, Chopin, and Grieg. These melodies fill the confines of the small sedan, and my dad and I sway side-to-side, amidst the same stoplights, signs, and one-way road we have taken my entire life to our local Bashas.
Once I have pulled into the slanted-parking space, and the car is properly parked, I am distracted by my peripheral, in which Dash’s nugget tail swiftly swings against my father’s uniform khaki pants. My dad opens his door, Dash hurls himself out of the car – an enormous leap for his six-pound self – and drags my dad through two opening, automatic doors.
* * *
I apply just enough pressure to my bedroom door handle, so that it is as close to silent as possible as it opens. For the first time in twelve years of school, I have been awoken by the sound of my phone’s blaring, guttural alarm, and not my father’s soothing whisper, “It’s another beautiful day to wake up and learn!”
As I step out of my bedroom, and my feet contact the ice-cold, tile floor, I am forced to pass through the kitchen, where my dad is seeping his second cup of tea for the morning. We make eye contact, holding it only for an intense, but brief moment before I swiftly move past his viewpoint and into my secluded bathroom. Moments later, he appears and knocks on the bathroom door.
“Amanda, the deadline is approaching, so let’s stop being childish and just talk about it.”
“Dad, there is literally nothing to hash out; stop trying to make big life decisions for me. This actually has nothing to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with me because it’s about how my daughter is choosing to spend her next four years, and her entry into the real world. I’m also paying, so that should hold some weight.”
“It’s honestly cute that you think you can try and force me to spend some of my most crucial developmental years somewhere I don’t actually want to be, just because you’re paying. Please, cut me off. I’d rather take loans to go somewhere I will actually enjoy than suffer for free. Because I can do that anywhere.”
“What’s crazy is that you somehow think I’m trying to make you suffer; as if I don’t want what’s best for you! I know you can’t actually understand what it’s like to be a parent, but you’re not so dumb to think that I wouldn’t want what I actually believe is best for you.”
“Have you ever entertained the idea that I’m old enough now to make these decisions? And know what’s best for me?”
“How many times are we going to go through this same loop of fighting?”
“Until you realize and accept that UPenn is an amazing school and where I want to end up, more than anything! And that early-decisioning gives me my best shot.”
“You know, I really can’t do this whole fighting thing. I knew I shouldn’t have sent you there for the summer. You can do what you want, but I think that you know I’m right. Regardless, the choice is yours. Just remember that I know a lot more than you.” He sighs and outstretches his hand; a sign of complacent acquiescence.
* * *
My father pulls with great weight on my hand as he helps me off of the charcoal pavement, chuckling to himself. “I’m going to get it, I swear,” I mumble underneath my breath.
“I can’t believe my daughter is eighteen years old and doesn’t know how to ride a bike.”
“And I can’t believe my parents never thought to teach me. And that I’m going to the one university where a bike is NOT optional.”
“We could get you a scooter?” He jokingly nudges my arm, picks the beaten-up, vomit-green bike from the ground, and places it once again in front of me. I hobble over the seat, grip the handlebars until my hands turn three shades lighter, and let out a deep sigh.
“Well, the good news is: you’ve only fallen twice today. Bad news is: you obviously still need me to push you,” he remarks as he aligns himself with the back-wheel.
I push off of my left foot and begin to pedal. In stark contrast with my dad’s heavy pants, as he sprints to keep up with the moving bike, I refuse to let a single sip of air escape my mouth, and internally scream, “Please don’t fall, please don’t fall,” as I remember my dad’s tips: look straight ahead, and focus on where you’re going. As the pressure of his hands against my back releases, and the sound of his pants dissipates, the words “Keep going! Pedal faster!” encourage me as I speed down the pavement. His laughter fades into the distance as I speed toward and loop around the narrow, dead-end cul-de-sac.
* * *
As my Uber reaches the end of Galvez Street – my new, routine cul-de-sac – I quickly sprint into my dorm room, and answer the persistent ring of a Facetime call from home.
“One second – I’m closing my door! People are being noisy in the hallway,” I call over my shoulder to the computer screen, where my dad is patiently waiting.
When he sees me reappear, he asks, “So exactly which problems do you need help with? None seem too difficult.”
“Wait, before we start, can I see my doggo? I don’t believe that he’s actually twelve pounds now! The vet probably made a mistake.”
“Just you wait and see. Also, he is objectively my dog now.” I roll my eyes as he disappears from the screen, and I hear him distantly seek Dash, “Your old master is calling you, Dash!”
I see their silhouettes approach the camera, and cannot contain my laughter.
“Good God, you really weren’t kidding! How did he get SO big?! I told you to stop feeding him so much human food.”
“I’d rather have a fat and happy dog with a sense of good food than one who only eats kibble. Besides, there’s more of him to love now.”
“I mean, I guess nothing I say will change your opinion on that one.”
“Okay that’s enough about the dog; what problems do you need help with?” I watch as Dash scurries away; rather than contain a simple nugget tail, he himself has now become – well – a sturdy grey nugget.
“I still can’t believe you let the dog get so big.” I pull out my homework and then prompt my father, “Supplemental Problem G Part B. I don’t understand how I’m supposed to go about this – you know I’ve never formally written a mathematical proof.”
“I do know that, but I also know that I tried teaching you in high school, only to be told it doesn’t matter. As always, you should’ve listened to me.”
He spends the next ten minutes walking me through every detail of the problem, checking in every few seconds – “did that make sense? Did you not already go through this in class?” – and making his own comments along the way – “I teach this same way to undergraduates. I love that they’re forcing you to do this. You can’t tell me that math isn’t cool after all of this!”
As I frantically flip through the pages and take pictures for submission, he prompts, “Okay, so how’s everything else? Do you have time to talk with me and mom?”
“Sorry, daddio. Wish I could, but I have to turn this in really quickly; a bunch of my friends are downstairs waiting for me so we can go to the beach. Love you, thanks for the help – talk to you soon; tell Mom I miss her!” The call ends and I bolt out of the door.
* * *
My feet sink into the warm, crisp sand, and my unconscious instinct leads me to sprint straight into the water, where a slight breeze pushes against me. The ice-cold water pierces through my skin, and I stand tall. My gaze ahead is exactly that of when I am biking through the beautiful green and elegant archways of campus, as my father’s words remain: look straight ahead, and focus on where you’re going. And as I stare ahead, mesmerized by the rhythmic percussion of waves against the sandy shore, my mind wanders. Where did all of the sand crabs go?
“蒋介石躲在峨眉山上，抗战胜利后，就跑下山来摘桃子”？怎么真实的历史是，绝大部分战斗是国军打的？
要几十个别的谎来园。只要一处破，就全面奔溃，处处破。
后面就是顺理成章了，分析了中共伪政权想要的，什么是它的目的？ 就是洗脑，说它如何好，如何为国为民、伟光正，那就按它的意思说呗！后来大学政治课非常轻松，基本上不花什么功夫。
在出国之前，除了公开信息（国军抗日）外，我当时并不知道中共伪政权还有其他那么多的罪恶和血债！
中共伪政权的真实历史和真实身份，就是苏联一手炮制、长期豢养、最终成功扶植到中国的共产独裁法西斯政权。
它的本质就是反人民、反民族、反民主 （为便于记忆，简称“三反”），中共伪政权血债累累、罪恶累累，对中国人民犯下滔天罪行！
要几十个别的谎来园。只要一处破，就全面奔溃，处处破。
后面就是顺理成章了，分析了中共伪政权想要的，什么是它的目的？ 就是给大众洗脑，说它如何好，如何为国为民、伟光正，那就按它的意思说呗！后来大学政治课非常轻松，基本上不花什么功夫。
在出国之前，除了公开信息（国军抗日）外，我当时并不知道中共伪政权还有其他那么多的罪恶和血债！
后来知道中共伪政权的罪恶，是出国后了，随着互联网的兴起和苏联垮台后的资料解密，更多的中共伪政权真实历史被揭发出来。
当时接触到这些，心情是非常沉重的。不愿再去回看。
被中共伪政权杀害的中国人实在是太多太多了！而且都太冤！无法说理！毫无道理！共惨党就是道理！
中共伪政权的真实历史和真实身份，就是苏联一手炮制、长期豢养、最终成功扶植到中国的共产独裁法西斯政权。
它的本质就是反人民、反民族、反民主 （为便于记忆，简称“三反”），中共伪政权血债累累、罪恶累累，对中国人民犯下滔天罪行！