My Life with a Chinese Exchange Student

The agency had given me a copy of his application and accompanying essay. It stated his hobbies were basketball. Just that one word.  He’s a 15 year old boy, so not unusual at all.

Was I wrong.

He is obsessed with basketball. It’s all he wants to do. Unfortunately, many international students cannot play high school sports based on IHSA rulings. There is an appeal process, and I helped him fax the paperwork to the agency to see if it could get approved so he could try out for his high school team. In the meantime, we have a local youth basketball association. If you have $175, you can be placed on a team that starts in November. He wanted to sign up immediately.

I introduced him to our park district, which has at least 8 gym locations and open hours to play basketball. While I was glad to drop him off (and he wanted to stay for 3 hours at a time) it would not be feasible every single time he felt like going.  Between work, my daughters tennis matches, errands, and his school work, some days basketball might just not work out at a gym. Our neighbors generously offered him the use of their basketball net if their car wasn’t in the driveway.

One of the first days here, he wanted to go get a haircut and then go to the gym. By the time I got home from work at 4:15, picked him up, took him to the barber shop, there wouldn’t be much time left for the gym, which closed at 6:00pm. I explained I wasn’t driving him all the way over there for him to play for 20 minutes and then turn around and drive right back.

He threw a fit.

You need to take me. I need to play basketball. This is not fun. This is what I do. I don’t care if it’s not a long time. I want to go now.

Wow.

Had this been my own kids exhibiting this sort of horrible behavior (maybe when they were four) I would have not only reprimanded them sharply, they would not have been going anywhere near a gym for a week. For Bill, I simply said, no, I’m sorry, but that is not the plan for today. When he started to argue, I said, more politely than I felt like being, No more. He pouted all the way home. I know he comes from a very wealthy family, is an only child with a nanny and maids, so I was beginning to see that his behavior wasn’t a cultural difference, but a spoiled rich kid one.

It turned out, his father had convinced Bill of many strange things. Aside from the poison basement gas and poison pea pods,  he told Bill he would come to America and play in the NBA. (The agent did not find it necessary to mention now obnoxious the father was, to the point of being scary, and that Bill was her most difficult student she ever had to place.) While I applaud the notion of having a dream, it is highly unlikely he will be joining the Bulls anytime soon. I could be wrong. But I doubt it.

My other suggestion was for him to learn how to ride a bike so he could take himself places. We live in a suburban area with parks all over the place, just a quick bike ride away. He said he hadn’t ridden a bike since he was little, but was would be willing to try.

We borrowed a smaller bike for him, ours being  too tall, made him purchase a helmet and had him practice. He did well, except for the instance where he rode directly into the street, without looking or stopping into oncoming traffic. We explained about stopping at crosswalks, and while he has been speaking English since he was six, and understands 99% of everything, it was like talking to a three-year old.

He progressed in the bike riding arena, and has only had one minor fall, resulting in a small knee scrape. He didn’t complain too much about it after the “finger incident”.

While dragging the bike out of the back of my car, he got a little cut in the finger from the bike wheel. When this occurred, he dropped the bike to the ground and threw himself on the driveway, clutching his finger and moaning, oohhhh, ooohhh, ohhhhh. I had to pry his other hand away to examine the damage, expecting to see half his hand missing. It was a tiny scrap, a minuscule flap of skin cut, barely bleeding. Summoning my fleeting patience, I told him to go in the house and rinse it off. He carried on until I found some Neosporin and a Band-Aid. He carried on for two days, and after seven band aids, I finally told him to knock it off. He was fine. I’m wondering what he do if something actually bad happens to him.

A few days later, I had my own little kitchen accident. I tripped over a bar stool in the kitchen and went sprawling, leaving me with a badly scrapped knee, bruises on leg and wrist. When he saw this, he seemed surprised I was continuing on with my day. Surprised I hadn’t taken to my bed…….. So with the minor knee scrap, I do believe he is beginning to learn.

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There was a boy….. He was part of the group of kids connected with her agency, looking for host families in our area.  His father had accompanied him from China, and they were not satisfied with the accommodations they had been assigned. He was to share a fully finished basement with another exchange student. The father wasn’t thrilled with him staying in a basement and wished to make other arrangements. Would we be interested?

The enthusiasm for this project had faded considerably by this point. Our daughter said no, she didn’t want to. She had already made plans to completely take over the guest bathroom when her brothers left in a week. My husband didn’t have much of an option and I, while still interested, was consumed with emotions due to our sons leaving for college. I quickly fired off an email  stating that if they could find someplace for him to stay for the next week until we returned home from the drop offs, we would be glad to host him.

She responded almost immediately and said he was ours, he would be dropped off the following Tuesday. His name was Bill.

I shopped and made last minute touches to his room, planned an American dinner of grilled cheese burgers and corn on the cob, and the day was upon us. His interim host father would stop by before school, drop his belongings off and quickly meet me. I would pick him up after work, one hour after school ended and begin our adventure.

When I answered the door that morning, I found a short, extremely thin Chinese boy, watching me through over-sized glasses. He spoke English without much of an accent. He didn’t seem to mind our enthusiastic 60 pound Labradoodle and nodded his head approvingly while looking around the house and said nice. 

After dumping his belongings upstairs in his room (which he also approved with a quick nod of his head), his previous host dropped him at school as I headed to work with a promise to pick him up at 4:00pm.

His school was a private Catholic prep school (my kids all enjoyed the hospitality of the local public high school) that offered after school homework sessions for kids that might need some extra time at school. When I pulled up, he was the only kid outside and I was the only person in the parking lot. I waved, he looked, and didn’t move.  I smiled, while gesturing him over and calling out Hi Bill!.  He looked and didn’t move. I finally got out and jogged toward him, smiling and waving. When I was close, he said, oh, there you are. I’ve been waiting for you. I asked if he saw me in the car and he said yes, and walked past me without further comment. It would be the first of countless times I would think cultural difference or rich arrogance?

I attempted small talk on the short drive home but he was not forthcoming with information. When we arrived, he marched straight to the refrigerator, opened it and took inventory. I asked if he wanted a snack and he replied, I can tell a lot about a family by what they have to eat. My last house had a lot of processed food and not enough Chinese things. You have a lot of vegetables and fruit, so that’s good.

I tried not to roll my eyes. I had just gone shopping the day before. The day after a big grocery shopping excursion makes everyone seem like ambassadors for good eating. I thought, wait a few days and see what you think then… He did not want a snack.

We went upstairs to his room so I could show him around. I showed him all the drawers in the dresser and desk, and the empty closet, but he did not want to unpack his enormous trunk. He had several shopping bags as well as things he said he bought while his father was still in town. I noted a winter coat and a king-sized Ralph Lauren down comforter (which later proved to be a mattress pad), as well as a huge stainless steel bowl, the kind I would use for salads or fruits for a large crowd.

I inquired about the bowl.

That is to wash my underpants in. I do it in the bathroom and rinse them in the bathroom sink.

ahhhhhhh.

I politely offered to show him the laundry room downstairs. He said Chinese people don’t put underwear in the washer and he would use the sink for his dirty underpants. The sink where my daughter brushes her teeth and washes her face. I told him in America we use the washing machine for dirty underwear, and I would show him how. He seemed unconvinced but didn’t argue.

After a tour of the kitchen, he informed me I would boil his water and give him warm water to drink. I tried not to be offended at being ordered to doing something.  Assuming it was a cultural thing, I informed him that our Chicago water was perfectly clean. Apparently, he didn’t drink cold water, at all. Ok, I showed him how to work the kitchen faucet to make his water the perfect temperature for him. He went on to tell me cold water and cold foods give you stomach sickness, like cancer.  Not sure how to respond to that at the moment, I let it go.

We dined outside that night while he was getting to know the rest of the family. For such a skinny kid, he ate like he had a hollow leg. Not being a stranger to big eaters, I encouraged him to have a second and third burger! He did have a slight issue with the tray of raw vegetables I put out. Chinese people cook vegetables because they are bad for you that way, and pea-pods are poisonous. He didn’t seem overly concerned that any of us would drop dead at the table as we were eating said vegetables, but he still refused to try them.

In an attempt to get to know him, my husband asked how he pronounces his Chinese name. He didn’t want to tell us. Of course I had that information from the agent and his school records, it wasn’t a national secret. We inquired why not? I don’t like to hear my name with an accent so I don’t want you to know it. After some good natured ribbing, he relented and we tried it. My daughter, who has been taking Chinese for 4 years passed the test, my husband was ok…. I failed miserably and he looked pained. I promised to just call him Bill.

He also told us the reason his father wouldn’t let him stay with the first host family was because the bedrooms were in the finished basement, and American basements are full of poison gas. I hoped he wouldn’t have issues doing his laundry in our basement……

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We had two and half months to prepare for our arrival. #1 son was back home for the summer, with even more belongings that he had when he left.  #2 son had to get ready to leave for college for the first time, and showed absolutely no interest in shopping or packing. He threw a lava lamp, an Ohio State sweatshirt and Frisbee in a pile and declared himself set to go.

After taking a load of his “stuff” to his apartment, we gutted #1 son’s room, scrapped off the kiddy fish wallpaper and thought about painting. No hurry, there was plenty of time.

And then the agent called. She had a wonderful surprise….it’s a girl! There was one girl in the group of kids arriving and she was being placed with us. She was almost exactly our daughters age. She loved fashion and make up and played in band, according to her application essay. We would be a perfect fit for this girl.

My husband jumped into action. A girl needs a nice room. He bought paint, patched the boy-made gouges and scrapes on the walls. We were all so excited.  She and our daughter would become best friends. They would hang out like sisters, spend the year together. Bond. Friends for Life. Maybe even visit China with her someday.

The girl was scheduled to arrive 3 days before we took #2 son to college for the first time. We figured since she was going to be part of our lives for the next year, we planned to include her is this emotional aspect of our lives.  I had spent several hours online, picking out girly bedding and window treatments so she would feel comfortable. I had actually added it to the Bed, Bath & Beyond shopping cart, but for some reason, got distracted and hadn’t completed the transaction.

When I went back to my computer a few hours later, there was an email from the agent. Our girl was no longer our girl. Her mother in China had decided that she did not want her daughter living with a family that had other children. The agent was confused, attempted to change her mind, but the mother would not be swayed.  She was being placed her with an older couple that lived 45 minutes away, and she would ride a bus to school, an hour each way. We live 1.1 miles from the school, and while I had planned on driving her, she easily could have walked home on a nice day, or rode a bike. We all felt it was an opportunity lost on both ends.

Our daughter was crushed. Her Chinese sister evaporated. My husband was irritated that I had crabbed at him all summer to get ready, and for what? He finished the room, which looked great, and we moved on to prepare for the exodus that accompanied two teenage boys leaving for college.

And then a week later, yet another email from the agency……

Six months ago, I saw an ad in the newspaper. International Organization Seeks Host Families for Chinese Exchange students attending a private school.

At that moment, we were at a family gathering and I read it out loud. Didn’t this sound like an interesting opportunity??? The responses were sure, yes, that might be fun….. No one took it seriously, not even me. At that moment, I had #1 son in his sophomore year of college, #2 son a senior in high school, committed to his college of choice and a daughter in her sophomore year of high school. I was working  doing public relations, had a husband, a dog, booster volunteering and tons of laundry…. I didn’t have time for a foreign student.

But during the next week, the idea kept creeping into my thoughts. Why not? My daughter had been taking Chinese in school for years. She could learn even faster with a native speaker in the house.  Both boys will be gone. We have the room. It could make life more interesting. Every time I shrugged the idea away, another reason to do it popped into my head.

After perusing the website countless times, I decided to just apply and see what would happen. I had to include photos of the entire house, with specific attention to the room the student would live. I decided that our guest room was too small for our new foreign friend, so #1 son’s room would be the best fit. He was getting an apartment at school anyway the next year and I’d been wanting to give that space a good purging. So naturally, I just stuffed everything under the bed, closed the closet doors and snapped away. I decided not to mention his room eviction to him before finals.

Once I sent in the application, I went about convincing my husband and kids this was what they wanted as well. The boys could have cared less, they wouldn’t be here. Our daughter thought it was sort of weird, but was indifferent. My husband was not convinced but was willing to wait and see.  Of course we were approved the next week.

I asked the agent about hosting a girl, but she said it was rare to have girls in the program. We would get a freshman boy, who probably would be quite sad that he had left home, knowing he would not be going back to China to live. She said it was difficult in the beginning for these students and they required patience and understanding. I was envisioning being the adopted American mother to a sweet, quite Asian boy that would immediately fall in love with us when he stepped through the door. He would be shy, at first, wanting only to stay in his room. We would coax him out with homemade cookies and interest in his country and our lives would be enriched even further. He would blend into our family and it would seem like there was never a time he wasn’t part of us.

That is not what happened.

Welcome to my brand new blog…….I hope you enjoy my tales of hosting a Chinese teenage exchange student. The journey has only begun and already is providing oodles of interesting conversation…..