Our women: The gift next to the vase of flowers

Based on a true story.

A young girl called Melissa stared at the house across the road. She knew her friend Melody lived there and they often played together. She preferred going there instead of her own home for reasons which would take many years to understand. Her home was a sad place and her parents worked too hard and were often tired. She particularly liked going to Melody’s home because of Melody’s mom, who was often cooking and was happy to give a meal to any child who came into her home.

Melody came running across the road to Melissa and asked, “Melissa, what is the matter?” She could see her friend had been crying; her eyes looked red and sore. “My birthday is the day after tomorrow.” “That’s great! I didn’t know. Who are you going to invite to your party?” The tears started trickling from Melissa’s eyes, which she bravely brushed aside. “No party,” she eventually said. “Well, come to our place. Let’s play together.” Melissa readily ran across the road with Melody. “Hey Mom,” said Melody as they ran into the kitchen, “it’s Melissa’s birthday in two days but she’s not having a party”. “That’s okay,” said Melody’s mom while she put Viennas in a pot on the stove, “She can have her party here. Melissa, do you like chocolate cake?”

Melissa could not believe her ears. “Yes Mrs Green, I really do.” “Well I will bake some cakes and get some biscuits and Coke and you invite your friends and we will have a birthday party in the afternoon after school on your birthday. You will be eight years old, hey?” “Yes Mrs Green, thank you Mrs Green.” Melody gaped up at the warm, smiling, mommy face and the sparkling brown eyes glinting mischievously under a curly mop of chestnut hair. Melody’s mom looked as if they were all about to get up to some prank, and said to the children, “Well, I am sure you girls would just love some hotdogs and please drink the milk: it is so good for your bones and nails. Then you can sit together and write out the invitations for your friends for the birthday. I will get some letter writing paper.”

The next day Melissa was proudly handing out invitations to a dozen or so friends at school. “You gonna have cake, Melissa?” “Sure thing, dummy, and it’s gonna be a huge chocolate one with cherries on top.” “Do you have a swimming pool?” “We’re having it at Melody’s house, they gotta swimming pool.” “Are we aloud to bring our beach balls and lylos — I gotta dinosaur one.” “Sure you can.” “What present do you want, my mommy to get; she always likes to bring a present.” “Ummm … you don’t have to, only if you wanna.”

A delighted Melissa splashed around in the pool with her friends on her big day. Melody’s mom came out with the big chocolate cake which had eight pink candles on it. Melissa blew out the candles while everyone, including Melody’s mom, sang Happy Birthday. She giggled at Mrs Green’s version. Happy birthday to you, You belong in the zoo, You look like a monkey And you act like one too!

Melissa fell asleep that night exhausted by the excitement, swimming and the surprise of all the presents. Not to mention the wonderful cake and all the shining, laughing faces of her friends.

* * *

About twenty five years later Melissa was living in Canada and got into touch with the Green family on Facebook. She was sad to hear that Melody’s brother, Geoffrey, was in a lot of trouble in South Africa and had no job, money or a place to live. Melody now lived in New Zealand and her mom lived in China with her second husband. Melissa had inherited a lot of money and used some to help Geoffrey emigrate to Canada. She did this because she could never forget that glorious birthday party splurged out on her by Melody’s mom all those years ago.

Melody told her mom this story on the phone from New Zealand. Her mother burst into tears … not just out of relief for the help given her son, but because, even though she thought about it for a long time, she could not remember Melissa. So many kids had been welcomed into her home, and always but always, even if they were short of money, a meal of some kind was provided for each child. Yet of course Melissa always remembered Mrs Green for her birthday treat. By now you’ve guessed it: Melody’s mom is my wife, chookie, and this is based on a true story when she was living with her first husband.

I sat in our little kitchen in Shanghai and listened to the story while my wife’s eyes glistened. I re-imagined the child Melissa’s birthday party, building it from what I knew of my wife. And I now know her well. “The thing is, Rod,” snuffled Marion, “she has now done so much for my son, but for the life of me I still cannot remember Melissa.” Next to a large vase of tulips and chrysanthemums on our kitchen table sat my wife and her face was as open and bright as one of those blossoms. Solemnly I stared at my wife for a minute, thinking of my blessings, or rather, my greatest blessing.

That’s when I knew I had to write this book.*

*That book is a current manuscript in progress, the sequel (of sorts) to Cracking China: a memoir of our first three years in China, which is due out at the end of January 2010. The quasi-sequel is provisionally titled Cracking Chookie: tales from South Africa, Zimbabwe and China and the above will probably be chapter one.

Chinese chicken soup for the soul?
Chinese soup for the chicken soul?