Jian Ping's column
Talking to a Korean Rotary Club
Talking to a Korean Rotary Club
By Jian Ping
I’ve been invited to give talks at half a dozen Rotary Clubs in the greater Chicago area recently—being
recommended from one club to another. My talk is focused on China—from my personal experience
growing up during China’s Cultural Revolution in the 60’s and 70’s to the current development in China. I
enjoy such appearances and the opportunity to meet directly with readers of my book and people who are
interested in China.
That was how I received an invitation from Jim, Vice President of a Korean Rotary Club in Rolling
Meadows, a northwestern suburb of Chicago. I readily agreed. Of all the clubs I had given talks to, there
had not been a single one that consisted of a particular ethnic group, not to mention one for Asian-
Americans.
I exchanged a few emails with Jim and set up the details of the talk. The day before my appearance,
Jim, who appeared to be very detailed oriented, sent me an email. “I’d like to suggest that you include a
map of the Korean Peninsula in relation to your growing up place,” he wrote. “If possible, it will be nice to
have the Chinese characters of your name as well,” he continued. “Some of our club numbers may be able
to relate to them.”
I normally use a PowerPoint presentation to show images of the Cultural Revolution, photos of my
I’ve been invited to give talks at half a dozen Rotary Clubs in the greater Chicago area recently—being
recommended from one club to another. My talk is focused on China—from my personal experience
growing up during China’s Cultural Revolution in the 60’s and 70’s to the current development in China. I
enjoy such appearances and the opportunity to meet directly with readers of my book and people who are
interested in China.
That was how I received an invitation from Jim, Vice President of a Korean Rotary Club in Rolling
Meadows, a northwestern suburb of Chicago. I readily agreed. Of all the clubs I had given talks to, there
had not been a single one that consisted of a particular ethnic group, not to mention one for Asian-
Americans.
I exchanged a few emails with Jim and set up the details of the talk. The day before my appearance,
Jim, who appeared to be very detailed oriented, sent me an email. “I’d like to suggest that you include a
map of the Korean Peninsula in relation to your growing up place,” he wrote. “If possible, it will be nice to
have the Chinese characters of your name as well,” he continued. “Some of our club numbers may be able
to relate to them.”
I normally use a PowerPoint presentation to show images of the Cultural Revolution, photos of my
| Jian Ping |
family members and a mulberry tree, a symbol of resilience that I use for the title of
my book Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. I do have a map of China that shows
the northeast where I grew up, including the Korean Peninsula which is next to
Jilin Province where I was born and raised. I readily obliged by adding my Chinese
name to the front page of my presentation: Jian Ping/剑平.
Jim met me at the Metra Train Station the day of the event and gave me a ride
to Woo Lae Oak, a Korean restaurant where they had their meetings. I was
pleasantly surprised to learn that nearly a third of their members were Korean
women—they joined the club on their own as individuals, not as spouses. The
media exposure that I had been subjected to had created an image of
submissiveness for Korean women in my mind, although I must admit I had not had
much interaction with Koreans, men or women.
Rotarians at other clubs I had visited were casual. They were mostly middle-
aged professionals who joined the club for a good cause of helping others, either
at their local communities or in third world countries. A member at a different club
told me he had been to Venezuela to provide free dental services to locals, and
another to Panama for free eye care. The Rotarians meet over breakfast, lunch or
dinner on a weekly basis and I have always been impressed by their pledge and
dedication.
The Korean club struck me first by their members’ formal appearance and
manner. In this hot summer day, each of the men and women appeared in formal
attire—men all had a jacket, and some even a tie, and women in skirts and bright
my book Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. I do have a map of China that shows
the northeast where I grew up, including the Korean Peninsula which is next to
Jilin Province where I was born and raised. I readily obliged by adding my Chinese
name to the front page of my presentation: Jian Ping/剑平.
Jim met me at the Metra Train Station the day of the event and gave me a ride
to Woo Lae Oak, a Korean restaurant where they had their meetings. I was
pleasantly surprised to learn that nearly a third of their members were Korean
women—they joined the club on their own as individuals, not as spouses. The
media exposure that I had been subjected to had created an image of
submissiveness for Korean women in my mind, although I must admit I had not had
much interaction with Koreans, men or women.
Rotarians at other clubs I had visited were casual. They were mostly middle-
aged professionals who joined the club for a good cause of helping others, either
at their local communities or in third world countries. A member at a different club
told me he had been to Venezuela to provide free dental services to locals, and
another to Panama for free eye care. The Rotarians meet over breakfast, lunch or
dinner on a weekly basis and I have always been impressed by their pledge and
dedication.
The Korean club struck me first by their members’ formal appearance and
manner. In this hot summer day, each of the men and women appeared in formal
attire—men all had a jacket, and some even a tie, and women in skirts and bright
color blouses. Jim and I arrived early to set up the computer. As the members arrived, each
of them came over to introduce himself/herself and addressed me as Ms. Ping. Apparently,
they had been well informed of the program of the day. I was impressed. I also noticed how
extremely polite and friendly they were, not just to me, their guest speaker, but also to one
another. One woman, Rose, told me she was not a member, but came specially to hear me
talk. I thanked her for her interest.
The club meeting started with the ritual of singing the National Anthem, followed by a
pledge, which I always found touching. Among this group of Korean-Americans, with their
right hands placed on their chests and the words being uttered clearly in their singing, the
scene was especially moving. I followed their example and sang along.
Then, to my surprise, the language changed from English into Korean, beginning with a
prayer. I watched Jim take center stage and assumed he was making announcements of
their club’s activities. Suddenly, the familiar sound of Jian Ping, Jennifer Hou Kwong, and
even Tsingtao Beer caught my attention. I realized he must be introducing me. I smiled. The
foreign syllables sounded like music to my ears. I was no stranger to conversations that I
couldn’t understand—and they were not even conducted in a foreign language. Over the last
decade, my husband and I had spent our Christmas with my in-laws in San Francisco. They
of them came over to introduce himself/herself and addressed me as Ms. Ping. Apparently,
they had been well informed of the program of the day. I was impressed. I also noticed how
extremely polite and friendly they were, not just to me, their guest speaker, but also to one
another. One woman, Rose, told me she was not a member, but came specially to hear me
talk. I thanked her for her interest.
The club meeting started with the ritual of singing the National Anthem, followed by a
pledge, which I always found touching. Among this group of Korean-Americans, with their
right hands placed on their chests and the words being uttered clearly in their singing, the
scene was especially moving. I followed their example and sang along.
Then, to my surprise, the language changed from English into Korean, beginning with a
prayer. I watched Jim take center stage and assumed he was making announcements of
their club’s activities. Suddenly, the familiar sound of Jian Ping, Jennifer Hou Kwong, and
even Tsingtao Beer caught my attention. I realized he must be introducing me. I smiled. The
foreign syllables sounded like music to my ears. I was no stranger to conversations that I
couldn’t understand—and they were not even conducted in a foreign language. Over the last
decade, my husband and I had spent our Christmas with my in-laws in San Francisco. They
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spoke Cantonese and Taishan dialects, and I spoke Mandarin. Since they knew little English, and my understanding of Cantonese or Taishan
was next to zero, we smiled and gestured, but couldn’t communicate with them without an interpreter. I learned to make myself at home in the
midst of extended family members despite the language barrier.
At this Korean Club, most of the members had heard about the Cultural Revolution, visited China or had been doing business in China for
years. So I rushed through my talk and left more time for questions. I nodded to the first gentleman who raised his hand. “I have two questions,”
he said. “One, what compelled you to write the book?” he paused. “And two,” he continued. “Is Tsingtao Beer really started by Germans in
China?” Everyone laughed, including me. The Q and A section became casual and easy. “What’s your daughter’s reaction to the book?” “What
are you working on now?” When they heard I was writing the next book with my daughter about raising her in the U.S.—our cultural differences
and generational divide—they readily identified with me and shared their similar experiences. I was delighted that they resonated with my
sentiments and problems.
Over the course of dinner, I also learned quite a bit about them and their culture. James, who sat next to me, told me about how he learned
Chinese characters when he started school in Korea. “We must learn a total of three thousand words,” he said, writing down “天” “heaven”
was next to zero, we smiled and gestured, but couldn’t communicate with them without an interpreter. I learned to make myself at home in the
midst of extended family members despite the language barrier.
At this Korean Club, most of the members had heard about the Cultural Revolution, visited China or had been doing business in China for
years. So I rushed through my talk and left more time for questions. I nodded to the first gentleman who raised his hand. “I have two questions,”
he said. “One, what compelled you to write the book?” he paused. “And two,” he continued. “Is Tsingtao Beer really started by Germans in
China?” Everyone laughed, including me. The Q and A section became casual and easy. “What’s your daughter’s reaction to the book?” “What
are you working on now?” When they heard I was writing the next book with my daughter about raising her in the U.S.—our cultural differences
and generational divide—they readily identified with me and shared their similar experiences. I was delighted that they resonated with my
sentiments and problems.
Over the course of dinner, I also learned quite a bit about them and their culture. James, who sat next to me, told me about how he learned
Chinese characters when he started school in Korea. “We must learn a total of three thousand words,” he said, writing down “天” “heaven”
With Rotary Club President Jim Jahn (l)
| My talk and presentation at the Korean Rotary Club |
and “地” “earth” in Chinese, but pronouncing them in Korean.
Brian, who sat across the table, asked me the meaning of my
name and wrote the correct Chinese characters on a piece of
napkin—his handwriting indicated a good training in calligraphy
and was much better than mine! Again, I was impressed.
I was honored to sign copies of Mulberry Child for the
attendees and found my book bag nearly empty when all was said
and done.
A few members walked me to the door. Rose came over to bid
farewell. “I’m so honored to meet you,” she said, her expression
genuine and touching. She had asked me to sign a copy of
Mulberry Child for her daughter. We shook hands as if we had
known each other for a long time.
When I decided to write my memoir Mulberry Child in English, I
intended to share my family stories with Western readers who are
interested in China and the life stories of Chinese. But now, I’m
delighted that the book has opened doors for me to learn about
other people and culture and connect with them.
Jian Ping is author of “Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. “ For
more information, visit www.moraquest.com or www.mulberrychild.
com. Jian Ping’s blog, which she keeps with a couple of other
authors, is at www.smearedtype.com.
Brian, who sat across the table, asked me the meaning of my
name and wrote the correct Chinese characters on a piece of
napkin—his handwriting indicated a good training in calligraphy
and was much better than mine! Again, I was impressed.
I was honored to sign copies of Mulberry Child for the
attendees and found my book bag nearly empty when all was said
and done.
A few members walked me to the door. Rose came over to bid
farewell. “I’m so honored to meet you,” she said, her expression
genuine and touching. She had asked me to sign a copy of
Mulberry Child for her daughter. We shook hands as if we had
known each other for a long time.
When I decided to write my memoir Mulberry Child in English, I
intended to share my family stories with Western readers who are
interested in China and the life stories of Chinese. But now, I’m
delighted that the book has opened doors for me to learn about
other people and culture and connect with them.
Jian Ping is author of “Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. “ For
more information, visit www.moraquest.com or www.mulberrychild.
com. Jian Ping’s blog, which she keeps with a couple of other
authors, is at www.smearedtype.com.