(Written by a former resident of Shanghai)

Chen and Wang are common last names in China, but in my long life I’d only had two friends named Gao until several months ago.  Now I have two new friends with that name.    

One of them is Lao Gao who lives in the apartment next to mine.  He visited me recently, as he was learning English and hoped to get a tutor.  I took him to The Learning Center at the Presbyterian church, and a tutor was assigned right away, but he found it very difficult to learn the new language.  He’d visit me frequently with questions about things he didn’t understand, and then he’d stay awhile and talk with me about his family.

He told me that in China he had been the principal of a primary school, and when he retired, he came to this country.  He seemed to be in good health, but he said that he’d had diabetes for years and has to have insulin injections twice a day.  His supply of insulin was enough for about three months, but he was worried that when it was about to run out he would have to go back to China to get more.

            I thought he should be getting treatment here and went with him to a diabetes research center in a hospital where he got (at no cost) an instrument he could use to examine his blood sugar level, but what he needed even more was a doctor who would treat him regularly without asking for a fee. 

I accompanied him to several outpatient departments, but none of them accepted him.  Every place I called, I got the same result but I wasn’t discouraged for I remembered the old adage that God never shuts a door without opening another.  And I was lucky; I found a doctor in the Providence Healthcare System who would see him.  He has an appointment in three weeks, so we’re hoping that the problem has been solved. 

I met the other Gao quite by chance.  It happened this past summer during lunch with friends at a place called Loaves and Fishes.  We went there often because it’s near our school and class began at 1 p.m.

Every time I was there, I saw a woman who has to use a walker with wheels if she can manage to stand up.  The first time we met, we only greeted each other so I didn’t learn her name.

A month ago, I went with another neighbor to see her caseworker at the Disability Service for Seniors.  When the worker saw me, she asked me to translate for another woman, and when I followed her into another room, I recognized the woman from Loaves and Fishes right away.  She told me that her last name was Gao and that she was disabled, and I translated from Chinese into English and then back again so that the two of them could understand each other. 

Before I returned to my neighbor, I told my new friend that I would call her Xiao Gao, as “xiao” means little and at 64 she is much younger than I am. 

The next day I saw her again, and she told me about her sad life.  Her husband died of cancer several years ago.  She had taken care of him for four years, and after he died she contracted rheumatoid arthritis and was bedridden for two years.  Her daughter had been of very little help with the arthritis problems, but wanted her to stay in China.  Xiao Gao, however, was an American citizen, and felt she’d be better off here. 

My husband died of the same condition, but her pain is far worse than his.  Her legs, feet, and fingers are all out of shape, and she has difficulty doing anything.  She’s in great pain and uses analgesic drugs that her friends get for her. 

It was obvious that she needed help so I went  to Social Security and got Medicaid and a disability pension for her.  Then I arranged for her to visit a doctor for a check-up.  Her disability worker gave me instruction on how she could be assisted in all the things we do in our daily lives, and I was very fortunate that the In-Home Services of the Oregon Department of Human Services agreed to provide her with an assistant for 29 hours a month.

She lives in an apartment downtown, and receives help from her neighbors – both Chinese and American.  I learned just recently that with her crippled hands she had just made 50 dumplings which she shared with all the people who have given her help. 

That’s her way of saying “Thanks” on Thanksgiving.    

I’m really the one that should be expressing appreciation for my two new friends named Gao have brought new meaning to my life.

(Written by a former physics teacher in Shanghai who now lives in Portland, Oregon)

While I was cooking dinner, the door bell rang, and when I opened the door, my friend Dr. Zhou was standing there mumbling an apology.  I didn’t understand and asked what he had done.  He looked like a child that had been scolded for improper behavior and I finally understood that his wife had told him that he shouldn’t have left his apartment when I visited them.   He said that he had left, as he wanted to go to the library to catch up on the day’s news.  He said that he was very sorry. 

I couldn’t help laughing and told him that his leaving hadn’t mattered to me at all.  I explained to him that when he had left, his wife and I had had a good time chatting.

He was pleased to hear that as it put his mind at rest and with a smile he returned to his apartment.

            The event he was referring to had occurred a couple of hours previously.  He had asked me to go to his apartment for an explanation of problems he was having in listening to English and his wife had been there.    His teacher – Barbara – had taped several exercises for him, and even though he’d played it many times, he couldn’t understand parts of it so I'd explained them.  His wife had had some questions, too, and I worked with her.

While that was happening, he had nothing to do so he said that he was going to go to the computer room to read the news on the internet.  His wife had immediately said that he couldn’t leave so he asked again, and when she still said that he shouldn’t leave, he left anyway.  I had been amused.  There was something childlike about the way he asked and then did what he wanted even though permission hadn’t been granted.  

     The day after he came to apologize, his wife knocked on my door, as she wanted  to talk about the matter.  I told her that nothing more need be said, as he’d already told me he was sorry that he had left, but she wanted to tell me her version of what had happened. 

     She said that when he'd gone to the computer room to read the news, she had decided that she'd ignore him when he returned.

     As soon as he entered the apartment, he saw that she was unhappy, and asked what the problem was.  She told him once more that he shouldn’t have left their apartment while I was there.  When she said it that third time, he had finally agreed that he had been wrong and that’s why he had come to my apartment to apologize.

She went on to say that she was angry with him for making such a stupid mistake, as he was almost seventy years old.

In an effort to make her feel better, I said that his leaving that day had been perfectly acceptable to me.  I added that I'd always regarded the two of them as being a very happy husband and wife team even though in this case, she had acted more like his mother. 

That made both of us laugh for we knew it was true. 

(Written by a former physics teacher in Shanghai.)

          One day as my friends and I were chatting, one of them said that I studied too much and the others agreed.  They invited me to play Mah Jong with them for they said it would change my life.  I told them I knew how to play, but had rarely  done so.  If I played with them, I added, I’d probably confuse everybody and they’d be unhappy when I discarded the wrong way.  They said that they played for fun, not for money, and that it wouldn’t matter what I’d do so I finally agreed to play just that once  – for a short time.

          Mah Jong is a popular Chinese game played by four people sitting at a square table.  The tiles are made of bone or ivory (and sometimes plastic nowadays) with patterns in bamboo.

          After my father died, my mother played it for a couple of years, as it made her happy, and my brother liked to play it during his lunch breaks, so he taught me the rules.

          My mother was sometimes happy about the results but at other times very unhappy.  It depended on whether she won or lost.  One of my cousins told me that if I wanted to help my mother win I should plump up her pillow, and I found that to be very efficacious.  When she discovered what I was doing, however, she asked me why, and when I told her, she laughed.  She thought it was superstitious.  Because I was very little and really didn’t understand, I thought she had caught me cheating.

          I regard Mah Jong as a waste of time, and another reason I don’t like it is that sometimes gambling is involved.  I’ll never forget an event that happened in our home one night.  Mother had been playing Mah Jong with someone, and I suddenly heard some harsh words being yelled.  That was followed by someone rushing out of the house.

          I asked her what had happened and she said they had been playing for a little money and the man had lost and then ran back to his house while screaming those bad words.  He had been very rude, and I told her she shouldn’t play May Jong with him anymore.  My brother then told me that the man was an ambassador.  I couldn’t believe it.  A government man with a good education shouldn’t lose his temper like that.

          The next day the man returned and apologized.  I didn’t see him after that; I suppose he was busy with his work, but I hid the Mah Jong pieces so there wouldn’t be a repetition of that outbreak.

          My mother actually preferred reading books and the daily newspapers.  She was especially concerned about the fortunes of war during the Japanese invasion.  Everyone hoped that the war would come to an end as soon as possible.  Not much thought was given to Mah Jong anymore.  The disappearance of the game wasn’t noticed.

          Here in Portland, some of the seniors in our building spend their time playing Mah Jong.  I learned recently that one of them became so excited about winning that he collapsed at the table and died immediately.  He’d either had apoplexy or a heart attack.

          It’s fortunate that as a result of the man’s death my friends have stopped  playing Mah Jong.  I’m pleased that they never mention it now.