3. The Young Misogynist 

I was in kindergarten when I had my first lesson about the opposite gender.  (The term “opposite sex” simply wasn’t relevant to a boy of my age.)  Most of the children who lived on our flat were boys, so I had very little interaction with girls of my age.  To me, they were odd creatures: they had long hair; they dressed different from us; they talked funny and certainly behaved differently.    

I was curious about them and was eager to make friends with them.  My first attempt to reach out to the girls was not exactly a resounding success.  In fact you might even call it a complete failure.  Below was an account of how it went, to my best recollection. 

I didn’t know her name, and she wasn’t particularly pretty.  (As I said all girls looked strange to me anyway.)  She just happened to be close-by when I decided to introduce myself to this strange species.  She had two long pony-tails that kept bouncing up and down when she walked.   

We might have exchanged glances a couple of times during our first week in class, but we had not talked or even said hello to one another, not even once.  In hindsight, I probably had rushed things a little.  Anyway, I came up from behind her and landed my fist on her back, right between the shoulder blades, not real hard, but it’s a good solid punch, the way the boys in our flat got acquainted with one another, our way to say hello.    

Her reaction was strange…not what I had expected.  Spinning around, she looked at me with a blank expression at first, and then slowly a painful expression came over her face.  Then she started crying out loud as if she was in great pain!   

I was sure she was faking it, but I had no proof.  I could have (should have) run away from the scene of crime, but I hadn’t because I didn’t think I did anything wrong.  Anyway, it was all academic because when the teacher rushed to the scene, I was caught red-handed, and my offense was duly recorded and later transmitted to my mom when she picked me up later that day.    

Mom must have a tough day on that day, but she still managed to spend time looking into the matter after we got home.

“Why did you punch your classmate, Ah Yuen?” 

“I didn’t, mom!  I was just trying to make friends with her!” 

“You punched her on her back and you made her cry.”

“She was faking it, mom…I know she was.”  I thought about telling mom I was an expert on fake-crying and that I knew what I was talking about, but decided that it wouldn’t help me much under the circumstances. 

“Well, you deserve to be punished, son.”   She went over where she kept the chicken-feather duster.  

[A note on the chicken-feather duster:  Children who grew up in my generation should know very well what a chicken-feather duster was.  It was hardly ever used for dusting purposes.  (My mom didn’t dust.  The flat was so dusty, she had to wipe with wet towels.)  Instead the CFD was the standard equipment for corporal punishment in those days.  In case you wonder, I had no prior experience with this equipment until that afternoon although I had seen it used on my elder brothers on numerous occasions.] 

“Which hand did you use to punch that poor girl, son?”  She was holding the CFD in her right hand, her strong hand.  I put out my right hand. 

“Open your hand, son…palm up.”   Later I learnt that she didn’t want to hit my knuckles.  Palms were fleshy and less likely to break skin or cause any permanent damage.  Parents were considerate and thoughtful in those days! 

She landed the CFD across my palm, not real hard, but a solid stinging “whack!” - Ouch! Ouch!that hurt!!  In fact it hurt so much I was shocked and forgot to fake-cry!   

“And don’t you bother the girls again…stay away from them!”

My mom might or might not mean it when she said I should stay away from the girls, but I took her advice to heart and stayed away from the girls all through kindergarten.  In my mind, they were trouble and not worthy of my attention.  Boys were much better playmates.  They wouldn’t cry just because you hit them…they would hit back.  That’s fair and square and civilized. 

I had associated girls with the CFD and considered them both dangerous and painful subjects.  This psychological complex did not ease off until I was in primary 3 when I had my first crush over a girl, but that’s the topic of another story, and I really shouldn’t get ahead of myself. 

-To be continued-