I Was That Frost Boy
In the last few days, “Frost boy” was all over the media. The first moment I saw it, it reminded me of some old memories.
I was this frost boy many years ago. I grew up in the southern west part of Hunan province. Many kids I grew up with were “frost boys”. During the winter, our hands and feet were frequently frozen and our hair covered in frost and ice.
I had loving and caring parents — so none of it felt like suffering. Our family had very little at the time. We never had enough clothes. I was often hungry. My siblings and I fought for food from time to time. During the summer, my mom would cook a HUGE pot of water with a few vegetables floating inside. That was our food for the entire day. In the morning, before I went to school, I would first walk a mile or so to the mountain, cut bushes and tree branches, carrying them home as these would be our only fuel for the family for cooking and heating throughout the year. However, none of it felt like suffering. In fact, my childhood memory was full of joy, happiness and ambitions (I read too many kingdom stories when i was little). In fact, as a kid, I didn’t realize we were poor at all. I even wrote an essay arguing that the $5/month salary my dad made at the time was too much money for our family.
My dad was even more a “frost boy”. His family’s possessions were all stripped away when he was a few years old. He wasn’t even allowed to go to school. Eventually he managed to do so. He would tell us later how he went to school when he was 8 to 10 years old. In the winter, he had to walk 1–2 miles by himself, normally without shoes, under near zero temperature. He had to cross a river that didn’t have a real bridge. The only “bridge” was a single piece of tree trunk. When it was icy, the only way to cross it is to lie down and crawl. That was what he did. When he arrived at school, his feet would become completely numb. One of his teachers was really nice. The teacher would always prepare a bucket of hot water, telling him to put his feet in the water once he arrived. My father never forgot that teacher. He visited that teacher almost every year until the teacher passed away.
Poverty. Years later I realized the above is called “poverty”. We were in fact very very poor.
I have my own kids today. They live in the comfitable Boston suburb. Their birthday parties make me “gosh” (but we do them anyway). It’s a different kind of “struggle”. I can’t help but thinking life is too easy for them. Too many toys. Too much material. It makes me wonder from time to time: are they going to grow up better than me? Are I raising them the right way?
That being said, I thank God that they aren’t in poverty.
Despite all the talks of being the #2 economy and the rapidly developing power/wealth/technology, there are still hundreds of millions in poverty in China(200M to 300M? 20% of the population?). While the cities, especially the costal cities, are packed with millions of extremely well-to-do “elites”, many regions are left behind. Life hasn’t changed much for people over there.
The place I grew up? Thank god, it has changed dramatically. Below are recent pictures people sent me(I have not been there for a long time. I only realize that the place is beautiful upon seeing pictures).
