|
It's an anniversary truly worth celebrating:
Make
A Difference Day turns 10.
USA WEEKEND
Magazine's annual day of volunteering has grown into one of
the nation's most eloquent tributes to the American tradition
of helping others. A lot of others. Since the first Make A Difference
Day, more than 10 million volunteers have joined in and, as
a result, millions more lives have been touched and improved.
To mark the significance of this anniversary, USA WEEKEND
has asked some of the country's most prominent and popular
writers to share their ideas of what it means to make a difference.
Their visions -- some insightful, some delightful, all inspiring
-- will appear in issues of the magazine between now and Oct.
28's Make A Difference Day.
|
Other Make a Difference Day celebs:
Wally
Lamb brings the expressiveness of writing to prison inmates
Bestselling
author Matthew Klam is enriched by a handicapped child
Robert
Putnam, writer of Bowling Alone, is optimistic toward youth
Mitch
Albom, author of Tuesdays With Morrie, finds his late teacher's
words live on.
Arthur
author Marc Brown believes where kids read, kids help others
Christopher
Paul Curtis, author of Bud, Not Buddy, hails a hero he overlooked
-- his dad.
Marc
Parent, Turning Stones author, makes a difference to a dying
woman's cat.
Ana
Castillo, poet and author, tells how a gathering replenishes women
who make a difference.
Ann
Hood, author of Ruby and the upcoming Do Not Go Gentle:
My Search for Miracles in a Cynical Time, comforts the spirit
by feeding the sad, the lost and the lonely.
Justin
Timberlake makes a difference through music
Wish
You Well writer David Baldacci,
learns a lesson from young writers
Patricia
Cornwell, writer of The Last Precinct recalls what a world-renowned
evangelist did for a scared little girl
Anchee Min, author
of Becoming Madame Mao, on the brutality of Chinese life
and what she did about it.
"Education
saves lives"
 t
WAS SPRING 1994, and I had just finished traveling to nine countries
to speak about Red Azalea, a memoir of growing up in the '50s and
'60s as a Little Red Guard under Chairman Mao. I was back in China
from my new home in the United States and was sitting on a squeaky
old bed in my parents' apartment in Shanghai, leafing through newspaper
clippings my father had collected for me.
Two stories caught my eye. One described an extreme shortage of teachers in rural areas, as teachers took advantage of China's economic boom by leaving for better-paying jobs in the city. Millions of children were left behind with no one to teach them.
The other story was that of a peasant mother who, disappointed when she gave birth to another girl, drowned her five little daughters. (Culturally, this woman was doubly cursed: She ignored the state rule of one child per family, and female babies are not greeted with the same enthusiasm as males.) Regardless of circumstance, the fact that this woman could drown her children stunned me.
On the surface, the stories seem unrelated. But my father, a retired teacher, traced them to the same root: If you want to make a beast out of a human being, take away education.
My father passed me another clipping, carefully cut out, folded and placed inside his astronomy book. It was about a dying man, a village schoolteacher, whose last wish was that his only daughter give up her education to take over his job and continue to school local children. The daughter honored her father's wish. She was 14.
The story touched me deeply. If only the mother who murdered her five daughters -- who placed her newborn daughter in a bucket, let it go downstream and watched it fill with water -- had had an education: Her human heart would have stopped her.
In a strange way, I identified with her: I was ill-educated as a girl. I was a product of Communist brainwashing. If I had been sent to Vietnam during the war, I would have had no problem strapping on a bomb and blowing up American soldiers and myself, too.
It wasn't until after the Cultural Revolution, more so after I came to the United States, that education restored my human element. I gained my sense of self and a sense of compassion for the value of human lives. I saw for the first time what we Chinese, as a nation, did wrong during the time of Mao. It was a
mass crime. I recognized my own weakness as a defeat of the human spirit and I was able to feel remorse. And I was able to write about these experiences in that memoir and two later novels.
My father told me he would be pleased if I would learn from the village teacher and his daughter. Indeed, I wanted to promote education and self-value in women. And at the time, I believed that I would be more useful in China than in America.
I felt rewarded when I was stopped on the street by a woman who had just lost her job. In my story, she saw hope for herself: "If you could go to America not knowing English and come back a world-class writer, I don't see why I can't manage to land another job."
I'm embarrassed when given credit for inspiring others and making a difference. Compared to the village teacher and his 14-year-old daughter, I have made practically no sacrifice.
Next Week: She's Come Undone author Wally Lamb
Photo by DAN MacMEDAN for USA WEEKEND
|