A Grandfather's Love

GO or weiqi(围棋）for those of you who don't know, is an ancient game that dates all the way to ancient China many, many years ago. It is becoming quite popular not only in China, but also in Japan, Korea, and in some parts of the United States. This story I created was awarded first place in the high school category during the March 2011 Scholastic GO art competition held in Memphis, Tennessee. So far I believe it is one of my best works yet. I dedicate this mainly to Jim Story, an excellent GO mentor and good friend, who taught me a lot about the wonders of playing the game, as well as some of the valuable lessons in the game, my mum, for telling me a bit about the history of GO and setting up some of my character's personalities, and many of my friends, for encourging me not to give up on my hopes and dreams of wanting to accomplish my goals in life. Please do feel free to comment, however be a bit sensative on how you word them(this includes foul language and irrappopriate use of slang words).

A Grandfather’s love overcoming a grandson’s illness

        When I was little, I was one of the worst students in my elementary school. Not only was I not very clever for my age, I also did not understood the importance of a good education( I was more interested in watching cartoons and drinking chocolate milk). Everyday whenever I got home from school and showed my parents a bad grade, they would always scold me in hopes I would improve. No matter how much they scolded me however, the next day I would usually feel as though their scolding never happened. When I got to third grade however, my mom was so angry with my bad grades that she’s claim she’d commit suicide if I did not improve. My eyes opened wide with alertness and my heart jumped with fear. My mind froze for a moment as the image of my Mom stabbing herself with a kitchen knife came flooding in my head, her red, crimson blood pouring out from her body and cascading down to the pure white colored kitchen titles as I stood and watched her with my eyes full of tears of sorrow and guilt.  I did not want my own mother to have to face such a terrible fate just because her own son was not her pride and joy. Every since that day I spent nearly every day afterschool (and on most weekends) to study and think of nothing else but to study. By the time I got to fourth grade, I started receiving more of A’s and B’s than C’s and D’s. My change of actions had saved my mom’s life (or I thought they had saved her life). At the same time though, they had cost me my love for fun and my interest in “kid/teenage junk.” My name is Zhang Dawei. In English it is simply David Zhang.

        Since I was in fifth grade, I was known in my family as “the little volcano.” Whenever I got unhappy with something that didn’t work out the way I wanted it to be(such as getting a C on my Math test), I tend to either break out in tears or get into a fight with the teacher, shouting back anything I could think of to support my argument until one of us “loses. “ I called that my “I win, you lose” game. Of course though, about 99% of the time, I ended up losing my “bets.”  Usually when that happened I would end up either shouting from the top of my lungs or  pouring out more tears until my throat felt parched and my eyes, as dry as desert sand. For so long my “volcano title” had become a sort of curse upon me.  I guess you could say I was pretty much too over critical of myself, a perfectionist you could call me. When I got home from school one day after riding on the big, yellow school bus, I felt  rather happy since I got an A+ on my Math test. As I kicked off my shoes, I felt so much excitement brewing up inside of me, knowing that I was quickly becoming one of the top boys in my Math class. My heart was nearly jumping for joy.  I quickly ran on over to the kitchen and showed my test to my mom while she was preparing dinner.  After washing her hands in the sink and drying them with her apron, my mom took the test from my hands and looked over the grade that I had received. She congratulated me on my success in Math and told me that I should show this to my dad when he gets home.  After chatting with her a little bit on how great my day at school was, I went on over into the dining room to see what letters have arrived today. One of the letters however happened to be from my school, addressed to my parents of course. I picked it up and ripped open the envelope. I then took out the message that was inside it.  I read it, but I couldn’t make sense out of it. The only words I could make out were “meeting”, “David Zhang” and “parents.” Clearly, the message didn’t sound too good. Despite those “haunting sounding words” however, I simply shrugged and placed the message back in the envelope as if it were some boring tax paper my dad forgot to fill out.  I then continued on my way upstairs towards my room. From around 4:30pm-6:00pm I did my homework.   When my dad finally came home after spending long hours working in a hospital that night however,  my stomach started to sicken, churning not only my lunch of rice and cooked mung bean sprouts from a thermos, but also guilt and fear.  After five minutes of waiting, I heard him shouting in his booming, Northern wind like tone from downstairs, “ ZHANG DAWEI! COME DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!”   I knew for certain he had read the letter from school and understood it. Of course, when you got Chinese parents, you should never disobey them. For in China, one of the main Confucius principals was to always respect your elders (not that my parents themselves have complete support for Confucius).  Otherwise, its pain time for you…So I went downstairs with the gut like feeling still churning inside me, wondering what certain type of punishment it will be that I shall receive tonight. When I finally got downstairs to the dining room I sat in a chair right next to my parents, feeling a bit of the jitters coming towards me, my heart, pounding not the beat of happiness, but the beat of guilt. My dad looked down upon me with his stern, hawk like eyes. Even with his big rounded, gentle old owl like glasses on covering the wrinkles of hard work underneath his eyelids, he looked quite strict.  As for my mom, she looked down upon with neither a smile nor a frown on her face.  I couldn’t tell for certain if she were going to take my dad’s side or my side during the argument.  I waited for the “judge” to begin the trial, hoping that sooner or later it will be all over.