Personal Essay

教育

American Handshake

        Lost in the sea of new students and too shy to join the conversations, I alone walked around the buildings with my head down. The first day of boarding school was tough. Thus I was surprised when Mr. Watts, my AP US history teacher, recognized and called me from distance. When I first saw his stocky figure walking toward me with a soldierly temperament, I was honestly a little scared. Although his red glasses and grandfatherly smile reassured me with a feeling of warmth, I felt almost helpless when he shook my hand with a strong grip. I had never imagined this gray-haired man and his handshake would later change my life.

        The transition from my previous life to life at boarding school began with frustration. In addition to the adjustment to the new lifestyle, I chose many hard classes, one of which was AP US History. On the first day of class, I was extremely nervous. As the only sophomore, I felt challenged by the differences in age, experience, and knowledge, especially after Mr. Watts’ introduction. This class, infamous for its huge workload and exceptional writing skills required, he told us, was arguably the most difficult course in this school. And if we wanted a good grade in the exam, we would need to work “VERY HARD.” At the end of the class, already disheartened by the difficulty of the course, I was frightened when Mr. Watts stopped me and two Korean students at the door. I thought he was going to ask me about my unfinished summer reading or, worse, advise me to reconsider my class choice. But instead he smiled at me and asked the three of us to put hands together and say, “One, two, three, BEAT THE LANGUAGE!” I shouted very loud. It was my declaration of war against this course, and Mr. Watts was sure from the beginning that I could win.

        However, the most memorable lesson I learned from Mr. Watts was taught in the most ordinary fashion. During a track meet, I was lying on the grass beside the finish line after running a personal-best 400m race, and losing. Mr. Watts, now Coach Watts, came to offer his hand and congratulate me. Exhausted from the race and upset by the result, I casually flung my hand to his and said, “Thanks,” with my head down. But he did not let my hand go. It was the same strong and warm grip I had felt on the first day I met him. As soon as I realized my rudeness, I stood up. With a smile on his face, Mr. Watts said seriously: “Good job, Jun, and please give me an American Handshake. Now let’s try again.” Not knowing what to say, I strengthened my grip as he did and looked at him in the eyes this time. “There we go,” Mr. Watts smiled. “That is the handshake between man and man.” He patted me on my shoulder and left me nodding, numb and ashamed. A strong handshake, I understood later, was a sign of mutual respect and sincerity. But for me, it was about confidence. Since then I always remember to shake hands with a strong grasp; since then I always keep my head up and firmly look into the eyes with a smile. For me, the American Handshake opened the gate to maturity.

        September came again and a new school year started. I was walking around the buildings and saw Mr. Watts from a distance. Eager to tell him the good news of my five on the AP exam and my summer experience, this time I called him first and came over to offer my hand. With a confident smile, I was ready to give a true American Handshake. However, as he took my hand he said in an almost reproving tone, “What? No love?” It took me half a second to realize what he meant, but I gave him a huge hug. A manly one, of course.