Chinese With Kevin

I started taking Mandarin lessons last week, as one of my goals in moving to China was to take a crack at learning the language. I discovered quickly that a working vocabulary of useful Mandarin phrases such as “where is the bathroom?” and “Coke Zero” would be essential to survival here in GZ. Thus grew the need for Kevin, the fabulous Mandarin tutor.
Kevin isn’t really called Kevin in his native language. I’m not sure if he refused to give me his name or if he just changed the subject. An interesting fact: most Chinese students of English pick out their own names. Years ago, they had to choose from an official list that came from, I am fairly certain, 1950s sitcoms. There are lots of Judys, Sallys and Peggys running around. Kevin chose his name from a popular clothing chain. He liked the way it sounded. Not a bad way to pick a name, I suppose. On a side note, while I lived in Dubai, there was a McDonald’s near my house. A woman from China worked there. The name she chose? Oven. How awesome is that?
As I began the process of lessons with two of my co-workers, I decided it only fair that I give myself a Chinese name. I opted for Xiongmao, which means Panda. Kevin thought it was a little odd, but I won him over. My co-workers followed my lead and also gave themselves the Chinese names of French Fry and Dumpling. Trust me, it sounds better in Mandarin. The good news: after three Mandarin lessons, I know about 400% more than I did last week. The bad news: I knew three phrases last week. I have to remind myself that languages take me a while. After a three semesters of Swedish in college, I knew how to say the following things 1) Can I have a cheese sandwich? 2) Do you have any cigarettes? and 3) I am watching TV. So, I will give myself a break that the Chinese that has gone into my brain has yet to come out in any usable form.
I do feel extremely fortunate in one respect. I have always had an uncanny knack to hear any sort of singing that is off key. I have literally winced in church when people in the choir have hit a wrong note. I couldn’t help it; it was a reflex, not a criticism. And bad karaoke has also been a painful experience. But, this ability is really useful when it comes to Mandarin. The language has four tones, and depending on the intonation of any given phrase, the meaning changes. So far, I really don’t have a problem hearing tones. Yea! Saying them, that is a completely different story, but at least I know I am saying it wrong. Hopefully my relationship with Kevin, French Fry and Dumpling will be long, prosperous and filled with useful Chinese phrases designed to make life that much easier.