I met Maggie at work while in Pulandian, China. She had come up from Shang Hai to watch our work and write a report for her boss. She told me her real name, her Chinese name, and it was unusually unpronounceable. I asked her why she picked Maggie for an “American” name, she told me she didn’t her boss picked it for her because he couldn’t pronounce her name either.
We began discussing families, she told me about her parents who both worked in the Chinese aerospace industry but in different aspects. While we were talking, a large military fighter jet roared overhead, returning to the nearby Chinese Air Force base. “My Dad helped design those jets” she told me proudly, as close to boasting her quiet reserve would let her get. I was impressed and tried my best to convey it.
She asked about my family. I told her about my parents who are both retired teachers. I told her about my brothers and sisters and how the six of us kept my parents busy. I told her about my nieces and nephews, all 9 of them, and how they were an amazingly ethnic cross section. Then I told her about my own children, all six of them. I told her how proud I was of each one of them and how they were each so special to us.
“You are very rich to have such a large family” she told me.
“No, not really, I would not say we are rich” I replied, thinking about our middle income household where we do alright, but I wouldn’t consider us to be “rich”.
“You don’t understand, I think you are very rich to have such a large family,” she repeated.
“Oh”, shallow me replied, “you are absolutely right. I am very rich to have such a family.” I am rich beyond my wildest dreams.
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