10/10/2026
I was growing up in a large military compound in China. Around 1969, many of my peers in the compound joined the army. We called the recruitment of young people “招小兵,” although I don't know whether that was the official term. I remember how excited I was when my friends returned wearing their military uniforms. They looked grown-up, proud, and important. I envied them tremendously and wanted to join the army, too.
But my father, who was himself in the military, refused to let me go.
He told me an old Chinese sayings: “好男不当兵，好铁不打钉” (Hǎo nán bù dāng bīng, hǎo tiě bù dǎ dīng)—literally, “A good man doesn't become a soldier, just as good iron isn't made into nails.” These sayings reflected a traditional view of military service, though my father's reasoning went beyond the sayings themselves.
At the time, China was in the midst of the Cultural Revolution. Education had lost much of its standing. “读书无用” (Dú shū wú yòng, there is no use in studying) was a popular sentiment, and intellectuals were derisively labeled “臭老九.” In that environment, telling a child to concentrate on school might not have seemed particularly wise or practical.
But my father insisted that my main task was to study and acquire a skill. He explained that no matter who was in power, history showed that society would always need people with expertise and practical knowledge.
The following year, in 1970, my father sent me to Tianjin Foreign Languages School. He also sent another girl to that school. We knew each other from nursery years. Later she was chosen to study in Finland. At the time, I could not fully appreciate the long-term value of the path my father had chosen for me.
Years later, when China restored the national college entrance examination in 1977, the education I had received gave me a chance to enter college. On the other hand, many of my childhood friends from the military compound who joined the army did not have the same opportunity. Their lives took different paths, and I cannot know how things would have turned out if any of us had made different choices. But I came to understand what my father had been trying to teach me.
He was not simply telling me to study hard. He was teaching me to look beyond the excitement and pressures of the present and prepare for a future I could not yet imagine.
Looking back, I realize that my father made a decision on my behalf at a time when I was too young to understand its consequences. He could not have predicted exactly how my life would unfold, but he believed that education and practical skills would give me options, even when the world around me changed.
That belief stayed with me. Political movements come and go. The values a society attaches to different kinds of work can change dramatically. But knowledge and the ability to do something useful retain their value.
I am grateful that my father understood this when I did not. I hope my children will remember this: Don't make important decisions solely on the basis of what is popular at the moment. Build knowledge and skills that will give you choices when the future takes an unexpected turn.
