True enough what a friend told me: Once they know you’re a foreigner, they’ll treat your hair like it was royalty’s.  Yes indeed, my mop was treated like a king’s all right ... Don King’s.  As the artiste happily snipped away, a few casual onlookers grew in numbers. Being nearsighted, “blind faith” never rang more true. 

When the last of those tiny niggling hairs were brushed off my nape by a giant peanut-shaped sponge, my glasses were returned and lo, my hair upon close inspection resembled not at all #35 nor any other on “the chart.”  My new look was a kind of cross between Diana Ross (think Supremes, circa 1963) and Pebbles, last known address: Bedrock City. 

When the good-hearted stylist excitedly gave me a big grin and bigger thumbs up, I had to counter with “No Okay,” and point with renewed vigor to good ol’ #35, who now (was it my imagination?) seemed to be smiling smugly at me. 

Disheartened but ever the professional, the barber rinsed out his work and set to reshaping my hair, this time respecting the laws and confines of earthbound physics. The second pass was workable; though, I looked like I was losing a fight against gale-force winds. I paid my five yuan (a Canadian buck) foregoing the extras, one of these add-ons being an eyelid shaving with a straightrazor stropped on a whetstone by a squatting handyman, streetside.  Were my eyelids such a hirsute tragedy?

A fresh haircut is a terrible waste if you don’t sport it.  I brought with me from home a keen passion for basketball, and praise Nike, on campus there were four full-size courts.  In a city of four million, finding a few souls for half-court was a breeze.  I made some quick and steady friends the same way I did on every court I’d ever stepped foot...  I brought the ball. 

I spent some few hours on the pavement shooting the pumpkin.  As I became a familiar figure there, a handful of brave English students would shyly sidle up, and one by two, we’d get into tremendous games. Daylight often quit before we ever did. 

There were introductions before each game, of course, Chinese people being just as polite as you might imagine.  As I had trouble remembering and/or pronouncing their names, a few faithful huddled and decided they would give themselves (and others) English names.

Occasionally, we’d cycle over to the next college and play some challengers.  Our crew had some English at their disposal, and so they helped me keep track of the opposition by nicknaming our counterparts by some distinguishing feature. 

At one point, I had to pause and savor the slightly surreal bend of the whole scene.  There we six stood.  My team: Lithium, Mars, and me (Mr. Larry) squaring off against Eyebrow, Tight Shorts, and Big.  Pharmacy students can trash talk it seems. Who knew?

Days turned into weeks, and before I knew it, the grace month was over and my teaching assignment was upon me.  Miss Dai escorted me to my classroom, and as we entered, the entire class stood as one and applauded, as is their custom.  I looked around the room and recognized some off the playground, many who waved greetings, others from around the campus, all of whom made me feel this was home.  I applauded them back.  It seemed fitting.