Duck, Duck, Goose & Other Ways to Love

Tian’s mother Mei wanted to be on the front line of the action. She would follow Tian into Kids Club, sit down at the kids’ lunch table, and share a meal with him and the rest of the children. She stood by the ramp and watched with a smile on her face day after day as Tian explored, learned, giggled and was stretched.

I want you to imagine for a second the joy that it is to teach a little kid how to play Duck, Duck, Goose – the silly, hysterical laughter that comes with the mistakes made, and the simple nature of the interaction. Tian would see the other kids get up to run and immediately rise on his feet with a determined face and run the other direction. I smirked, and gently explained how it worked. Mei looked on with gratitude.

 

Every day, following that beautiful day, Tian would come up to me with a curious expression, tilt his head, and ask, “Duck, Duck, Goose?”

 

It was in this simple interaction that he felt loved. That he felt heard. Seen. Known.

 

And I loved it.

 

I think too often we have this tendency to overthink the word love. What could it possibly mean? How do we best show it? But love is simple, if you let it be.

 

Love was teaching Tian, who could barely understand English, the game Duck, Duck, Goose. Love was seeing a small grin on his face as he would run up to me; pinch my side, say “ZHH!” and run away giggling. Love was learning the “thumb-thumb” song that he loved to share with everyone he met. Love was watching him laugh with the other children, even if he didn’t quite understand why everyone was laughing.

 

You see, love is glimpses of God.

 

He never failed to show up in these simple, beautiful, incredible, gut-wrenching joyful moments.

 

 

Throughout the summer, Mei and her husband Ping became a place of peace for me. I looked forward to the moments I got to spend speaking with Tian’s father as we waited for Tian to finish up his Duck, Duck, Goose game. We would chat about his day, the weather, Tian… and then Tian would come and his father would look at me with an enormous grin and from the bottom of his heart he would say, “Thank you.” And they would drive away.

 

I grew a friendship with this family. Mei would come up to me at the end of Kids Club with a sheet of paper and ask for me to write down the words to the songs that we had taught the kids that day so she could teach it to Tian at home. My heart secretly smiled at the thought of Mei translating the song “Hey Burrito.”

 

We giggled together the next day as she said, “Its food, huh? Burritos?”

 

For Tian’s birthday one day, Mei brought cupcakes for the crew to enjoy.

The joy spread onto little faces – smearing bright blues, reds and purples across lips, cheeks and – yes – even eyelashes. How that’s possible, I don’t know.

 

Everyone had just gotten soaking wet from water day, so imagine a pack of dripping children, smothered in colorful icing, sitting in the wet grass, inhaling their cupcakes and singing Happy Birthday. It took joy to a whole new level.

 

Mei and Ping had brought enormous cameras with them and had asked that we get a group picture, and then a picture of me and Tian.

 

The words Mei spoke to me that day still hold such a strong place in my heart. She approached me, right before leaving, with a confused look on her face: “I’m not sure how to say this. You are so, kind. So, so kind. You are responsible, mature, loving, and beautiful. Tian has been very impacted by Kids Club. We are so thankful for you.”

 

With these sweet words she handed me a folded up piece of paper. She unraveled it and revealed quite possibly every form of communication with them possible. “Please, stay in touch.”

 

I smiled weeks later as I received these words over email from Mei:

 

“A few days ago, Tiantian told me that he wanted to see parade in America. He asked me if kids club has a little apple dance and wanted to dance in the kids club. I told him the kids club had ended in summer and he could dance for you. He said ok.”