Paid in Coconut Milk

Once a week, I teach English as a second language at a nearby community center. Most of my students are immigrants from China and are older, in their 50s to 70s. What they left behind in "the old country" -- to live with their children and grandchildren in the West -- range from affluence as engineers and accountants; to more rustic lifestyles as farmers and seamstresses. Here, they are united by the common bond of devotion to family, and a language and cultural barrier that sometimes renders their fascinating past moot to strangers.

As a volunteer instructor, I am unpaid, finding it payment enough to be welcomed by eager students hungering for skills to help them fit into their new surroundings. The bonus is hearing about their lives in China, the home of my forefathers.

Occasionally, I'm pleasantly surprised by their expression of thanks -- sometimes verbally, accompanied by a wave and a respectful nod, on their way out of class; other times with a simple gift as a token of their appreciation.

Like today, when I entered class to be greeted by a grinning student in her 60s, holding a can of coconut milk. "The best kind!" she exclaimed, thrusting it into my hands. "When you try this one, the others no good," she declared confidently, then turned to take her seat. That simple gesture, that practical gift, really made my day.