My Encounter with Taiwan Motherland
Calvin Hwang
The Winner of Essay Contests in Taiwanese Heritage Week

(A little about me: I was born in the United States after my parents immigrated from Taiwan in the early 80’s. I have lived in Southern California all my life, but still go back to Taiwan once in a while. Each time I go back, the experiences change my life.)

Being blessed with the opportunity to grow up in the United States, I often forget just how fortunate I really am to live here. Many times, such things like good shoes, the latest fashionable clothes and a stylish haircut are taken for granted. Often times in American society and schooling, how “cool” someone is becomes determined simply by how he or she dresses or looks. The more important thing, what is inside, is always forgotten. However, in a recent visit to Taiwan, I saw that while I am lucky to be growing up in the land of opportunity, it is not always material possessions that are most treasured and needed in a young boy’s life, but instead, possessions are simply that, possessions. In an encounter with some young teens my age, I saw that they did judge me on what I was wearing or how I looked like, but what I had on the inside.

The day began as just another long, humid day in the Taiwan summer. My parents, being in their birthplace, kept encouraging me to go outside with them and mingle with the local youths. Not accustomed to the heat, I persistently resisted their callings until they mentioned the magic words: “Some kids will be playing baseball!” Upon hearing the news that I could be playing the good old American pastime with some Taiwanese kids, I immediately jumped out of my chair and headed to the door with my parents. Considering myself an excellent baseball player, I thought I would teach the local boys a little thing or two about baseball, American style.

Sitting in the nicely air-conditioned car headed for the baseball field, questions began to come up in my mind; “Would they let me play? Do they have a glove that could fit me? Is their baseball diamond regulation size?” Soon, my questions would be answered without speaking a single word.

The car pulled up to this building resembling a barn out in the countryside just along the outskirts of Hsinchu, in North-Central Taiwan. Hopping out of the car, I raced towards the barn, thinking that an awesome baseball diamond lay just behind the building. Nearly dragging my parents, I rapidly asked questions about where the kids were playing. They led me around to the rear of the barn to where the baseball field was. There, in the knee-high grass, were about fifteen teens my age playing baseball. However, these boys were not playing with leather mitts, rubber bases, a leather-hide baseball, and a solid aluminum bat. To my initial dismay, these boys were using no gloves, rocks as bases, an old tattered baseball and a stick for a bat. It would definitely take a little adjustment on my part to get used to, but as a competitive player, I approached the boy nearest me.

After a few moments of scared silence, I shyly asked if I could join their game. Not noticing their bare hands at first, I also asked if there was a glove that I could borrow for the interim. His response bordered that of incredulity. Apparently, no one in this area played with a glove, they were simply too expensive and most unnecessary. However, I still wanted to play, so I requested to join the game and, as the new kid, batted first.

Looking around, I searched for some sort of object that resembled a bat that I had used back home in America. Unable to find one, I asked the nearest boy where they put the bat. To my surprise, he handed me a crude-looking device that, although did not have the fine-made wood of a Louisville Slugger, seemed to suffice as a bat. As the first pitch came, it was a slow pitch game, I took a mighty swing, yet the ball seemed to just barely roll along the ground. I took off for first, hoping to leg it out. After what seemed like a long time, I could not seem to find first base. I stood there looking, and decided that it was best to wait until the other kids stopped laughing before asking that question. Soon, they informed me that a rock that I had nearly tripped on was really first base. In the high grass, I could not see it very well. With that, I took the field, out to make up for that base running miscue.

A little nervous, the knot in my stomach twisted tighter as the next batter smacked the first pitch right at another fielder, which he made a barehanded grab as if it was nothing. In my mind, I just repeated to myself that if he could do it, so could I. My opportunity did not wait long. The very next batter skied a long fly ball in my direction. Getting a good jump, I camped under it and made the grab, to the utter dismay of my hands. The ball struck my hands with such a force that they immediately turned a bright red and decided it to call it quits. Having played for a while, the other boys ended the game as well. Amazed at how they could catch such hard shots without gloves, I stole glances at their hands. Unlike my smooth hands, all the boys had rough, extremely callused ones from playing all the baseball. In the friendly conversation that followed, I discovered that I actually envied them.

Establishing a friendly rapport with several of the players, I learned that these boys never played with gloves, always used the same beaten-up ball, and made the baseball bat themselves with an old tree. What amazed me was the fact that they really did not complain, or really care about their lack of equipment. These people did not care about who could hit the ball the furthest, had the best glove, the best throwing arm, or shiniest aluminum bat. They cared only about the thing that mattered most: how much you loved the game.

Although I played with these boys for only an hour or two, they made a profound effect on my life. I saw that although they did not have all the baseball equipment I had, they still managed to play the game at a level superior to mine. Since they had never used new equipment, they adjusted to the game easily. What struck me most is that even without the equipment, they still enjoyed the game. This made me realize that it doesn’t matter what kind of clothes you wear, how good your baseball glove is, or what kind of shoes you wear. This Taiwan experience showed me that the only thing that matters is what you have inside and nothing else.