When I was in third grade, I was sent away for a semester to my parents’ native Taiwan, as part of an effort to make me less of a disgrace to my ancestors. The idea was that I, an unruly little snot, would benefit from Chinese language immersion and exposure to the superior self-discipline and obedience of Formosan youth. Three months later, my Mandarin remained middling, and I’d managed to corrupt my class with shared snacks and American comic books.
