Make it stand out.

A class of 5th graders from the provincial town of Xiuning had never seen a tin whistle and never heard of Ireland. Only several had ever played music. But by day six they played a17th century Irish march, Dawning of the Day, to a packed auditorium of 800 people. A friend of mine from Ireland, who didn’t particularly care for Irish traditional music, told me afterwards that the march had brought tears to her eyes.

There were a lot of tears that Sunday afternoon — kids and adults crying. Most of them had never seen a real American before our week with them. In their eyes, I had heard, all Americans were rock stars. For a week, we had taught them English, song, dance, arts, whistle, harmonica, board games, geography, and sports. And this particular Sunday afternoon was our final moment together. Many groups of kids performed this last day, including my 5th graders. It was an emotional send-off.

So what was I doing in China, teaching little kids how to play the tin whistle? Yale had offered an irresistible alumni service trip, initiated by the Association of Yale Alumni (AYA) in coordination with the Yale-China Association, which has been sending volunteers, including mission-oriented teachers, to China for over a century. Each of our 180 Yale alumni volunteers, was invited to propose a project. For me that was not hard. I knew it had to involve tin whistles.

I play a wooden flute. The tin whistle, in contrast, is high-pitched and is not exactly my favorite, though I keep one in my car’s glove compartment. I would be teaching three classes, a total of 75 bright, animated Chinese students, and it was up to me to bring with me all materials. So it had to be whistles. Yes, of course, they were made in China. I bought them mail-order in the United States, and STIMS generously covered the costs.

What’s STIMS? you ask. Let me back up. I discovered Irish traditional music nine years ago on a trip via Aer Lingus to Madrid, of all places, with a stopover in Shannon, Ireland. I had never been to Ireland so my wife and I arranged to spend two nights in Doolin, County Clare. There, hearing traditional Irish music in pubs at both ends of the village, I was, as it were, “struck by lightning” and have never been the same since. I play with the Shamrogues, a group of volunteer musicians who are members of STIMS. We perform about 25 gigs a year, often for free or for a nominal charge, promoting awareness of Irish culture, and raising funds for our nonprofit group the Shamrock Traditional Irish Music Society. We help leading Irish musicians publish their books, their musical compositions, and their CDs. We arrange and promote traditional Irish music concerts throughout Fairfield County, Connection. Earl Hitchner, who was a writer for the Wall Street Journal and Irish Echo, commended us, saying “The Shamrock Traditional Irish Music Society must now be considered the premier East Coast not-for-profit organization presenting high-quality live Irish traditional music.” Newman’s Own Foundation has generously supported us, and we are funded annually by grants from the Connecticut Commission on Culture and Tourism, and by Culture Ireland.

You’ve heard of the Tiger Mother, right? It is much worse than that in China. Four Chinese grandparents, two parents, one child, and in their eyes the entire future is vested in that child. It is referred to as the “4-2-1 pressure.” You cannot leave your home town. It is illegal to move around in China. Excelling in school, gaining admission to college, is the ticket out. Your life and livelihood depend on it. These youngsters were totally regimented, literally marching around school, trained to follow. No independence, individuality, creativity or spontaneity. No thinking outside the box. Not in elementary school, and not even in college. For the most part, no arts, no music, no outside interests. They study intensely all year, they study all summer. But this was special and they were required by county officials and the school administration to interrupt their summer study regime and come back to school, and learn with us.

I’d like to think my classes were organized. These kids learned a lot, at least two tunes a day. I had different Chinese college students, including one named Chocolate, another named Angel, helping keep order, and interpreting. One little boy sitting in the back forgot his whistle on our second day (Tuesday). A lady who was monitoring the class and must have been the regular teacher, slapped him hard. He ran out; five minutes later he came back with a borrowed whistle. No one forgot their whistle after that. They were serious, focused, and learned quickly. Perfect students. I wanted to teach more advanced music in the afternoon, but all plans were made months in advance and the program required all of us at the elementary school to teach a sport. I am a racquet person, so I proposed to run a ping pong program.

Afternoons I found myself in charge of what appeared to be the entire 5th grade, possibly 10 classes, several hundred kids, arriving in waves from 2 to 5pm. In China, if you show ping-pong or musical talent, you are taken out of school and put in a specialized program. China won every table tennis medal at the Beijing Olympics, individual and team, men and women. But my youngsters were on the academic track; there was some real talent, but no ping-pong aces.

We had an Olympic quality, air-conditioned, brightly lit palatial gymnasium, with rubberized flooring, 25 state-of-the-art tables, dividers, and 12 to15 feet of space behind each table. I stayed at one table, and they lined up to take me on. Older kids then wanted to play me, and finally various teachers and the school principal (though I did not know who she was at the time) stepped up. The first afternoon was chaotic, to the Chinese teachers’ dismay. At their request, we imposed order, our kind of order. The kids were wonderful, sharing with one another, tables, paddles and balls. They were loud, animated, exuberant, joyful. I suspect this classy arena was for the ping-pong stars, not these scholars. So this was a treat for them and they had a ball. And so did we.

Exactly one year before, Frankie Gavin, De Dannan, and the Dublin Philharmonic had performed in the great concert halls of Shanghai and Beijing. But my 5th graders in the out-of-the-way provincial town of Xiuning, in only one week, playing a strange new instrument, learned about a dozen tunes, and played that final Sunday before 800 spectators, opening with Ireland’s iconic march, Dawning of the Day, bringing tears to the eyes of my Irish friend. Frankie may return, but I wonder . . .

Will the children and families of Xiuning, China ever see the likes of this, or us, again? I certainly hope so.