"Everyone in China who has been to high school has. . . a file. The files are irreplaceable histories of achievement and failure, the starting point for potential employers, government officials and others judging an individual's worth. Often keys to the future, they are locked tight in government, school or workplace cabinets to eliminate any chance they might vanish. . . . But two years ago, Mr. Xue's file did vanish. So did the files of at least 10 others. . . . With the manila folders, went their futures."
As we grew older, we began to suspect that the Permanent Record didn't really exist. Sure, there were lower-case-p permanent records. We're sure that we could access our elementary and high-school records if we really wished; we know that our various colleges and universities retain transcripts; and of course every job we've held kept various records, if only for tax purposes. We began, tentatively at first, to take comfort in the fact that, while some facts follow us in perpetuity, others fade into the mists of time.
We suspect that juvenile misdemeanors, for example, get expunged from the permanent record. This is especially true of those things that seem, to a child, like they will lead to immediate expulsion from the ranks of polite society if not summary execution. We remember once, in second grade, FOS came up to us crying, certain that, when we parted company at the end of the day, it would be the last time we would see each other. He was almost certainly going to be shipped off to reform school when his mother found out what he had done. And what had he done? What crime was going to be placed on the Permanent Record? He had lost his crayons.
Another time, in 6th grade, FOS and YNSHC were caught passing notes in class. Not such a big deal, you might say, except that the content of these notes contained a running dialogue, in which we speculated about the romantic entanglements of various teachers. As we left the principal's office, having been assured that parents would be notified, quaking in our Pro Keds, we were certain we had seen our last sunrise. When, about an hour later, the principal called us back and told us that, seeing how truly we regretted our actions, he would show mercy and not call our parents, we felt as if we had received the proverbial death-chamber-reprieve from the governor. We were ecstatic. Still, we both suspected that the incident had been duly inscribed on our permanent records, and we would have to be prepared to suffer possible future repercussions.
If you're a spiritual sort, you probably believe there exists for everyone a Permanent Record, maintained by whatever higher power oversees our existence. Considered in this light, it's somewhat appropriate that the officially secular Communist regime in China, maintains permanent records in manila folders. No "In God we trust" for them; place your faith in the Party. Obviously problems arise, though (see above). We can't help but wonder why the Permanent Records, called dangans, were never computerized. Maybe the internet seems to close to a higher power for the comfort of the regime?
At any rate, we want to encourage all you Sloppists to keep an eye on your own Permanent Records, wherever they're maintained. The life you document most assuredly is your own.
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A big solipsistic welcome back to "Jess"! Nice to hear from you again. When are you going to start blogging again?
"Jess" left a comment on our post of July 24. In its entirety, it reads "You are brilliant."
We couldn't agree more, and we want to commend Jess for displaying the perceptiveness of a true Sloppist!
Great post, Sol! As I recall, I think my 2nd grade wailing (or was it 3rd grade?) was about my having perpetually lost my GLASSES, which I remember doing at least a few days a week. Don't really remember how often they were replaced, but it was frequently enough. Nevertheless, when you're a kid, the imagined dire outcomes are always worse than reality.
ReplyDeleteNow our 6th grade exploits I remember well, particularly because I recall initiating the notes about our amply-bosomed "Miss Atik", the inspiration for many a pre-pubescent boy's fevered imaginations. I expect the school administration, the teacher, and I daresay my parents, were or would have been giggling at the silly ravings of our notes. But again, the idea of these secrets being divulged to my parents was too painful to consider, and I do remember WAILING in the staircase. They probably granted clemency just to shut me up -- hadn't I suffered enough? Self-induced torment is often worse than anything a parent could administer.
BTW, weren't YOU supposed to be getting rid of the evidence?!? A note to your readers: never plan a heist with Sol. He's bound to leave his fingerprints all over everything.
I wonder what my Permanent Record says about me? Nice boy with a fondness for sexy teachers, no doubt.
LOL!
Great post!
FOS