(6-96) This Chinese New Year, I volunteered to give a "show and tell" to my daughter's class. I chose the story "Don't Count the Dumplings" for a dozen of 4 to 5 year olds. It's a simple folk story from northern China, usually told during New Year's eve.

Before the year ends, every Chinese family would be busy preparing a big meal for New Year's eve. It's a time for family to get together to welcome the new year and remember the past. Mama Chen was also busying making dumplings for the family. She is poor, and she counted twelve dumplings for each person very carefully, just enough for every one in the family to have a good satisfying meal. When the evening came, she opened the door for papa Chen and found an old man collapsed in the street. It was a cold and snowy day. The old man moaned: "Mercy, mercy." Mama Chen and papa Chen helped him inside and sat him down at the dinner table. They began to set the table for dinner.

Mama Chen dished out most of the dumplings in a big plate and served. The old man was so hungry, he quickly ate all the dumplings, before other people had the chance to get started. Baby Chen looked at the empty plate, almost cried; but he thought it was impolite, and held back. The old man said: "More, please." Mama Chen was embarrassed, and said: "I'm afraid there's not much left, I'll get some more." The old man said: "Don't worry, go get it. Just remember, don't count the dumplings."

Mama Chen went to the kitchen thinking there were only 4 or 5 dumplings left in the pot, she'd dish them out first, then figure out something else to do. But when she opened the pot, there were lots of dumplings floating on top. She was surprised, but she remembered what the old man said: "Don't count the dumplings". She dished them out, and served a plateful of dumplings, and another plateful, and another, until everyone was full and satisfied.

The next morning, when everyone woke up, the old man was already gone. Mama Chen went to the kitchen to prepare for breakfast. She opened the pot and found a potful of silver dumplings. They realized then that the old man was really a Buddha, an angel, and the silver dumplings were magic, a miracle for the poor family. They were grateful and had a very happy new year.

At the end, I pointed out to the children that the reason for not counting the dumplings is to share. A five year old boy raised his hand: "Why can't I count my dumplings?" I said: "If you count too often, then you may not share so well." He paused, and said: "But I always count my things... I will only share after I count." I laughed, and said: "That's very good too." I was both amused by a five year old's wit, and the difference of culture. I have to admit, I now think twice about what story I tell to my daughter. Do I want her to be more competitive, or do I want her to have virtues like self sacrifice.