Back in the early 1970s, I was a working, single mom whose two young children were attending a local day camp during the summer months in the Virginia suburbs of Washington, D.C. It was a great place, where they had earlier been year-round pre-school students. Now that they were a little bigger — ages 8 and 10 — they were able to enjoy the many summer activities, including swimming lessons, horseback riding lessons, and the occasional field trip.

In 1972, then-President and Mrs. Richard Nixon were enjoying dinner in Beijing, China, with Premier Zhou Enlai, when the subject of two newly-captured pandas came up, and Mrs. Nixon commented that she was very fond of the big, cuddly-looking animals. Impulsively, Premier Zhou is said to have offered, “I’ll give you some” . . . and thus began 50 years of “fostering” of China’s most adorable wild denizens, one pair at a time, at the National Zoo in Washington. The first couple — Ling-Ling and Hsing-Hsing — lived happily in their new home until 1992 and 1999, respectively, and were the Zoo’s main attraction throughout their lives.

Of course, a field trip to the Zoo was a must for the day camp children and their counselors, and so off they went one bright, hot summer day. It started out wonderfully, with the kids enjoying the beautiful park and the variety of exotic animals as they made their way to the Panda House — a large area with both an indoor space and an outdoor garden reminiscent of the pandas’ native China. Because of the heat of the day, Ling-Ling and Hsing-Hsing were being kept indoors, where their air-conditioned “house,” liberally planted with bamboo, was enclosed behind glass for easy viewing by the visitors. In addition, there was a long metal railing in front of the window, set back a few feet, where visitors were required to stand in order to keep them from tapping on the glass or otherwise disturbing the residents.

Let me explain here a little bit about my daughter. A bright, energetic, happy child, with an insatiable curiosity about everything, she somehow managed to be the unwitting target of any trouble that might be lurking within easy range. And Zoo day was no exception. Standing behind the metal railing with her friends, exactly where they belonged, she did what the others were doing — rested her hands on the railing. But for whatever reason, she moved her hands to the underside of the railing . . . and literally got the shock of her life.

In some way, for some reason, and by someone unknown — none of which were ever explained to me — underneath that railing and extending its full length was a live, exposed electrical wire. And when her hands touched it, the shock was great enough that her hands stuck to the railing and the charge went through her entire body. One of the female counselors — putting herself in danger — grabbed her to try to pull her away, and was herself stuck to my daughter and unable to let go. A second counselor — a young man with considerable strength — then grabbed the first counselor, and was finally able to pull them both away from the railing and the wire.

Needless to say, the field trip was cut short. The two counselors were all right, but my daughter had received burns to the palms and fingers of both hands . . . and no one knew what else at that point. What worried her most of all, though, was that she had wet her pants; and at eight years of age, that’s really, really bad.

The bottom line is that, other than the burns, she was all right. They rushed her to the zoo’s on-site clinic, where her burns were treated and her hands wrapped. Then everyone piled back onto the school bus and headed back to school, where the principal called me at work . . . there were no cell phones in those days. I made it from downtown D.C. to the school, about eleven miles away in Virginia, weaving through city traffic and running a few red lights, in a record seven minutes . . . and never saw a police car the whole way there.

When I arrived, she was sitting there, in her embarrassingly wet panties and shorts, rather enjoying all the attention, as her brother sat worriedly nearby. After profusely thanking the two counselors who had saved my daughter’s life, I hustled both kids into the car and headed for the nearest hospital emergency room, where they tried to keep me out of the treatment area because, they said, some parents tended to faint. I told them I wasn’t going to do anything that ridiculous, and that I would gladly sign a release and sit in a corner, but no army was going to separate me from my little girl at that point. As they unwrapped her hands, I could see that the burns were actually not as bad as I had imagined, and I was able to relax a bit. And my daughter — did I mention she’s a Leo, and a bit of a drama queen? — once again stole the show when she turned her big blue eyes toward the doctor and said, “I’m just so glad this happened to me, and not my brother.”

That’s my girl.

End of story: The Panda House was closed to the public for a while, during which time the indoor viewing space was completely redesigned. My daughter is still alive and kicking. And the pandas were blissfully unaware that anything unusual had happened.

*. *. *

I’ve gone through this whole long tale simply to point out the reason that the panda program at the National Zoo has special, sentimental meaning to me. I visited Ling-Ling and Hsing-Hsing many times after that day, as well as their successors, Mei Xiang and Tian-Tian. The entire country holds them very dear, and none more so than the people of Washington, who received that first pair. Zoos in San Diego, Memphis and Atlanta have been similarly blessed; and now, they’ve all gone home (except Atlanta’s, who will follow shortly). They have been, for five decades, a symbol of friendship between two powerful nations that otherwise have more than their share of contentious issues.

And now, even that link is in danger of being severed. The current program was scheduled to end on December 7th of this year anyway. As has happened at each expiration date in the past, it was expected to be renewed again; but this time, there has been no indication from the Chinese officials as to when — or if — that will happen. I have a sinking feeling it won’t, at least not right away. And if not, the pandas would effectively be held hostage, their travel privileges and their panda passports revoked and held by the Chinese Panda Police; America would feel the loss, as though of our own children; and there would be one more bone of contention between our two countries — the very last thing this world needs right now.

*. *. *

Message to President Xi: “What is it . . . spite? Some new sort of panda diplomacy? Pardon my language, sir, but this really sucks. Regardless of political differences, certain things in this world should remain inviolate: humanitarian aid, the Olympics, and the Panda Program, for starters. We Americans, in general, are a sentimental lot. We love our children and our animals. We know the pandas really belong to China, but we cherish them as though they were our own. We’ve taken first-rate care of them for 50 years, delivered their babies, and mourned them when their time ran out. So I will try to remain hopeful that the program may be renewed without interference from political issues. Anything less would be just plain mean.”

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/11/23