That Day, I Was Proud of Myself!

Introduction: This is a Toastmasters speech I adapted from my original Chinese story titled 《母亲、风扇和我》 (“Mom, the Fan, and Me”). I’ve adjusted the structure and content to fit the 5–7 minute time frame required for a Toastmasters speech, while keeping the heart of the story.

As a Chinese person, I think many of you will agree: people from my parents’ generation are incredibly frugal—probably because they lived through hardship and poverty.

My mother is a perfect example. One clear reflection of this is her reluctance to throw away old household items.

When we modern people practice “living to the fullest,” my mom practices “using everything to the fullest.”

I remember a tiny wok spatula she had been using until just a few years ago. It was so small, with a stubby handle — I don’t think I had ever seen a wok spatula that small before. I suspected it had simply been worn down by her decades of use. It brought to my mind that old Chinese saying:

“只要功夫深，铁棒磨成针” —

If you work at it long enough, you can grind an iron rod into a needle.

This past May, my younger son Owen and I visited my mother. The weather was warm—but not warm enough, by Chinese standards—to turn on the AC.

Not that she would. My mom isn’t a fan of air conditioning.

She is a fan of… a small electric fan she’s used for years.

When she noticed Owen feeling warm, she quickly moved the fan beside him.

Not long after, Owen whispered to me,

“Mom, Grandma’s fan looks really dirty.”

I bent down to take a look.

He was right. The inside of the base was covered in thick dust, and the blades were rimmed with grime.

The housekeeper we’d hired explained that my mom wouldn’t let her take it apart—saying it was too old and might not go back together.

That sounded exactly like my mom.

I sent her a message—her hearing isn’t good—saying:

“Mom, the fan is too dirty. It’s not good for your health. Do you have a screwdriver? Let me clean it.”

Her response came quickly—and predictably:

“Don’t bother. It’s too old. If you take it apart, it might break.”

Then she added,

“I’ve used it for years and never had a problem. Don’t think you know better than me.”

I didn’t push. I know her personality.

You see, I was only home for a short visit—I didn’t want to upset her.

But I couldn’t let it go.

It kept hanging on my mind.

Back when there was no housekeeper at home, I’d always clean the apartment top to bottom when I visited. That was my small way of showing love.

Now that there’s a housekeeper, I didn’t need to do anything…

and honestly, that made me feel a little useless.

So I found myself thinking—

Could I clean the fan without taking it apart?

After a bit of brainstorming, I grabbed a chopstick and found an old towel. I cut off a piece, wrapped it around the chopstick, and pushed it through the narrow slits of the fan cover.

But as soon as I reached one of the blades and started to wipe, I realized I had a problem—the blade kept moving. I needed a second chopstick in my left hand to hold it steady from the back, so it wouldn’t wobble while I cleaned.

It wasn’t easy, but it worked. Slowly and carefully, I began wiping down the blades and the dusty corners inside.

Later, I switched to gauze—thinner, more flexible, and much easier to maneuver between the narrow gaps. It made the whole process a lot more efficient.

I spent the whole morning in front of that fan, inch by inch, wiping away years of dust.

Each time I pulled out the gauze and saw the black dust it had collected, I felt strangely… satisfied.

Some spots were too tight, even for a chopstick—so I used toothpicks instead.

I felt like a dental hygienist, probing and scraping plaque… from the mouth of a fan.

Once I finished cleaning from the front, I turned the fan around and started on the back.

At one point, my mom came over and said,

“That’s enough.”

She was worried I’d wear myself out.

But I couldn’t stop.

How could I? Would a hygienist leave their patient’s teeth half-cleaned?

That’s not me.

At that moment, my world had narrowed to a single task: clean the fan!

When I finally finished, I plugged it in. Watching it spin—clean and fast—I felt a wave of pride:

I did it!

I made it spotless without even taking it apart!

With just the simplest tools, I had accomplished something that seemed impossible.

My mom, handing me a slice of watermelon, smiled and joked,

“Looks like I’ll have to live to 100 just to make your hard work worth it.”