The People’s Republic of China is a nation of 1.6 billion people. Let’s honor the misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The ones who hang their laundry where they damn please. The People’s Person.

Kids do the darndest things when class is out. Especially when their faces aren’t buried in homework at an afterschool program or when there aren’t any local gangs to join. Such is the case with Bored Afterschool Kid. Let’s call him Zhou (Joe). His parents own the restaurant down the block from my flat and they make “jook” or rice porridge. The restaurant gets tons of customers throughout the day, so the parents are often too busy to look after their son. For Zhou, this means absolute freedom.

For me, a paying customer hungry for a steaming bowl of jook, this means crayons in the hot chili oil. And for your information, the crayons are not made by Crayola. I’m guessing they are probably made in a factory in Shenzhen, where impoverished workers – most likely the same age as Zhou – stir large vats filled with boiling ammonia, rat carcasses, and soy to create all the colors of the rainbow. As I slurp up my jook, I pretend that “Yin Black” is made by Crayola. Unless Crayola is made in China, which means I’m fucked.

On another occasion, I walk by the restaurant and see Zhou playing outside. No, not with toys. But with a wooden plank and a stack of concrete blocks. Here’s his game: Zhou positions the middle of the plank on the sidewalk edge. Then, he places a concrete block on one end of the plank, and jumps on the other end, sending the heavy block flying into the streets. Meanwhile, cyclists zoom by, completely oblivious to their impending face-to-pavement future. And after Zhou has exhausted his supply, the little boy runs out into the street and lugs each concrete block back onto his plank for round two.

All the while, Zhou’s parents are stirring their umpteenth pot of jook. The matron might scold him every now and then to do his homework, but she’s usually far too busy dealing with customers. They aren’t to be blamed for Zhou’s self-directed afterschool curriculum. They have to make money to support a family, that is the reality of it.

But I see it this way. For working class families in the China of today, Zhou’s upbringing is no different than that of middle American families in the 1950s. When the bell rings, children would run home to play stickball. They would explore by the creek, or experiment with wood and fire. Do unspeakable things to a snail.

The world is their playground.

There’s a beautiful ring to it. One that’s missing from the touchscreen-obsessed youth of the United States of Facebook. Film director Terence Malick expressed this sentiment wonderfully in the Tree of Life. Sure, the environments are different: Shanghai in 2011, with its constant inflow of construction and commerce versus the quiet life of 1950’s Waco, Texas. But the dreams are the same. Work hard to support your family. Do whatever it takes to better your child’s future. In the meantime, hand them a concrete block and let them run free.