by You Jin
I remember once when Fung Teck did poorly on a test, I bought him a book, Language Revision and Exercises, and made him sit in his room working on it. After he had worked for an hour, he stood up and, as was his habit, turned on the television. I turned the set off immediately and said, “No TV for you this week.”
He pouted and said grumpily, “If there’s no TV and all I can do is study, I’ll go crazy.”
I took out his test paper and showed it to him. I said, “With results like these, you think you have the right to demand entertainment?”
He immediately kept quiet, looking forlorn. From then on, he worked hard to manage his own studies, only rarely giving me any reason to worry about his schoolwork.
If parents lay down the rules, and can enforce them, that is usually all that is needed. On the other hand, if one only threatens and never takes action, the child will hear it as nothing but bluster. Before long, he will take his parents as a paper tiger or scarecrow— something that looks fierce but is actually harmless. Once this impression has been established, even equipping the parents with great educational theories is useless.
I want my children to have self-control. This idea actually originates from my father’s twofold self-care philosophy, which is built on self-esteem and self-respect. A person with a healthy selfesteem does not need supervision, but will be self-motivated to do things well; and a person with self-respect will not do things that she will later be ashamed of. My father believed that possessing these two qualities was like obtaining a permit that ensured success on the long journey of life. No matter what jobs he had or what his status, a person could win the respect of others if he had these qualities. My father’s twofold philosophy of self-care had a lasting impact on my life.
In fact, I believe the best system in the world is the one that emphasises self-control. So whatever I do in life, I put my best foot forward, seeking self-satisfaction, and self-improvement. I do not compete with others; I only compete with myself, freely living out the truest version of myself.
As I passed this philosophy onto my own children, I added another pair of self-care principles: self-sufficiency and self-improvement.
In an attempt to shower love on their children, many parents become overprotective. There are many things their children can do, but they feel compelled to shelter the little ones. The result is that the child never grows up to flex her own wings. When she leaves the nest, the little bird normally has to go through setbacks, defeats, sorrows and attacks before she can laboriously procure the “secret manual” to survival. Those with weaker constitutions will be eliminated according to the natural order of survival of the fittest. The parents’ love for these children inadvertently becomes a way of harming them.
When my children entered primary school, I told our domestic helper that she need not wash their shoes; they needed to do it themselves. At that time, students all wore canvas shoes that were not easy to clean when they got dirty. They needed to be brushed quite vigorously, over and over, before the dirt would fade, and then a special white shoe polish had to he applied before the shoes were left to dry in the sun. While they were airing, it was important to pay attention to changes in the weather. If the sky grew dark, the shoes needed to be brought in immediately. I wanted my children to take care of this themselves as a way of developing a sense of responsibility.
When they were bigger, I expected them to make their own beds, clean their own rooms, and wash their own dishes. When they were bigger still, if anything in their room broke, I expected them to find a way to repair it. For instance, if they accidentally scratched their wooden desks, they had to buy lacquer varnish to polish them; or if the light bulb in the room burned out, they were to change it themselves. I wanted them to feel they were masters of their own lives.
I have always firmly believed that if you nurture a sense of independence, the child will learn to soar higher and farther in the vast blue sky. In daily life, I trained my children to be self-sufficient. I taught them the idea of self-improvement. When they asked me questions, I always taught them to think and see if they could discover the answer for themselves.
It is an old truism that teaching a person to fish is better than giving them a fish, but I’ve come across an even more interesting story:
Li and Lu made a wager. Li said that if he gave Lu a birdcage to hang in his house, Lu would definitely buy a bird. Lu snickered and said, “If I want to buy a bird or not, that’s my own affair. Who can impose that on me?”
They came to terms on the wager. The next day, Li bought a beautiful Swiss birdcage and gave it to Lu. Lu hung it at a place near the dining room table. Every time someone came to visit, they saw the empty birdcage and never failed to ask, “Hey, when did your bird die?”
He replied, “I’ve never kept a bird.”
Each time, the guest replied, “Then why do you have a birdcage?”
He would then have to explain the story from the beginning. This happened over and over. Lu explained it many times, always saying the same thing. No matter how many times told the story, there was always sure to be one more time.
In the end, he got so tired of explaining that he went and bought a bird to put in the cage.
From this story, we can see that our children’s minds are like the empty cage. If we give them the space, they are certain to find ways to fill it.
The “Triple No” Policy
When Fung Teck was eleven, I bought a set of three-uses-in-one cookware; the three uses included cooking for the stove, oven and microwave. It was a new concept and a new product on the market, so it was quite expensive. That night for dinner, the children came into the kitchen to help me carry the cooked dishes to the dining table, and I heard a loud crash. Turning, I saw the beautifully roasted chicken lying on the floor amidst the shattered pieces of my new cookware. Fung Teck looked up at me and said mournfully, “Mama, I wasn’t careful…”
I was so angry my hair stood up. I wanted to pull his ear and shout at him, but what was done was done. Punishing him like that would not change anything. And anyway, it wasn’t like he did it on purpose.
I sighed and said, “Help me clean it up and let’s get ready to eat.”
On another occasion, when Fung Yee was twelve, we went to my good friend’s home for dinner. As we were leaving, my friend gave me a bottle of French wine, since she knew how much I love wine. She said, “This is ten years old, but I couldn’t bear to open it all this time.”
Treating it like a precious treasure, I carefully carried it home. When we got there, I handed the wine to Fung Yee so I could take out my keys, and said, “Be very careful with it.”
Before I could even open the door a crack, I heard the sound of the bottle smashing into the ground. The blood rushed to my head. I turned and saw my son standing behind me, staring helplessly at the wine spilled from the broken bottle, a look of panic on his face.
Right then, I wanted to slap him and scream until his eardrums burst, but what would be the use? It had already happened, and neither scolding nor spanking would put the wine back in the bottle again. I took a deep breath and said, “Clean up the broken pieces.”
Some parents will scold or spank their children when they accidentally break things around the house, no matter how expensive or cheap the things may be. But I am not like that at all. If things break, they can be replaced. When a family bond is cracked, even superglue will not be able to mend it.
On the other hand, if the child’s wrong action is something that goes against my teachings, I will let him know with corporal punishment. I have always believed that if a parent uses reasonable punishment, such discipline allows the child to draw values that will benefit him for the rest of his life. When the child is grown and looks back at his early years, he will appreciate it.
When Ke Jun was only five, I caned her. We had a one-of-a-kind end table with a fleece surface, standing on four short legs carved in the form of four mighty-looking dragons. I had gone to a great deal of troubl
e to ship it from overseas. One day, I was shocked to discover that someone had the audacity to mischievously scrape the fleece surface of the table with a knife, leaving a scar measuring almost half a metre. Who could have done this? I brought the three children over and asked them about it in a stern tone.
The biggest suspect was twelve-year-old Fung Yee, because he was a curious child and had always possessed a destructive streak. It seemed that everything he touched, he bent here or snapped there, and the object would break in no time. Seven-year-old Fung Teck, who was always obedient, probably would not have struck such heavy blows to his mother’s beloved table. That left five-year-old Ke Jun, who probably was not strong enough to make such a long, deep gash. So, she was the least likely suspect.
James and I turned our eyes simultaneously on Fung Yee. He denied it vehemently; the loudness of his voice and panic in his tone were unprecedented. Our second and third children likewise denied all responsibility.
What could we do? James and I withdrew to discuss. I asserted emphatically that the oldest had done it. My reason was: “He acted so exasperated and aggressive just now. If he is not guilty, why was he panicking?”
James wore the expression of a wise judge. He said, “Jumping to conclusions like that is dangerous. I don’t know whether you noticed it, but Fung Teck’s face was pale and furrowed. It was almost frightening. Perhaps he did it?”
Unable to come to a conclusion, we decided to change our tactics and take a soft approach. We gently said to the children, “We all make mistakes. You just need to own up and we won’t punish you.”
Nothing. No one spoke up.
So we brought each one in front of us, one by one, and grilled them with tough questions. Finally Ke Jun broke down and stuttered, “Mama, it was…it was big brother who did it.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw him. When you were in the kitchen, he squatted there and scratched it.”
“What did he scratch it with?”
“A blade!” Saying this, she went to her brother’s school bag and pulled out the small penknife he used for arts and crafts. She walked over to the table and demonstrated, waving the knife, saying, “He did it like this!”
Furious, I asked her, “When you saw him doing that, why didn’t you go to the kitchen and tell me?”
“He…he said he would hit me if I told you.”
Unable to contain my anger, I picked up the cane and called Fung Yee to come downstairs. Without another word, I swatted his calf with the cane, scolding, “I am caning you for lying to my face. You scratched the table. Just own up, and there’s no problem. But you put us all through such an ordeal just to find out it was you.”
My son fell to the floor and howled. Crying, he shouted, “It wasn’t me! I swear, I didn’t do it!”
He swore? That made me even angrier. As I was about to cane him again, I saw his little brother’s eyes welling up with tears, his lips trembling.
I stopped in mid-swing. I could not resume the caning.
Had my daughter misinformed me? After all, she was only five. I turned to look at her: she was sucking her thumb, and her two huge eyes stared innocently back at me. She really did not seem to be lying.
I suddenly felt exhausted. I beat a retreat, trying to think of a better strategy. After some thought, a light went off in my head.
The next day, I called for them to get in the car. As we drove toward the police post, I said solemnly, “Since none of you want to admit it, I’ve decided I have no choice but to take you to the police to settle this.”
My sentence was not even completed when a sharp and rapid sob suddenly filled the car. I looked back. It was my little daughter, the whistle-blower. Weeping, she said, “Mama, don’t let the police get me! I did it. I was the one who took big brother’s knife and scratched the table.”
I caned my daughter with four strokes across the palm when we got home. I told her very plainly that this was punishment for violating our family values, which were summed up in “three no’s”: no lying, no rudeness and no idleness.
“No lying” shows my expectation of the moral yardstick for my children. One must be honest in both word and deed. If a person can be true to himself and others, being trustworthy and credible and living according to the rules, then he will have peace of mind throughout his whole life.
“No rudeness” is next because courtesy is the basic rule for conducting oneself in society. A child who understands the principle of respect for seniority will be able to act appropriately in his relation to others. Courtesy is not just superficial, but is a cultivation of deep respect within oneself. This family discipline is also meaningful because it includes the idea of extending the respect for the elders and love for the young ones in one’s own family to those of another family. If a person can treat elders with respect and young ones with kindness, both family and social relationships will be pleasant and complete. A person who does not engage in personal disputes is a happy, free person.
“No idleness” conveys my expectations towards my children’s studies and the way they do things. I do not want them to be sluggish or to shy away from work. If they are able to walk fifty miles on their own strength, I do not want them to slack off at thirty miles. If they can climb a thousand-metre mountain, I do not want them to stop at a four-hundred-metre hill. After they have set a goal according to their abilities, I want them to put forth their best efforts, showcasing their optimum state.
I often told my children the story of “The Lazy Man and the Bread”.
There was once an extremely lazy fellow whose wife wanted to go on a journey. Afraid that he was too lazy even to feed himself, she made a very large, round piece of flatbread for him, then strung it in pieces and hung it around his neck. Several days later, she returned home and was shocked to find he had starved to death. What was strange was that there were still many pieces of bread hanging around his neck. Inspecting the string, she realised he had lowered his head and eaten the bread right in front of him, but was too lazy to reach out his hand for a farther piece. When those pieces hanging closest to his neck were gone, he starved to death.
Another story about a lazy man is even worse:
There once was a man who always complained that his work was too hard. He changed jobs every other day, but was never satisfied. Then a friend got him a job as a guard at a cemetery, thinking that, since he didn’t have to do anything all night but sit and watch the graveyard, he couldn’t complain that it was too strenuous. But after the fellow had worked for just one day, he resigned. The friend asked in surprise, “What happened?”
The man answered angrily: “Everyone in the cemetery was lying down comfortably, but I had to sit up all night. It was just too much!”
These house rules became the maxim for my children during their years of growth. On the surface, these seem to be my ideals, but in fact, I was attempting to pass along a valuable treasure to my children. They had a very clear understanding that I would not hesitate to use the cane if they violated the first and second rules. I might not be quick to punish, but once I did, I would not play games. I would make sure the punishment hurt, so that it would make a lasting impression.
When Ke Jun was small, she looked like a doll. Every time she looked at me through those big sparkling eyes, repeating the “three no’s” to me, my heart would overflow with affection. Even so, my soft spot for her would not prevent me from punishing her if she violated those basic house rules.
Throughout the process of growing up, I only caned her twice. Once was when she scratched the end table, the other when she broke the “no rudeness” rule.
On that occasion, she wanted me to buy her a branded pencil case that cost more than fifty dollars. When I refused, she turned moody. Later, she yelled at me when I asked her to do something. Without another word, I walked over to her, reached out and slapped her twice hard. Later, I looked into her eyes and said calmly, “Girl, remember that from today onward you will not talk like that. You may
not speak to me in that tone again.”
Because of my affection for her, Ke Jun had always assumed that I would not raise a hand to her. After that incident, she knew I meant business, and she never dared to behave that way again.
Some people find it strange that, though I treat her like my treasure, I still don’t give in to her every demand. If I had just bought her the pencil case, wouldn’t that have made her happy? This has to do with my personal sense of worth. To me, if five dollars was more than enough to pay for a perfectly good, durable pencil case, why should I pay ten times that just for a big brand name pencil case, which cultivates vanity? If it really did make a big difference to her, then she should have used her own pocket money to buy the branded item.
It’s true that hitting the child’s flesh pains the mother’s heart. On the other hand, if the child never knows punishment growing up, the parents will know a lifetime of suffering, and short-term pain is always better than long-term misery.
Adapting Instruction to the Individual
Children who grow up in the same family will sometimes have widely divergent personalities. My oldest, Fung Yee, was a very active child; not only could he not sit still, he just had to jump everywhere instead of walking. Every time I took him across a road, my heart would pound because he hated to hold my hand and walk nicely. He was like a wild horse unwilling to be tamed. Like a gust of wind, he would race across the busy street to the other side, leaving me wide-eyed and trembling at the place where he had run from.
Once when I was bringing him to my parents’ home, the whole neighbourhood was experiencing a blackout during a moonless night. After the car stopped and the door opened, he shot out like an arrow into the darkness. There was a huge concrete drain two or three feet deep in front of the house, and I called, “Be careful!” but before the words were even out of my mouth, a shrill yell reached my ears. As I feared, he had fallen into the drain. I shuffled over to the side of the drain. Thankfully it was not the rainy season, so it was dry. With all my strength, I pulled my wailing son out of the drain. His arm was soaked in blood. Instead of going in to my parents’ home, I had to rush him to the emergency room.