A bold lesson

MY father is an only son, and he has no son. There were only two occasions where I remember seeing him weep. One was when I was seven years old and my grandmother passed away. The other time was when my youngest sister was born.

I remember father coming home from the maternity hospital like a lonely, defeated man. He told us children about the birth of our sister, then broke into sobs. There are four girls in our family.

Perhaps to make up for the lack of a son, my father started treating some of us, especially my eldest sister and I, like boys. Instead of buying us dolls and masak-masak to play with, he would buy us toy guns, catapults, bows and toy cars.

To ensure we were strong, like boys, he sent us for taekwondo classes.

Father’s thinking was, he would not always be able to be there to protect us. So he wanted to make sure we knew how to protect ourselves. He wanted us to be fearless and courageous.

Although my sister and I did not quite make it to being black belts – nor did we become totally fearless – our basic taekwondo training did teach us a thing or two.

It was probably along this same line of thought that, one day, while our family was eating at a hawker stall, father made an observation. He noticed that the hawker’s young children were serving the food – and that they were polite, unabashed and bold. He looked at his own daughters and saw that they were timid and afraid – of people, talking to people, or going anywhere on their own. He felt sad and ashamed.

Father then told us he wanted us to work at the stall with the hawker’s children – much to my sister’s and my horror – so that we could learn to be bold like them. Although he did not carry this through, his “threat” had a profound impact on me.

From then on, whenever I saw a hawker, I would be sure to check if he had young children helping him out. If he did, I would observe them to see if I could learn from them, just in case my father really made me serve at a stall.

At that time, as a young child myself, I could not quite understand why those children were so brave. To me, they were heroes. They dared to do something I could not do – however good I was in school, and no matter how many friends I had. I admired their courage, that secret “strength”, their ability to approach people and talk to them without fear or embarrassment.

I observed their parents and noticed they were human beings, just like my parents. I noticed how my parents showed them the same respect and courtesy as any other human being. I was intrigued by those children, and I still am, to this day.

Perhaps my father was trying, in his children, to “a man maketh”. Despite his endeavours, we did not really become fearless – at least until much later in life. But he helped open our eyes to who the strong men and women are in this world.

■ Parents and their children at any age can have different points of view over just about everything. Or do they? We invite parents and children to write in to show us where the generation gap closes and widens. E-mail us at [e-mail].