(This story is posted here specially for those of us with elderly parents in their 70s or 80s.)
An 80 year old man was sitting on the sofa in his house along with his 45 year-old highly educated son. Suddenly a crow perched on their window.
The father asked his son, "What is this?"
The son replied, "It is a crow."
After a few minutes, the father asked his son the second time, "What is this?"
The son said, "Father, I have just told you "It's a crow".
After a little while, the old father again asked his son the third time, "What is this?"
At this time some expression of irritation was felt in the son's tone when he said to his father with a rebuff, "It's a crow, a crow."
A little after, the father again asked his son the fourth time, "What is this?"
This time the son shouted at his father, "Why do you keep asking me the same question again and again, although I have told you so many times 'IT IS A CROW'. Are you not able to understand this?"
A little later the father went to his room and came back with an old tattered diary, which he had maintained since his son was born. On opening a page, he asked his son to read that page. When the son read it, the following words were written in the diary:-
"Today my little son aged three was sitting with me on the sofa, when a crow was sitting on the window. My son asked me 23 times what it was, and I replied to him all 23 times that it was a crow. I hugged him lovingly each time he asked me the same question again and again for 23 times. I did not at all feel irritated. Rather, I felt affection for my innocent child".
While the little child asked him 23 times "What is this", the father had felt no irritation in replying to the same question all 23 times and when today the father asked his son the same question just four times, the son felt irritated and annoyed.
So..
If your parents attain old age, do not repulse them or look at them as a burden, but speak to them with kind words. Be patient and considerate to your parents. From today say this aloud, "I want to see my parents happy. They have cared for me ever since I was a little child. They have always showered their selfless love on me.They have sacrificed to make me a person presentable in society today".
Say a prayer to God, "I will serve my old parents in the BEST way I can, no matter how they behave.
Showing posts with label values. Show all posts
Showing posts with label values. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
GRANDPARENTING - A PLEASURE OR PRESSURE?
To a family with young children, nothing is more helpful than having supportive grandparents who are there to help as babysitters and care-givers. Young mothers, in particular, have the option of returning to work knowing that their little ones are in safe hands. Those who can’t afford to leave their children with a babysitter or at a day-care centre can always turn to their parents.While most grandparents are ready to help out if they are able, there are some who feel they have paid their dues and done their duty as parents. It’s time their children did theirs. Says one grandmother, 62, “No more changing diapers and dealing with toddler tantrums for me. At my age, it’s too stressful. Sure, if there’s an emergency, I’ll be there. I don’t mind playing with my grandchildren or visiting them, but hands-on babysitting? No thank you."
There are many who share the same sentiments.
“My children and grandchildren don’t show me enough respect. They take me for granted, and can be quite rude to me at times. They don’t treat me as part of the family.”
“My husband and I have eight grandchildren from our three children. Babysitting for all our children leaves us with little time for our own activities.”
“I have to pay for my own transport whenever I go over to my daughter-in-law’s house to babysit the children. A small allowance would be most welcomed since I babysit for her on a regular basis.”
“Our son leaves his 2 year-old and 4 year-old at our house before he goes to work. By the time he picks up the children after work at 7.00pm, my husband and I are exhausted. Sometimes when my son has a lot of work at the office, he comes as late as 9.00pm.”
“My husband is 72, and I’m 68. Physically, we can’t keep up with our boisterous grandsons. Besides, I have high blood pressure.”
“My daughter and I don’t see eye-to-eye on how to bring up the children, especially when it comes to discipline, food and education. This has caused some tension in our relationship.”
On the other hand, there are doting grandparents who do a great job minding their grandchildren. They are also fortunate to have children who are very appreciative of their help. When both sides adopt an open and trusting relationship with reasonable compromising, they create the ideal home environment for the little ones.
“My children and grandchildren don’t show me enough respect. They take me for granted, and can be quite rude to me at times. They don’t treat me as part of the family.”
“My husband and I have eight grandchildren from our three children. Babysitting for all our children leaves us with little time for our own activities.”
“I have to pay for my own transport whenever I go over to my daughter-in-law’s house to babysit the children. A small allowance would be most welcomed since I babysit for her on a regular basis.”
“Our son leaves his 2 year-old and 4 year-old at our house before he goes to work. By the time he picks up the children after work at 7.00pm, my husband and I are exhausted. Sometimes when my son has a lot of work at the office, he comes as late as 9.00pm.”
“My husband is 72, and I’m 68. Physically, we can’t keep up with our boisterous grandsons. Besides, I have high blood pressure.”
“My daughter and I don’t see eye-to-eye on how to bring up the children, especially when it comes to discipline, food and education. This has caused some tension in our relationship.”
On the other hand, there are doting grandparents who do a great job minding their grandchildren. They are also fortunate to have children who are very appreciative of their help. When both sides adopt an open and trusting relationship with reasonable compromising, they create the ideal home environment for the little ones.
Bulbir, 67, and grandson, Ajit, 2
With young parents busy at work, grandfather of five, Bulbir Singh, 67, believes that grandparents should get involved in nurturing their grandchildren. They should take on the responsibility of teaching their grandchildren about God, about values and ethics that will stand them in good stead all their lives.
“If we don't, who else can and will? We should make whatever time we have with the children count. Spend quality time with them, like reading to them, playing with them, or assisting them with their home work. And when you teach, do it with love and concern.”
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I consider myself a hands-on grandma. I enjoy being with my grandchildren, Max, 8, Allie, 5, Hana, 4 and Reiya, 2. They are a source of joy, fun and laughter for me. Children grow up so fast. Before you know it, they are preteens. When they start having their own friends and activities, they won’t have as much time to spend with us. That’s why I value each moment I have with them now. My grandchildren keep me feeling young with their unconditional love and boundless energy.
Dr Benjamin Spock, world renowned pediatrician and best-selling author of Baby and Child Care, tells grandparents to take note. No matter how convinced you are that your way is the best, it should be understood that, ultimately, the responsibility and the right to make decisions belong solely to the parents.As grandparents, we should know when to offer our advice, and when to stay on the sidelines. Through trial and error, young parents will learn, just like we did when we were young parents ourselves, the best ways to bring up the children.
 |
| Mandela celebrating his 90th birthday with his grandchildren |
Saturday, June 14, 2008
WHAT THE MODERN WOMAN WANTS
(This essay is posted here with permission from Amanda Chong Wei-Zhen. She was only 15 when she wrote it. At that tender age, she has the uncanny ability to reach into the soul of the elderly and see the changing world through their bewildered eyes. The essay went on to win the 2007 Angus Ross award for the best Literature A Level paper. It was first entered in the 16-18-year-olds category where it won the top prize in a Commonwealth writing contest that drew 
5,300 entries from 52 countries.)
5,300 entries from 52 countries.)********************************************************
The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta convertible as it careened down the highway, clutching tightly to the plastic bag on her lap, afraid it may be kidnapped by the wind. She was not used to such speed, with trembling hands she pulled the seatbelt tighter but was careful not to touch the patent leather seats with her callused fingers, her daughter had warned her not to dirty it, 'Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.'
Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver mobile phone using big words the old woman could barely understand. 'Finance' 'Liquidation' 'Assets' 'Investments'... Her voice was crisp and important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee Choo sounded like one of those foreign girls on television. She was speaking in an American accent.
The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval. 'I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her
daughter exclaimed agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicured fingernails gripping onto the steering wheel in irritation.
'I can't DEAL with this anymore!' she yelled as she clicked the phone shut and hurled it angrily toward the backseat. The mobile phone hit the old woman on the forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She calmly picked it up and handed it to her daughter.
'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretence and switching to Mandarin. 'I have a big client in
America. There have been a lot of problems.' The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big
and important.
Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view window, wondering what she was thinking. Her mother's wrinkled countenance always carried the same cryptic look.
The phone began to ring again, an artificially cheerful digital tune, which broke the awkward
silence. 'Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.' Elaine. The old woman cringed. I didn't name her Elaine. She remembered her daughter telling her, how an English name was very important for 'networking', Chinese ones being easily forgotten.
'Oh no, I can't see you for lunch today. I have to take the ancient relic to the temple for her weird
daily prayer ritual.'
Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was referring to her. Her daughter always assumed that her mother's silence meant she did not comprehend.
'Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss sticks!'
The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands gripping her plastic bag in defence. The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked almost garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple's roof. The old woman got out of the back seat, and made her unhurried way to the main
hall.
Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business suit and stilettos and reapplied her lipstick as she made her brisk way to her mother's side.
'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have an important phone call to make,' she said, not bothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense.
The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick, she knelt down solemnly and whispered her now familiar daily prayer to the Gods.
Thank you God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these years. Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a young woman in this world could possibly want. She has a big house with a swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or cook.
Her love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and handsome angmoh man. Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what she says. She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything except happiness. I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her roots while reaping the harvest of success.
What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to me. She gives me a room in her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to me only because I affect her happiness. A young woman does not want to be hindered by her old mother. It is my fault.
The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes. Finally, with her head bowed in reverence she planted the half-burnt joss stick into an urn of smouldering ashes.
She bowed once more. The old woman had been praying for her daughter for thirty-two years. When her stomach was round like a melon, she came to the temple and prayed that it was a son.
Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her womb, bawling and adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably, a girl. Her husband had kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby who could not work or carry the family name.
Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied to her waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and have everything she ever wanted. Her husband left her and she prayed that her daughter would never have to depend on a man.
She prayed every day that her daughter would be a great woman, the woman that she, meek and uneducated, could never become. A woman with nengkan; the ability to do anything she set her mind to. A woman who commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she opened her mouth to speak, precious pearls would fall out and men would listen.
She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter grow up and drift away from her, speaking a language she scarcely understood. She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to one who openly defied her, calling her laotu; old-fashioned. She wanted her mother to be 'modern', a word so new there was no Chinese word for it.
Now her daughter was too clever for her and the old woman wondered why she had prayed like that. The gods had been faithful to her persistent prayer, but the wealth and success that poured forth so richly had buried the girl's roots and now she stood, faceless, with no identity, bound to the soil of her ancestors by only a string of origami banknotes.
Her daughter had forgotten her mother's values. Her wants were so ephemeral; that of a modern woman. Power, Wealth, access to the best fashion boutiques, and yet her daughter had not found true happiness. The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less. When her daughter left the earth everything she had would count for nothing. People would look to her
legacy and say that she was a great woman, but she would be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt paper convertibles and mansions.
The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes and prayers for her daughter; now she had only one want: That her daughter be happy. She looked out of the temple gate. She saw her daughter speaking on the phone, her brow furrowed with anger and worry. Being at the top is not good, the woman thought, there is only one way to go from there - down.
The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag and spread out a packet of beehoon in front of the altar. Her daughter often mocked her for worshipping porcelain Gods. How could she pray to them so faithfully and expect pieces of ceramic to fly to her aid? But her daughter had her own gods too, idols of wealth, success and power that she was enslaved to and worshipped every day of her life.
Every day was a quest for the idols, and the idols she worshipped counted for nothing in eternity. All the wants her daughter had would slowly suck the life out of her and leave her, an empty soulless shell at the altar.
The old lady watched her joss tick. The dull heat had left a teetering grey stem that was on the danger of collapsing. Modern woman nowadays, the old lady sighed in resignation, as she bowed to the east one final time to end her ritual. Modern woman nowadays want so much that they lose their souls and wonder why they cannot find it.
Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder. She met her daughter outside the temple, the same look of worry and frustration was etched on her daughter's face. An empty expression, as if she was ploughing through the soil of her wants looking for the one thing that would sow the seeds of happiness.
They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove along the highway, this time not as fast as she had done before.
'Ma,' Bee Choo finally said. 'I don't know how to put this. Mark and I have been talking about it and we plan to move out of the big house. The property market is good now, and we managed to get a buyer willing to pay seven million for it. We decided we'd prefer a cosier penthouse apartment instead. We found a perfect one in Orchard Road. Once we move in to our apartment we plan to get rid of the maid, so we can have more space to ourselves...'
The old woman nodded knowingly.
Bee Choo swallowed hard. 'We'd get someone to come in to do the housework and we can eat out - but once the maid is gone, there won't be anyone to look after you. You will be awfully lonely at home and, besides that, the apartment is rather small. There won't be space. We thought about it for a long time, and we decided the best thing for you is if you moved to a Home. There's one near Hougang - it's a Christian home, a very nice one.'
The old woman did not raise an eyebrow. 'I've been there, the matron is willing to take you in. It's
beautiful with gardens and lots of old people to keep you company! I hardly have time for you, you'd be happier there.'
'You'd be happier there, really.' Her daughter repeated as if to affirm herself.
This time the old woman had no plastic bag of food offerings to cling tightly to; she bit her lip and
fastened her seat belt, as if it would protect her from a daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep into the leather seat, letting her shoulders sag, and her fingers trace the white seat.
'Ma?' her daughter asked, searching the rear view window for her mother. 'Is everything okay?'
What had to be done, had to be done. 'Yes,' she said firmly, louder than she intended, 'if it will make you happy,' she added more quietly.
'It's for you, Ma! You'll be happier there. You can move there tomorrow, I already got the maid to pack your things.' Elaine said triumphantly, mentally ticking yet another item off her agenda.
'I knew everything would be fine.'
Elaine smiled widely; she felt liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her mother would make her happier. She had thought about it. It seemed the only hindrance in her pursuit of happiness. She was happy now. She had everything a modern woman ever wanted; Money, Status, Career, Love, Power and now, Freedom, without her mother and her old-fashioned ways to weigh her down...
Yes, she was free. Her phone buzzed urgently, she picked it up and read the message, still beaming from ear to ear. 'Stocks 10% increase!'
Yes, things were definitely beginning to look up for her...
And while searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her hand phone screen, the old woman in the backseat became invisible, and she did not see the tears.
The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta convertible as it careened down the highway, clutching tightly to the plastic bag on her lap, afraid it may be kidnapped by the wind. She was not used to such speed, with trembling hands she pulled the seatbelt tighter but was careful not to touch the patent leather seats with her callused fingers, her daughter had warned her not to dirty it, 'Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.'
Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver mobile phone using big words the old woman could barely understand. 'Finance' 'Liquidation' 'Assets' 'Investments'... Her voice was crisp and important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee Choo sounded like one of those foreign girls on television. She was speaking in an American accent.
The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval. 'I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her
daughter exclaimed agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicured fingernails gripping onto the steering wheel in irritation.
'I can't DEAL with this anymore!' she yelled as she clicked the phone shut and hurled it angrily toward the backseat. The mobile phone hit the old woman on the forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She calmly picked it up and handed it to her daughter.
'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretence and switching to Mandarin. 'I have a big client in
America. There have been a lot of problems.' The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big
and important.
Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view window, wondering what she was thinking. Her mother's wrinkled countenance always carried the same cryptic look.
The phone began to ring again, an artificially cheerful digital tune, which broke the awkward
silence. 'Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.' Elaine. The old woman cringed. I didn't name her Elaine. She remembered her daughter telling her, how an English name was very important for 'networking', Chinese ones being easily forgotten.
'Oh no, I can't see you for lunch today. I have to take the ancient relic to the temple for her weird
daily prayer ritual.'
Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was referring to her. Her daughter always assumed that her mother's silence meant she did not comprehend.
'Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss sticks!'
The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands gripping her plastic bag in defence. The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked almost garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple's roof. The old woman got out of the back seat, and made her unhurried way to the main
hall.
Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business suit and stilettos and reapplied her lipstick as she made her brisk way to her mother's side.
'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have an important phone call to make,' she said, not bothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense.
The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick, she knelt down solemnly and whispered her now familiar daily prayer to the Gods.
Thank you God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these years. Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a young woman in this world could possibly want. She has a big house with a swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or cook.
Her love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and handsome angmoh man. Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what she says. She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything except happiness. I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her roots while reaping the harvest of success.
What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to me. She gives me a room in her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to me only because I affect her happiness. A young woman does not want to be hindered by her old mother. It is my fault.
The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes. Finally, with her head bowed in reverence she planted the half-burnt joss stick into an urn of smouldering ashes.
She bowed once more. The old woman had been praying for her daughter for thirty-two years. When her stomach was round like a melon, she came to the temple and prayed that it was a son.
Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her womb, bawling and adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably, a girl. Her husband had kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby who could not work or carry the family name.
Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied to her waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and have everything she ever wanted. Her husband left her and she prayed that her daughter would never have to depend on a man.
She prayed every day that her daughter would be a great woman, the woman that she, meek and uneducated, could never become. A woman with nengkan; the ability to do anything she set her mind to. A woman who commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she opened her mouth to speak, precious pearls would fall out and men would listen.
She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter grow up and drift away from her, speaking a language she scarcely understood. She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to one who openly defied her, calling her laotu; old-fashioned. She wanted her mother to be 'modern', a word so new there was no Chinese word for it.
Now her daughter was too clever for her and the old woman wondered why she had prayed like that. The gods had been faithful to her persistent prayer, but the wealth and success that poured forth so richly had buried the girl's roots and now she stood, faceless, with no identity, bound to the soil of her ancestors by only a string of origami banknotes.
Her daughter had forgotten her mother's values. Her wants were so ephemeral; that of a modern woman. Power, Wealth, access to the best fashion boutiques, and yet her daughter had not found true happiness. The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less. When her daughter left the earth everything she had would count for nothing. People would look to her
legacy and say that she was a great woman, but she would be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt paper convertibles and mansions.
The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes and prayers for her daughter; now she had only one want: That her daughter be happy. She looked out of the temple gate. She saw her daughter speaking on the phone, her brow furrowed with anger and worry. Being at the top is not good, the woman thought, there is only one way to go from there - down.
The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag and spread out a packet of beehoon in front of the altar. Her daughter often mocked her for worshipping porcelain Gods. How could she pray to them so faithfully and expect pieces of ceramic to fly to her aid? But her daughter had her own gods too, idols of wealth, success and power that she was enslaved to and worshipped every day of her life.
Every day was a quest for the idols, and the idols she worshipped counted for nothing in eternity. All the wants her daughter had would slowly suck the life out of her and leave her, an empty soulless shell at the altar.
The old lady watched her joss tick. The dull heat had left a teetering grey stem that was on the danger of collapsing. Modern woman nowadays, the old lady sighed in resignation, as she bowed to the east one final time to end her ritual. Modern woman nowadays want so much that they lose their souls and wonder why they cannot find it.
Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder. She met her daughter outside the temple, the same look of worry and frustration was etched on her daughter's face. An empty expression, as if she was ploughing through the soil of her wants looking for the one thing that would sow the seeds of happiness.
They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove along the highway, this time not as fast as she had done before.
'Ma,' Bee Choo finally said. 'I don't know how to put this. Mark and I have been talking about it and we plan to move out of the big house. The property market is good now, and we managed to get a buyer willing to pay seven million for it. We decided we'd prefer a cosier penthouse apartment instead. We found a perfect one in Orchard Road. Once we move in to our apartment we plan to get rid of the maid, so we can have more space to ourselves...'
The old woman nodded knowingly.
Bee Choo swallowed hard. 'We'd get someone to come in to do the housework and we can eat out - but once the maid is gone, there won't be anyone to look after you. You will be awfully lonely at home and, besides that, the apartment is rather small. There won't be space. We thought about it for a long time, and we decided the best thing for you is if you moved to a Home. There's one near Hougang - it's a Christian home, a very nice one.'
The old woman did not raise an eyebrow. 'I've been there, the matron is willing to take you in. It's
beautiful with gardens and lots of old people to keep you company! I hardly have time for you, you'd be happier there.'
'You'd be happier there, really.' Her daughter repeated as if to affirm herself.
This time the old woman had no plastic bag of food offerings to cling tightly to; she bit her lip and
fastened her seat belt, as if it would protect her from a daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep into the leather seat, letting her shoulders sag, and her fingers trace the white seat.
'Ma?' her daughter asked, searching the rear view window for her mother. 'Is everything okay?'
What had to be done, had to be done. 'Yes,' she said firmly, louder than she intended, 'if it will make you happy,' she added more quietly.
'It's for you, Ma! You'll be happier there. You can move there tomorrow, I already got the maid to pack your things.' Elaine said triumphantly, mentally ticking yet another item off her agenda.
'I knew everything would be fine.'
Elaine smiled widely; she felt liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her mother would make her happier. She had thought about it. It seemed the only hindrance in her pursuit of happiness. She was happy now. She had everything a modern woman ever wanted; Money, Status, Career, Love, Power and now, Freedom, without her mother and her old-fashioned ways to weigh her down...
Yes, she was free. Her phone buzzed urgently, she picked it up and read the message, still beaming from ear to ear. 'Stocks 10% increase!'
Yes, things were definitely beginning to look up for her...
And while searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her hand phone screen, the old woman in the backseat became invisible, and she did not see the tears.
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