To Shape and be Shaped

I still vividly remember how I got told off, perhaps some 40 years ago, at the doctor's office in his clinic. I was having a flu or sore throat or something like that, certainly nothing life threatening, as I was a little energetic upon sitting next to his desk facing him at an angle, while my mum was sitting (or standing) next to me. Before the doctor spoke, I was looking at his stuff inside an stationery tray on the desk, spontaneously took out a cheap ball pen and made some unimportant remark about it, only to be instantly told off by mum for being impolite and naughty, and asked to leave it where it belonged.

Though immediately complying without making any fuss about it, beside being embarrassed, I was rather puzzled with mum's lament. I still remember myself thinking, though not exactly in these precise words, "What have I done? I was just trying to warm up to the cold clinical ambience." But it was later on back home when mum related the seemingly trivial incident to dad, or whoever were listening I cannot quite remember now, and again labelled me as being naughty that I was seriously perplexed - though I don't recall myself protesting. It genuinely vexed me why my good-natured intent would have to be punished so unfairly - though I also don't recall myself losing any sleep over it.

Of course life is full of misgivings and this was but one incident of idiosyncrasies - of either mine or mum's - which I doubt would have scarred my psychological complex in any way; and I don't recall my myself having talked about it over the years ever again, until now.

It feels funny that I am writing about it now. But it only comes to mind in the recent times of my fatherhood, particularly upon observing how my son behaves.

Although I have read and learnt enough to realize and understand how we adults tend to impose our expectation and rules on the untamed mind, to such extent that we may risk killing their imagination and creativity, I reckon I still naively - even self-righteously - fall into this pitfall every now and then. I actually verified that on various occasions: when I asked my son whether he understood why I was punishing him, unless he was ingeniously faking his innocence as a 5 years' old genius, he really had no clue at all.

It was indeed a hard balance to strike, between embracing their innocent instincts and upbringing them with what we consider to be right. But then life is full of paradoxes everywhere.

Now I firmly believe that we need to communicate with kids with no less - indeed more - alacrity and patience than with any grown-up persons whom we intend to strike resonant chords with. We need to first get into their worlds before we have a real chance of hand-holding them to come to ours. With luck, perhaps we may want to stay in theirs for longer - finding our misplaced childhood and reliving impeccable moments. They may be shaping our future as we are shaping theirs.