Breathe

My favorite Christmas present this year was a phone call.  I talked with the children of our best friends on Christmas day.

Maybe because I do not have any kids of my own, it feels like I can never have enough time with them. I thoroughly enjoyed every single drop of our interaction.

Most of my friends have pretty good kids.  Nevertheless, the reflex of many of these parents is to tell tales about their children the moment we get together.  It is a real bummer because the kids and I are so excited to see each other, but the parents turn it into a shaming session.  The kids are so embarrassed.  Instead of doing fun things together, I end up spending our precious time defending the kids.

The parents always throw this line at me: "What do you know?  You don't have children!"  While I may not know what it is like to be a parent because I have never been one, my friends seem to have forgotten that they once were young, too.  Brains running on "Overly Concerned Parents" v.5.0, apparently, is not compatible with "Young Minds" v.2.0 . . .

One common criticism by parents is that their kids don't know what they knew when they were at their kids' age, and their kids are not bearing the same responsibilities that they had to bear back then.  I cannot contain myself when they make the kids sound so incompetent.  "But your kids have skills that we didn't know then because they were non-existent!  Could we use computers, write programming codes and work the social media?  There are only twenty four hours a day.  If they learn this, they cannot learn that.  How would you rather they live their lives?  To be themselves here and now, or to go back in time to retrace our steps?"  

My refutation on their behalf helps the kids feel vindicated.  Yet, their parents' constant criticisms day in and day out wears on them.  Even the best children may feel like they are never good enough. The hurt in the kids' eyes can be heartbreaking.  

"Oh, they are in their best behavior when they see you.  Try being me.  They are not as nice when they are home with me," a friend complains about her children.  "Yeah, I know.  And I appreciate that.  Everybody has a no-so-pretty side.  Why should they be any different?" I try to offer my friend a different perspective.  "As for you, I think you should be proud because your kids feel safe enough to reveal their true selves in front of you.  That is quite a compliment, don't you think?  I am not their mom.  I will never have the privilege to see the other side of them."  My friend laughs and shakes her head.

When I was young, my father often shut me down by saying, "What do you know?"  So, did he know what I know?  Of course not because he never bothered to hear me out.  I feel like my dear friends are making the same mistakes my father did half a century ago.

I still remember the first time I realized that the "old people" around me were once young like me, I was quite shock.  "What happened to them?  Did they feel what I feel, did they think what I think?  How did they turn into this???"

In the last verse of "佔領西門町 Conquering Xi Men Ding" -- a song about the phenomenon of punk youth dancing in the streets of Xi Men Ding in the 80s, Taiwanese singer Li Shou Quan sings:  "They will eventually grow up; we will eventually become old.  Their dreams will become reality; our way of thinking will become passé.  In the future world of theirs, if you do not wish to be abandoned, when you come to Xi Men Ding, you have to breathe with them.