How to be a successful parent and/or children? Good and/or bad memories?

        I never talk about the relationship between my parents and me. Maybe I should address it now. It is always a tricky situation.

        I was 5, when I was in primary school. School was usually fun, however, the “studying” part of it is too tedious, and left me with some painful memories. IT is the infamous bamboo stick. Do you know how hard one can hit with a bamboo stick? Obviously, I was the one who was beaten up, badly. The method where my mother trains my memory is a bit “inhumane,” but at least it worked, for the time being. For example, if I had a history test, she would ask me to memorize the book first. Then she would ask me to recite, in front of her. If I have one of the “wordings” wrong (even though the idea is correct), then she would hit me one time, sometimes in the heard, sometimes on the arm – no matter where she hit, it was a painstaking process. At least I got high score for the tests in school. Of course this doesn’t’ constitute the major part of being hit. It is my mischievous behaviors that earn the marks. I was that kind of naughty person. For example, my parents, at that time, only allowed me to play one hour of computer a day, although I always wanted to play more. The computer was displaced in the master room, where my parents slept. So sometimes when they had stuff to do, they needed to go, leaving me alone in the house. What I would do is to find the key (where I have done research of where it was) and opened the room. I used to estimate how long their trips would be, and sneaked in the room and play computer. Most of the time I was successful, but sometimes I would get caught, and I knew it; it would be at least then strokes of bamboo stick. You won’t be able to tell the pain of this unless you have tried it before. Although this is not necessarily the “perfect” childhood, it is one of the major educational lessons that everyone would have gone through.

        I used to love the Sunday’s barbecue, as I always have had. Once in a month my parents would take me to the countryside, and enjoyed the whole day. I always knew the day before that it would happen because my mother needed to prepare for this event. For a whole day worth of barbecue, my mother had to prepare for two meals, lunch and dinner. Of course, when I saw my mother preparing a large amount of food, namely, roast pork, marinated beef, fish with ginger etc., I knew that there would be something good happening the next day. Back to the actual process. The ride usually took 45 minutes to an hour, depending on the condition. It is a real countryside, with no major building visible at an eye-sight. Trees are everywhere, and so is grass. There is one road connected to the places, but that’s it – it limits the traffic at that place. Birds are everywhere, and so is trash (left by people who has used the place before). Usually there aren’t much people here, but occasionally this place is fully booked. As soon as we found an empty barbecue pit (in decent condition), we would park at some place that is convenient to park the car, and we started to unload stuff. All the food, with charcoal, and plates, forks, and the personal stuff are carried to the table adjacent to the pit. Of course the very first thing to do is to ignite the pit, because it took a while for it to start burning. We cleaned the table and the chairs so that we can place our stuff and sit on it, and, while unloading the stuff, my dad would immediately take his radio out and listen to the politics channel. He loved it. The very first thing that we cooked is the sausage, directed by me, who used to be an expert in this field. I used to make sure that the sausage, while fully cooked inside, is golden-crispy outside, where the juice inside is retained. This is perhaps the highest level of this field. Of course to reach this status I needed some accessories, and in this case it is honey, which helps the appearance. Then my mother kicked in. She began to work on the meat that she has marinated last night, or two days ago, along with the fishball and so on. This fist is usually wrapped in aluminum foil, “baked” with the charcoal until it is necessary to bring it out. The fish, soaked with sliced ginger, does not exhibit its inherited nature – the typical smell of fish that most Americans are afraid of. It is just juicy and delicious. And so is the other food. While my mother worked on the food, sometimes I would help her out, but occasionally I would engage myself min ball games, video games, or books, or just wandering around the surroundings, or the beach, but never to the trails. It was just too much for me to handle. There is never a bad day here; the rural environment turned all the urban problems aside, at least for one day.

        How did my old days look like? It is not very interesting, but it is much constrained, with packed activities days after days. Monday night would be French, Tuesday would be Chinese tutor. Wednesday is French again, Thursday would be English tutor. Friday would be my piano lessons, and Saturday would be my music ensemble. Sunday morning would be Chinese tutor again. With all these tight schedule (a reminder that each “activities” require a certain amount of time for preparation, that is, all the homework and practice necessary for the forthcoming class/lesson). Never mind the classes that run from Monday through Friday, from 7:30 in the morning to 3:20 in the afternoon. I don’t’ remember how much time I have for myself. It is close to zero. Well sometimes I would take my time, go to the bookstores to look at new releases of grammar books, or fiction, or historical journals. Sometimes I would shop around the computer store, or electronics stuff. How different is this to other children (of my age) at that time? I can say there is a hell lot of difference. Well, Hong Kong children tend to have a little bit more freedom than the American counterparts. But not me, my life is probably the stiffest of all, maybe, I just don’t’ know well enough to make a conclusion. But this is the period that I learn a lot, about everything, that constitutes to who I am today.

        All of the above plays an important role in setting the person that I am today. I might be wise, as a result of growing up in a stiff environment, while leaving some naivety that is left in the pastoral countryside; or disciplined as a tribute to the bamboo stick. Or whatever else that I present to people. There is just not single formula to determine the constitution of a person. Growing up is an eventual process, while one cannot go back to the past, one can reflect upon it – it is always through this reflection that one gets wiser, or feeling like they are really growing up. Those memories might be facts, or might be fantasy – it just became part of your sub-conscience. 

        I don’t’ even want to start about my potential of being a parent. Right now it is very low. Although I know what a kid wants and doesn’t want, it doesn’t meant that giving him/her the best thing in the world will make him/her a successful person, or make myself a successful parent. Some sort of bad memories is inevitable, as with the good ones, it give s preview, to the “undeveloped” child, an approximated picture of what real life looks like.