Parenting on Purpose

"Singapore is not perfect; no society is perfect." This recent statement, by a senior government leader, reveals that not all is well in the land that has been my home since birth. Mr Tan Chuan Jin, the Acting Manpower Minister, was making these remarks in response to two letters from Singaporeans giving reasons why they no longer want to call Singapore their home. While one writer lamented that Singapore had lost its soul and has developed an "obsession with GDP growth" over social and cultural concerns, the other author expressed frustration at the government's lack of acceptance and tolerance. I can understand why both these writers have such deep-seated grouses; the cost of living is at an all-time high (Singapore has remained on the Top-10 list of most expensive cities for the past three years), and the government-citizen relationship has been at its most strained in years (the last General Elections saw the ruling party returned to power with it...

The blue dragonfly glided gracefully above the water surface. Hovering just at the edge of the water, its translucent wings shimmered brilliantly in the glorious sunlight. All was peaceful and calm. For that brief moment at least. Then without prior warning the tranquility of the moment was broken, and a shot resounded in the air; only to be followed by a thud in the water. As for the dragonfly, it was nowhere to be found; the little insect had been  stunned by the shooting of the pellet gun. This was an opportunity not missed by a young boy, who promptly whisked the dragonfly away in a net. All this happened about a month ago. Our family was enjoying a much-needed holiday in Japan, and was visiting Murayama Koen, a lovely park in Kyoto. A group of young boys caught our attention. They were around elementary school age, and were apparently playing in the park after school. They bowled us over with their enthusiasm and technique of catching dragonflies. When we first observed t...

Just a quiet walk... It all began about two months ago when the family was enjoying a brief holiday in Genting Highlands, Malaysia. It was almost dusk; and the four of us, together with Sue's parents and sister, were taking a lovely walk along the golf course. With the heat of the day almost behind us and a gentle breeze by our side, we were feasting our senses on the luscious green scenery which seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. Our two-year-old son Z was clearly in his element. A nature lover from as far back as we can remember, Z was walking with his left hand holding his mother's, and his right hand swinging wildly in the air. Walking behind them with our younger son E in the stroller, I could hear Z talking excitedly to Sue, chatting about all kinds of things he loves, from the butterflies to the mimosas and to the palm trees. All at once he came to a stop. He lifted his right hand to point excitedly at the leaves of a lone pine tree. Z & his Ko...

The evening sun bade its final farewell as it retreated behind the wall of thick grey clouds. Nonetheless, the skies still retained the colour of day as the world was not yet ready to welcome the night. In the land of Singapore, in a little corner of the island, a young boy dashed out of the elevator. It was as though he had been cooped up all day at home (which he had been), and that he was now raring to flex his leg muscles. Behind him trailed an older man, tired after a long day of work, and slowly pushing a little infant child in a light-weight stroller. The little boy's footsteps came to a sudden stop. He stood transfixed at the majestic palm tree with its luscious leaves swaying in the twilight breeze. All at once a wave of inspiration seemed to hit him, and the boy exclaimed his desire to capture that moment in time forever. "Ah! Take photo!" he said. Our older son Z began his love affair with palm trees from as far back as we can remember. But it was only i...

The little girl seemed to stare directly out of the book. Her soft auburn hair sat nicely on her shoulders; her cheeks were rosy and bursting with health. But it was her eyes that told the story. Gazing into the distance as if in anticipation of what was supposed to come, they provided the best indication of how the poor child felt. Our elder son took his time to study the picture of the little girl staring out of the window. He seemed transfixed by the image; choosing neither to turn the page, nor to put down the book. After what seemed like hours, the two-year-old pointed at the girl with a frown on his forehead.  "Lonely," he said. "Oh?" asked his Daddy. "What do you mean, Z?" "Lonely," insisted the little boy. "Are you lonely, my son?" asked the father. "Yes," he replied. It was some months ago that I discovered just how useful "My Little Book of Feelings" was. It was a simple pocket-sized board ...

The little boy looked so peaceful as he slept. With his eyes glued tightly and a little frown woven across his forehead, the 6-month-old seemed all but oblivious to the world around. His body, however, told a different story. As the boy's father tucked him in to bed that night, he felt an unusual glow of heat emanating from the sleeping baby. While it was true that the child normally radiated heat while he slept, and his cot was normally drenched by the beads of perspiration, however that night his temperature seemed particularly high. Out of concern, the boy's father decided to check his child's temperature. And the result sent a chill up his spine. 38.4 degrees Celsius. The events of that night took place about two weeks ago and they still remain etched in my mind. When I confirmed that the temperature reading was accurate, the first thought that came to my mind was, "Thank God that E has already passed his 6-month birthday." The mental image that had ent...

The screaming permeated the entire house. It was a cry that would not be assuaged. The little boy was deeply troubled. Scampering to the source of the noise, he entered his parents' room, and immediately tilted his little head to see what was going on. A deep sorrow arose within him. On the bed lay a baby, and the poor thing was yelling at the top of its lungs. The two-year-old did the only thing he could do; he dashed to the side of the bed and climbed hurriedly onto the mattress. Making his way to the littler child, the toddler rested his hand on the baby, and gently stroked its tiny head.  "Didi," said the little boy. "Stop cry." And the two-year-old swiftly crept down the bed again, running to his parents with a look of deep worry and anticipation, as if asking them intuitively when they would finally provide the milk to relieve his little brother's cries. It has been just a little more than half a year since our second son E arrived h...