Courage

I have had difficulty in telling the difference between pronouncing "my pleasure"" and "my pressure" for as long as I can remember.

Yes, you read me right. And yes, they sound similar to my ears. I admit that my phonic skill is not as good as my six-year-old daughter.

And yet.

And yet.

I taught my daughter how similar the two words "pleasure" and "pressure" turn out to be.

Yesterday, before my Christmas holiday ended, we met our friends and decided to have bike ride. My daughter has learned riding bikes without training wheels for more than six months. But now we were talking about going to the cycling trails on a public holiday. Few things turn her stomach more than trying something new. Many, and I am among them, will demur to going beyond our comfort zone.

No one, least of all a six-year-old, can discount the intimidating effect of riding bike parallel to somewhat-like-Tour-de-France-team at arm's length. Or even in opposite direction. My daughter wanted to say no. She was afraid and didn't dare join our bike ride.

"No. I really don't want to," I heard her declare.

I simply smiled and said brightly, "I know you can try, and I'm here. I will stay behind." My daughter then put on her helmet, reluctantly at first, learning her way to transform pressure into pleasure. And she did.

Cliffhanger

I've been reading A Manual for Cleaning Women, a collection of short stories by Lucia Berlin. Her tales of pink-collar workers are pretty cool. Some are good. Some are otherworldly (and somewhat drunk). Some are truly touching.

But, to be honest, I love another story book more: Once Upon an Alphabet. This is Oliver Jeffers' collection of short stories, each of them dedicated to an alphabet, from A to Z. I read this book with Jasmine recently. We both love the twenty-six crazy stories. Always entertaining, from the alpha to the omega.

The story plot is simple but always a spark of joyful game. Turn to the page H, we were introduced a lazy Helen, who lived in half a house. Where is the other half? It had fallen into the sea during a hurricane a year and a half ago. Think about it. A half-sized house on the edge of sea cliff. Literally a cliffhanger plot.

"Oh, what shall we do?" Nothing. Being lazy, and not owning a hammer, Helen hadn't quite got around to fixing it yet. Which was fine.

Until the horrible day she rolled out the wrong side of bed.

Ugh.

The story ends with a bit of drama, with Helen plunging all the way into the sea.

The first time we read this story, we were almost laughing our heads off. We read the story the second time this morning, before my daughter took the school bus. Jasmine turned out to build a new ending.

"Dad. Let me finish. What if Helen is able to swim and dive? She must. She must go to the bottom of the sea and find the other half of her house, and live there happily ever after. The End."

Six

Few days ago, my daughter picked up a book at my study: Father to Daughter: Life Lessons on Raising a Girl. So we read together. We became absorbed in the lessons right away. After all, one of the precepts in this book is to be involved in the daughters' lives.

Now my daughter is six this week. I know that's a big milestone for a little girl, and I'm glad that she put on her roller skates for the first time on her birthday. I have always had faith that my wife will pick the best gift, such as new roller skates, for our daughter.

What about me? I couldn't think of a better poem than that written by A. A. Milne (who also wrote Winnie the Pooh and Friends), to celebrate Jasmine's sixth birthday: Now We Are Six.

When I was one,
 I had just begun.
When I was two,
 I was nearly new.
When I was three,
 I was hardly me.
When I was four,
 I was not much more.
When I was five,
 I was just alive.
But now I am six,
 I'm as clever as clever.
So I think I'll be six now and forever.