Technology

Those of us born before 1980 learned by literally reading. Page by page.

Not any more for the newer generations. So often in the current day-to-day lives we're inundated with information from the Internet, with twenty-four-hour accessible information juxtaposed with digital images. Click after click.

Embedded in devices like the iPod, iPhone, and the iPad are clues to the whole new world - be it the virtual world of Pikachu or that of Khan Academy's electronic blackboard. The fact that we're all hooked on technology means there is no exception, not even my seven-year-old daughter. Rather than saying either an absolute yes or no to the screen, we can still be a wise guide to our kids, finding ways to navigate the electronic pedagogue. A wise parent knows at what point in the learning tool each is best.

That also calls for a careful balance between form and freedom. When we travel, my daughter is often glued to her book on my wife's car. Of course I love this activity (and that of selecting books for her trip). But heigh-ho. There is no point trying to bring her books every time. (And by "every time" I mean "almost daily and twice on Sundays.") For that matter, wouldn't it be great to give her a break? I passed my iPhone to her, for example, after she'd finished reading the picture book Zen Socks on our way home tonight. That's for her to scroll down the National Geographic pages on my Instagram app. And, voila, what followed are hundreds of "likes" she gave those pictures of natural beauty and landscapes.

Clarinet

My daughter joined a clarinet class two weeks ago when I was reading Angela Duckworth's Grit. There are two powerful lessons I take from this book.

First, we need grit but we can quit, as long as we don't quit on a bad day. I still remember signing up my daughter for a music class when she was about three years old. Like a lot of parents (and not necessarily Tiger Mother), I had a secret wish that my girl will commit to music and piano. She tried and struggled. We didn't quit until the term (and that lasted for more than two years) was over, the tuition payment was up, and the end-of-the-term performance had been done. She didn't quit till the day we'd committed ourselves. Phew!

The uncertainty about if my daughter likes music was disturbing to us. So disturbing, in fact, that for the last one year, my wife and I didn't sign her up for another musical lesson. The decision to try clarinet came after a discussion of various other classes my daughter could have chosen. She didn't even have to pick one. Not a must.

The second lesson from Grit is nobody works doggedly on something they don't find interesting. Before hard work comes play. A degree of autonomy during the early years is conducive to building passion in the long run. Clarinet is an instrument of my daughter's choice. As it turned out, we needn't have worried. At the start of her clarinet class, what she needs is encouragement and freedom to figure out what she enjoys. Yes, she needs to practice. But not too much and not too soon. My daughter adjusts well to her daily practice. And daily small wins, I wish.

Hygge

Today I learned about a recommended book on Goodreads Newsletter titled "The Little Book of Hygge."

I haven't read the book from Danish author, and had no idea of the foreign word "hygge" before. After a few tabs on search machine, I realized that this mysterious term hygge originated from a Norwegian word, referring to the feeling that comes from seeing a rich variety of colours where other people would just see blue or grey.

Oh, that's something worth exploring, I thought. After that, I left the word aside and took my daughter to play. I didn't find a child playmate this afternoon. So, I became my daughter's. Interestingly, seeing - and joining - a child play could in fact be a breadcrumb trail into discovering happiness. I didn't have to invent games. She did. In every conceivable way - again and again and again. She's creative. More creative than I am, certainly. That's a child's way of finding hygge, I suppose.

Readers

At a glance, baby's first or child's first is amazing memory to keep.

Changing the first diaper is one example. Ditto for walking the first step, the first day at kindergarten, or the first talent show performance (and probably glitch on stage). I used to think that they're important milestones but I've come to the conclusion that it's the child's last that needs bigger chunk of memory space.

Think about it this way. We've been reading bedtime stories to Jasmine for years. In many cases the same book for the umpteenth time: The Nutcracker by Alison Jay, One Mole Digging a Hole by the natural-born storyteller Julia Donaldson, The Day the Crayons Came Home by quick-witted Oliver Jeffers.

Whether we like it or not, my wife and I have less and less chance to read her bedtime stories. I don't mean Jasmine has outgrown her love for stories. That's a love affair nobody can outgrow. My daughter simply reads the story books herself now. For those of us wishing to raise a child who loves to read, this is good news. And yet most of us want to remember the good old days when our kids enjoyed our story reading.

Ridiculous, right? But that's exactly what I've lamented and started to miss.

And so, grabbing each one's own book before sleep is another new activity at our bedroom. It's also a way to be an influence on reading habits of others. And that includes us.