Birds

Jennifer Ackerman was right to call birds "the genius." Not only do birds and humans have relatively large brains but both have brain size that correlates with juvenile period.

Most bird species, as I learned from Ackerman's The Genius of Birds, are altricial and their brains - like ours - grow a great deal after birth. In other words, nest sitters end up with bigger brains than nest quitters. Tempting as it may be to compare birds with human, Ackerman reminded us not to be accused of anthropomorphizing, interpreting the behavior of a bird as if it were a human clothed in feathers.

Still, I love the idea that birds and humans have a lot in common - emotional, analytic, creative, spatial, to name a few. Let me offer an example from the book. Genome sequencing of forty-eight species of birds has identified a set of more than fifty genes that flick on and off in the brains of both humans and songbirds in regions dealing with imitating sounds, speaking, and singing.

As I read the book, I kept drawing parallels between birds and my daughter. Yeah, the fact that birds play a lot seems to be good news. And more so for the suggestion by zoologist that it's only clever birds that are capable of complex play activities. My daughter would be delighted to hear that play both requires intelligence and nurtures it.

To back up the ornithologists' finding that sleep plays a role in song learning for young birds, I have to say that this is true for Jasmine, too. Once upon a time - just last week really - my daughter was practicing the song of Disney animated movie Moana "How Far I'll Go." An attractive song, in lyrics or in melody. Ask 10 serious followers of Angela Duckworth what best characterizes grit, you'll probably get 10 different answers. Ask 10 animated movie fans how Moana ignites children's grit, and you might get just one: their persistent efforts to pick up the songs and remember the lines. Clearly, my girl practices the song for more times than I can count.

After sleep, she was still singing, this time pianissimo, "Every turn I take, every trail I track. Every path I make, every road leads back. To the place I know, where I cannot go. Where I long to be."

Oh oh oh, oh, oh oh oh oh.

Lesson

"Raising a girl takes two parents: A mom to show her how to be a woman. A dad to encourage her to be fearless."

That's what I've learned from Harry H. Harrison Jr. I think he's right. I am not as touchy-feely as my wife, who has been truly amazing at giving our daughter pillow talk. I have absolutely no such magic power to guide my child - zilch, zip, nada!

You probably want to know my way of sharing with Jasmine. Well, there is a part of me that believes that reading could be a gift for her, and a salvation for me. And this simply works for us. So I'd sit next to my daughter and read, weaving life lessons together with those stories.

This morning, we read about an African girl named Mariama who takes a long journey by car, by train, and an iron bird, to study in a new school. A whole new experience with kids nearly "as white as the African moon that shone over the village where she used to live." Story, or narrative, or whatever you want to call it is our bedrock of learning. We began to talk about the challenge of boarding school, and she wondered if she could cope.

Then another piece of reading tonight gave her even more thinking: Pomelo Begins to Grow (if you haven't read it, it's adorable and funny). I can't tell you how many giggles we had musing over the story of a tiny pink elephant Pomelo facing the challenges of growing big, growing up, growing strong, and growing old. Pomelo, like all young children, doesn't seem to be aware of his growth. Instead of realising his getting bigger, the elephant goes long stretches of time trying to figure out the reason his favourite dandelion is getting unusually small.

I'm sure nothing would ever be a better way to learn about growth.

Shock

Many a time while picking a book for leisure read, say during flight, people would find one which appears to be less serious. Preferably not related to work.

Me too. Even though I'm in the middle of reading Glass Jaw: A Manifesto for Defending Fragile Reputations in an Age of Instant Scandal, somehow I cannot resist putting away this book from my luggage for my short conference trip this weekend. Instead, I brought with me a novel not yet started: Small Great Things by Jodi Picoult.

As the story unfolded, I realized that's about a labour and delivery ward with an emotional - a very emotional one, I might add - epic of childbirth. After a few pages, I had a hunch (and it later proved to be pretty accurate) that it would remind me of recent stories in my hospital. As my eyes adjusted to the lighting in the air cabin, I tried to see what the mother see: the saddest story of leaving the labour ward without the baby she went in to have. There are few things scarier than those three letters CPR in a labour and delivery ward. My heart tightened. Every page I turned, I registered a little jolt of electric shock.

Page after page. Jolt by jolt. More than enough to keep my pulse throbbing in my eardrums.

Morning

When I decided to take half day off for my daughter's parent-teacher conference, I envisioned a pilgrimage to meet her class teacher. I made plan well ahead and booked the time slot as early as we were allowed. Perfect plan.

Only it wasn't. As it turned out, the conference was cancelled because the teacher had urgent family matter. I smiled. My wife smiled, too, when she heard that I won't drop my leave plan.

I looked her square in the eye. "I know I should spend the morning with our daughter, after hearing the common and repeated regret from many others that they'd worked exhausting hours through their children's preteen years and later, when they had the bounty of the time this work produced, their kids were gone."

We then started to go through the plethora of plans to celebrate this extra holiday. As my daughter picked the playground next to our previous home, my mind drifted back to the days when she learned walking and running there.

Within minutes of entering the playground, we were surrounded by a crowd of Japanese students who were having school outing. Which is why we need more than one plan. After a while, we headed to the public library right next to the playground. Oh great. Lots of lots of books, from fictions to science books. Another heavenly place to spend a morning.

Valentine

Just because you've tied the knots for long time doesn't mean that Valentine's Day has to be boring. Not when you've married a lovely wife and fathered a thoughtful daughter.

You'll know when your wife bought a card and your seven-year-old wrote with oodles of heart. Guess what? My daughter didn't just write a card to her "super duper silly daddy" tonight. She went to buy chocolates for my wife after her clarinet class.

No wonder we love Jasmine a lifetime and are so thankful she is in our lives.

Home

One of the most important things I have ever learnt from John Ahern's family story is the meaning of home to children.

Pretend that you're bringing your family to a year-long European vacation on a campervan, like what John Ahern did. One day, you find a furry grey mouse scurrying around the campervan floor. Wait - there is a lot more. I haven't told you the next thing you see is smoke billowing out of the engine.

Well, there isn't much you can do except sending the campervan to the mechanic and moving into a one-bedroom apartment with your wife and two kids. Few activities are as boring as waiting for the engine parts to arrive, which is more or less like putting out rat poison and then waiting for the rat to die.

And then your kid raises a question with the gravitas of a grown-up who knows everything, "When are we going home?"

Good question. The question makes your stomach crawl.

"Well," you answer nervously, "we've still got lots of places to go. And eventually you'll go home." To get your message across, you know you should hide the fact that you miss your bedroom at home too.

That's exactly the question John Ahern had to answer his kids. I remember my daughter asking the same question when we brought her to camping at the age of three. A question both John Ahern and I had heard wrongly. His son was actually asking "Yes, but when are we going home? When are we going back to Franki (the name of campervan)?" And my daughter was referring home to the tent.

Lesson learnt: Home is about the people, how we connect and care for each other, not some designated pile of bricks and mortar with new couches and the latest flat screen TV.

Silly Dad

A confession: I’d dreamt of nomadic adventure on a campervan when I was young. Hands up if you think the dream is romantic. Yes, it might seem so at first blush, but it’s a big leap out of our comfort zone.

So before you get fooled into craving a year-long campervan trip with your wife and kids, go read the book On the Road … with Kids by John Ahern. He quit his job, rented out the house and spent a whole year on the road. With his wife, a four-year-old girl and a two-year-old boy. That’s a story funnier and sillier than Peppa Pig. I nearly fell off the chair laughing at his struggle with the chemical toilet.

As I read on, I couldn’t hide the flush of embarrassment creeping up my neck. Those are the oh-so-familiar silly stories of Daddy Pig (read “every daddy” – me included). When his kid bumped his head or had nosebleed, there was the oh-so-familiar calling “Mummy! I want mummy!” Ditto for playground fight and disaster. The daddy was so accustomed to being second fiddle to Mum in those moments. To put this in John Ahern's terms, daddy usually stands by, “as wanted and useful as tits on a bull.” I have to agree.