As It Is ~ IMAGES
HAVE JUST SEEN
something on TV about a man whose 28-year-old son
committed suicide, leaving a pathetic letter that
cried out for love. The father feels remorseful that
he never?as far back as he can remember?told his son
that he loved him or gave him a hug, and that is something
he will probably feel bad about for the rest of his
life.
All too often we do things that we later
regret, and leave undone things that we should have
done. Thus, remorse haunts us like a ghost, and becomes
a burden hard to bear. Yet it has a positive aspect,
if we will see it as a teacher, reminding us that
though the past has gone and cannot be changed, the
present is in our hands, to mould as we will, and
to fashion the future therefrom. We need not go on
making the same mistakes, over and over again; it
is possible to learn from them, so that the future
might be so much better than the past, and our mistakes
will thus turn out to have been useful.
Though it is by no means anything new, it
is much in my mind recently how many people concentrate
on amassing more and more wealth, to the exclusion
of other concerns, and in the process neglect their
children. I am thinking especially here of refugee
migrants, who arrived in the West with very little,
and had to make a new start. Many of them accepted
the challenge wholeheartedly and energetically? some
of them doing two or even three jobs at the same time;
the economy, a few years back, permitted this, and
many people were able to prosper to a remarkable degree.
Some people claim that they are working
so hard for the future of their children, but this
is not always true; it is often for their own material
benefit. By working so hard, and spending little or
no time with their children, they fail in their sacred
duty as parents. Do they, perhaps, think of their
children as mere possessions, like cars, TV's, video's,
etc., that have no life or feelings of their own?
The words of Jesus echo down the centuries, warning
of this: "For what shall it profit a man if he
gains the whole world, but loses his own soul?"
Many parents not only lose their souls in their mad
scramble after wealth, but also lose their children,
and I am writing this now in the slight hope that
it might alert just one or two parents to the necessity
of spending time with their children, doing things
together with them, learning from, with, and about
them, discussing things with them, discovering and
enjoying them, and treating them as human beings with
minds of their own whose opinions and ideas deserve,
at least, to be expressed and heard, if not always
acted upon.
I know of parents who are so busy working
that they almost never sit down to eat with their
children, and it has gone on for so long that neither
parents nor children seem to feel there is anything
unusual about it. Food is cooked and left where anyone
may help themselves to it at any time. This is a recipe
for further estrangement between family members later
on; unless the incongruity of it is noticed and remedied,
it might become incurable.
Another cause of problems in migrant families
is language. Some parents make little effort to learn
English, while their children absorb it automatically
at school and from TV, etc., and it becomes their
first language, with their mother tongue a poor second.
I recently asked a Vietnamese teenager what language
he talks to himself in. "Talk to myself in?"
he said. "What do you mean?" "I mean,
what language do you think in? For thinking is really
like talking to ourselves." "Oh, mostly
English," he replied. He neither reads nor writes
Vietnamese, and even his spoken Vietnamese is not
very good.
And just now, as I was writing this, another
teenager dropped by to show me some of his homework,
and was visibly pleased by my approval. When I asked
him if he had shown it to his parents, however, he
answered?as I suspected he would?"No, I never
do; they're not interested." How sad, I thought;
even though they would probably not understand very
much, they could at least show some interest, just
to encourage the boy and make him feel good.
I know several Vietnamese fathers who habitually
shout at or talk loudly to their teenage children,
and seem unable to sit down and discuss anything quietly
and reasonably with them; I have the feeling that
they are somehow afraid of their kids, and that this
is because of the culture gap. Having grown up in
Vietnam, and come to the West while their children
were very young, they have worked to establish themselves
while their children went to school here and absorbed
the culture from the environment. So, while the parents'
knowledge of English and the ways of their new country
increased only very slowly (and there are some people
who didn't bother to learn any English whatsoever,
in all the years they have been here. I find it hard
to comprehend how they could absorb so little from
the bombardment of TV and other sources; surely something
would stick), the kids took to them like ducks to
water, leaving their parents far behind. Now, no doubt
the parents feel some pride in the achievements of
their children, but at the same time, the father's
traditional role as unquestioned head of the family
might be rocked and eroded by the superior knowledge
of the kids over theirs in some areas. But how else
should this be? The conflict that develops over this
is both productive of suffering and pointless. Frequent
shouting is counter-productive, because it alienates
the kids; they 'turn off’, pay no more attention,
and might even do the opposite of what is expected,
just to be contrary. If their fathers realized this,
they might switch to another tactic. And do not all
parents wish their children to do better and achieve
more than they them selves did? Is that not what all
their sacrifices are about?
It is true, too, that young people, flushed
with the exciting discovery of the treasury of knowledge
and information that is readily available to them
in forms and quantities unheard of before, and bursting
with hormones, energy, and enthusiasm, often feel
that they know much more than they do. On the other
hand, their parents, whose fire and youthful ardor
has diminished (and in some cases, sunk down to the
ashes and almost died out), are so involved either
with trying to make ends meet, maintaining a balance,
and worrying about the future, or in acquiring as
much material wealth as they can, and worrying about
the future, that they have little time and interest
to pay much attention to what their children are doing.
And, because of the vast amounts of new technology
and information that young people grow up with, the
generation gap?which is a very real thing?becomes
wider than it really needs to be, and though parents
and children live under the same roof, it is as if
they inhabit two different worlds.
Now, how important is it for parents and
children to communicate? Everyone must decide about
this for themselves. But if there is a problem regarding
this, and if it causes sufficient discomfort, there
is a way to resolve it, though it might be somewhat
difficult and unpleasant.
There is a choice to make between the problem
and the possible solution: which is more unpleasant
and difficult?
By looking at the problem?whatever it may
be?by analyzing and identifying it, then sitting down
to discuss it with all parties concerned, in a spirit
of willingness to listen to everyone's point of view,
and by bringing things out into the open, they can
often be seen in a different light and the preposterousness
of some of them may be revealed and given up. Needless
to say, this requires honesty and fearlessness, and
a readiness to accept responsibility for one's share
in the problems, and this is seldom easy or nice.
Moreover, it seems that many of us are fond
of our problems, and wouldn't know what to do without
them; it is a kind of symbiotic relationship: we depend
upon our problems, and our problems depend upon us,
and we would have nothing to complain about if we
didn't have them. So, strange as it might sound, we
might not be interested in finding solutions to our
problems, as peace is 'boring', and we prefer to live
in strife; it is far more exciting. If we are unwilling
to try to work out our problems, we have no right
to complain, but must put up with them.
A saying that we sometimes apply to others
is: "A leopard cannot change its spots,"
but though this is true of leopards, it is inappropriate
of people. We reserve the right to change ourselves
and expect others to accept the changes in us, do
we not? How come, then, that we do not always accord
the same rights to others, but expect them to remain
as they were at a particular time?and it might have
been only a very brief and passing phase?in their
lives, so that we might remember them as such, and
love or hate that image of them? On one hand, we might
say of someone, in exasperation: "He's always
like that! He'll never be any different!" as
if we know that person so intimately and well that
we can see his entire life laid out and revealed before
us, like a map. And on the other hand, we might accuse
someone else: "You've changed, and are not what
you once were!" as if he had to remain forever
frozen in time, like a photograph, just to suit our
view of him.
Both these ways of looking at people are
distorted, and arise out of ignorance of the Law of
Change, and such ignorance causes us to hold onto
and try to prevent things from slipping away from
us; this results in suffering. Of course we change,
and even if we wanted to and tried to, we could not
remain the same; life does not and will not permit
it.
If we knew more about the ceaseless process
of change, we would not cling so much to the images
of the past, and would frequently update our perceptions
of people and things. Often, however, we do not really
live with people but with the images of them that
we have carried with us from the past. Many people
marry images of a person rather than the actual person
standing beside them at the ceremony. And often, the
images are years out of date, and bear little or no
resemblance to their objects (if they ever did). There
is great need, therefore, to frequently renew our
acquaintance with people who are near to us?parents,
spouses, children, friends and even enemies?to discover
new and exciting things about them that we might previously
have been unaware of, to refresh ourselves thereby,
and to put aside the old images as no longer fitting.
We are not like statues or old photographs that stand
still in time; we move.
We can live in close relationships for many
years, and still know little about each other, still
misunderstand each other. We sometimes hear of someone
waking up and asking him/herself. "Who is this
person beside me in bed? What am I doing here with
her/him?" as if they were complete strangers.
I recall looking at my parents one day at the dining
table and thinking: "Who are these people?"
as if I'd never seen them before. It was a strange
experience, but one which can be explained. You see,
when we grow up with people it is easy to take them
for granted, without knowing or understanding very
much about them; so we stop learning and are left
with little more than an image.
Another time, when I met my parents again
after not seeing them for six years, I was surprised
at how much they had aged, when I should have expected
it.
I know a Vietnamese family who came to Australia
about twelve years ago, leaving two of their four
children behind in Vietnam, unwilling, perhaps, to
'carry all their eggs in one basket' during their
escape from Vietnam by sea. These two children were
finally able to reunite with their family three years
ago, and had to learn about their parents anew, with
different eyes and ideas than those of their siblings,
who had accompanied their parents and grown up with
them without a period of separation. It may be assumed
that they see their parents quite differently, and
the two newcomers might have a clearer and more accurate
view of them than the others.
There are always new things that we can
learn about anyone? though sometimes with a bit of
a shock?and we should not presume that we know someone
merely because we have been closely associated with
him/her for a long time; we might know many things
about him, but we can never know all there is to be
known about anyone, as we are just too complex. The
mountain is clearer to the climber from the plain,
than half-way up its slopes. Therefore, there is room
for discovery, is there not?
Sometimes, when people fall in love, they
think they will be very happy if they can get married;
but, after achieving their desires, the bliss seldom
lasts long before disillusionment sets in, and one
partner finds out?if he/she had not known before?that
the other snores at night, has smelly feet or body
odor, an annoying habit of not replacing the cap on
the toothpaste, or some other petty faults, while
the other is appalled to wake up and see his wife
with curlers in her hair or her face covered in some
kind of gook. Then the complaints start to fly: "You're
not the man I married! Had I known you better, I would
never have tied myself to you! I hate you!" Or,
"You're lazy and don't keep the house clean or
take care of the kids! Besides, you're a lousy cook,
and my mother is far better than you!" Thus,
ill-will grows where bliss was expected. The chances
of finding someone perfect to be one's partner are
extremely remote, and even if one found such a person,
it would probably be awful living with him/her, as
one would be made so much more aware of one's own
faults and imperfections. So, we must learn to compromise,
and accept a reasonable amount of imperfection in
others?as long as it's not deliberately cultivated?just
as we like others to make allowances for our idiosyncrasies,
without rejecting us.
It is not uncommon to hear teenagers?though
it is not restricted to them, by any means?complaining
that no one understands them, and that they can't
talk with their parents. Well, communication is a
two-way thing, and both sides have a responsibility
to work towards getting to know each other better.
Yes, it might be that parents do not understand their
children (it would be more surprising if they did),
and I feel that this is much more likely with refugee
families where the children are more westernized than
their parents, having grown up in the West, while
their parents will probably never understand much
about Western culture (supposing that anyone can understand
this confusing and chaotic life style we have created).
But do kids understand their parents? That's another
thing, isn't it? Actually, they have a greater responsibility
to try to understand, because their knowledge is,
in many cases, more extensive and up-to-date than
that of their parents. We cannot reasonably demand
or expect other people to understand us, but, it is
within our capacity to try to understand others. I
once advised some teenagers who were concerned about
their parents not taking time off from their work
to talk with them enough, to unite and 'go on strike'
by not eating, if necessary, until their parents agreed
to do so. A bit drastic, perhaps, but if it can help
to correct the situation, why not? The fact that these
kids didn't try to apply my suggestion?or any other
means, for that matter?doesn't mean that others cannot
or will not, and I offer it here as just one possibility
of breaking up a log jam.
Now, more than ever before in human history,
we are entering uncharted territory, and every step
takes us further and further into the Unknown, where
there are so many new and complicated things; unlike
in times past, when things changed very slowly, and
there was a settled pattern to life, we have no maps
from anyone to guide our every move and, consequently
must feel?and often grope?our way along. Ebullient
youth are always better able to do this than older
people, and the future always belongs to them; but
they, in turn, as they grow older, must gracefully
surrender the lead to those who come after them, in
the natural order of succession. Kahlil Gibran, in
his famous book, THE PROPHET, wrote something about
parents being like bows from which their children,
like arrows, are shot forth into the world; the simile
is very apt.
When we act a part in a play, we must know
not only our own part, but also much of the parts
of the other actors, as our part is intimately connected
to and bound up with theirs. Anyone wishing to play
the part of Romeo, for example, must know the parts
of Juliet, her relatives, his friends, enemies, etc.
And in order to do this, Romeo must be Juliet and
the others?must put himself in their places, and feel
how they feel; the same goes for Juliet, and all the
others; it is not just a matter of learning one's
own lines and performing one's part, for these mesh-in
with, are connected to, and depend upon all other
parts of the play; nothing exists in isolation.
Likewise, in 'real life' (which is also
a drama, sometimes funny, sometimes tragic, at times
dull and monotonous), we must consider not only ourselves?and
cannot/do not?but must take into account the other
players all around us, as our role depends upon them.
Imagine a play with only one actor, or a world with
only one person.
"He
who cannot do what he wants,
let
him want what he can do."
(Leonardo
da Vinci)
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