ICELAND HOLIDAY WAS ICING ON THE CAKE

Two weeks ago, florists were very busy indeed stocking up and selling flowers. According to a survey by the National Retail Federation in the United States last year, 36% of Americans bought flowers for Valentine’s Day, spending a total of USD1.9 billion. Men usually buy flowers, especially roses, for romantic reasons on Valentine’s Day and women also use this occasion to show their care to their sweethearts, parents and good friends.

We went to Reykjavik, Iceland recently and I would sum up the whole Icelandic experience as one of love.

The stunning landscape is something else. Although harsh and at times unforgiving I cannot help but marvel at the geysers, the shift in tectonic plates, the thundering icy waterfall and the postcard perfect city. I would certainly vouch for such a trip to be on one’s bucket list. Since it was winter there were only four hours of sunlight daily. In contrast, summer would see 22 – 24 hours of sunlight. Would I go there again? Yes. 

There are so many attributes of love and I will try to list down some from my observations of the trip.

Love does not seek its own. It is generous.

This trip was made possible because my daughter Sonya bought the package for her parents and her siblings. I have not considered Iceland in my travels thus far for the simple reason that the prices of most things are exorbitant over there. It is not surprising that quite a number of people living in Reykjavik hold two jobs. Our tour guide for example, holds a Bachelor of Science degree in Fisheries and works with the Department of Fisheries during the day and moonlights as a tour guide by night. If a regular burger costs around 30euro in Reykjavik, I cannot imagine how much the airfare, deluxe accommodation and tour expeditions would have cost my daughter. The icing on the cake was my son Samuel flying over to join us. Any mother would understand what having the whole brood with you feels like. Complete.

Love is kind.

As eating out was pretty expensive, my other daughter Audrey took to cooking most of the delicious meals. It is a delight to just sit back and watch another person cook for you and wash up as well. It was a 'real' holiday as the parent did not have to plan or execute the plan. Pure relaxation of the mind and body - a good rest indeed. When I saw her preparing sandwiches, I noticed that she gave others the fresh slices of bread while she ate the crusty ends. Just like how a parent would give the drumstick to the child and eat the less popular parts herself.

Love is responsible.

As the ground was icy and the snow thick in various places, the children constantly cautioned us to tread slowly and be careful lest we fall. The last time I fell, it took me more than 6 months for my ankle to recover.  I saw them skipping and prancing on the icy ground. Such is the advantage of youth.

  

Love is mindful over little things.

In this age of disposables and living off the State or worse still the parents, some young people do not know the meaning of 'waste not'. It was indeed a delight to see the next generation being careful with their money and living within their means and not easily persuaded by advertisements to buy things they do not need. 

Indeed I see this as one of the rewards of authoritative parenting. I wonder how much is taught and how much is caught – a good balance of both I think, although some may call authoritative parenting old school. This is a style characterized by reasonable demands and high responsiveness. While authoritative parents might have high expectations for their children, these parents also give their kids the resources and support they need to succeed. It is the teaching of boundaries, discipline, humility, selflessness and tough love. My parents brought me up on this formula, and I have done the same with mine and it still works even when the world gravitates towards liberal parenting.

Love is appreciative.

Polar bears visit Iceland either on an iceberg that melted or by swimming all the way from Greenland. Although highly controversial, it is national policy to kill polar bears on sight as they are inevitably hungry after their sea voyage, and a danger to residents and livestock. 

The beloved compares himself to the polar bear that has drifted into my circumstance and has not been rejected. He says, ' who else would have me?'

I thought that is very sweet indeed.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA, 26 FEBRUARY 2017 http://www.nst.com.my/news/2017/02/215418/iceland-holiday-was-icing-cake

REFLECTION IS A BEAUTIFUL THING

The act of reflecting is one of my favourite past times these days. The term "reflection" is derived from the Latin term reflectere -- meaning "to bend back." Reflecting is not a touchy – feely condition but serves more as the bridge between experiences and learning.

Reflecting about what I do with my life is one of them. I have found myself a routine that I am comfortable with and a set of friends who bring joy. I am continually developing the talents that I have and sharing them with others.

I was at a conference recently and one of the speakers asked ‘If money were not a problem, what would you like to do with your life?’

We were all supposed to come up with an answer in a minute. Some would like to stop working immediately and pursue their hobbies, buy a yacht, build a mansion or go on a world tour. In short, to live a life that is very different from the present. Such is what dreams are made of.

I thought about it. My answer was: I wouldn’t change a thing.

Then I went home and thought about it again.

Surprisingly, my answer was still the same. I wouldn’t change a thing.

Reflecting about what I do with my roles is also another area that I constantly explore. My private roles as a wife and mother take precedence over my public roles.

Being a mother generates the image of a very long journey – sometimes there are signposts, sometimes there are none. Florida Scott-Maxwell says, no matter how old a mother is, she watches her middle-aged children for signs of improvement.

In Ireland, Mother’s Day is celebrated on the fourth Sunday of Lent, so this year it was celebrated on March 6. But in Malaysia, next Sunday will be a significant day for all mothers.

I received a pocket book of anecdotes from my daughter, aptly entitled, ‘Keep Calm for Mums’ that I find most interesting.

Most mothers are well aware that there comes a time when your children don't think you are very smart anymore.

They may tease you about texting with one thumb or get impatient when they have to explain to you how to download music into your iPod. (again). They roll their eyes when you do not say things that are politically correct or feel mortified when you enjoy sharks fin soup while the rest of the world campaigns for animal rights. They are surprised when you actually know who Kafka is or even had a combo microwave oven once. The type that could bake cakes with a nice brown top.

They think you are myopic in matters of the heart and exclusive relationships. They think you are old-fashion and your values are archaic. In fact you could very well be the dinosaurs that didn’t quite make it into Noah’s Ark. Indeed Peter De Vries, the American novelist knew exactly what it was like when he said that ‘there are times when parenthood seems nothing but feeding the mouth that bites you.’

Actually, that is nothing new under the sun. There was once when I felt that I knew more than my mother and was irritated when her perception of life did not quite match the philosophical thoughts that I had acquired at university. But now upon looking back, just like how Abraham Lincoln felt, all that I am or ever hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.

Recently, my son who is an avid photographer sent me 2 pictures of Irish monuments that he had shot but forgotten what they were. I told him that they are Glenstal Abbey in County Limerick and Waiting on Shore Monument at Rosses Point, County Sligo. Then he sent me 3 photos of flowers and asked me for their names. (Apparently, mothers are supposed to know everything, including monuments and flowers.) As I have either planted them or seen them in my walks, I told him that they are the red lizard tulip, the azalea aikoku and the peony rose. I also double checked with the internet just to make sure that I had identified them correctly.

His response took me by surprise.

‘Mum, you are so smart’, he texted back.

Reflection is a beautiful thing

 This article was originally printed in the NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/160501nstnews/index.html#/23/

The Gift of Motherhood

At Angkor Wat, Siemreap, Cambodia

The early images I had of dollhouses were those in story books. Usually dollhouses were placed in nurseries and children had loads of fun playing with their tea sets and dolls. To any child, seeing such pictures is like an unattainable dream, the sort that fairy tales are made of. Until the child becomes an adult and can indulge in the spoils of her labour.

I first met Sarita about 3 years ago and when I saw her dollhouses, I was bowled over. The best part was she built them, from the basement to the roof. Everything was so meticulously done and love was written all over her creations.

Then one day, on the way home from Dublin, Michael pulled over at  Mitchelstown and there was this lovely shop that sold beautiful dollhouses. So I had to realise the dream of my childhood and bought a dollhouse for myself.

 It is a beautiful greenish coloured double storey house with an attic. Like any house, it had to be furnished, so I ordered miniature furniture from the Dollhouse Emporium and Maple Street in London. I then wallpapered the rooms accordingly: sitting room, bedrooms, kitchen, study and music room. Sarita also kindly helped me to wire up the whole dollhouse.

As I made the quilt, mattress and pillows for the tiny beds, I could remember vividly the tiny dresses I made for my children’s dolls. Then I progressed to making clothes for my children – beautiful frocks embellished with smocking and embroidered roses for Sonya and Audrey and pyjamas and bow ties for Samuel. And now that the children have grown up, I wonder where all the time went and how they could have fitted into those tiny clothes once.

We wonder what we have imbued in our children. Have we given them life skills? Have we showed them love? Have we disciplined them? Have we given them not only the  knowledge of God but the experience of knowing God?

One of my friends whose son has just started college in another town said, ‘You never realise the seriousness of what you do with your children until a new season of a big change dawns.... which tells me of what and how I have invested into the life of my son..’

Take music for example.

Some studies indicate that foetuses can hear and react to sound by moving. Other studies say music  may enhance children's intelligence and spatial reasoning skills. So, I remember I took up piano lessons just so that my babies could listen to music regularly while still in the womb. Whether it is coincidental or not, all my three children have perfect pitch and love music.

Then I read somewhere that children can read at an early age. So I taught them all how to read at 18 months so by the time they were four, they were familiar faces at the public library – a place where they could just sit for hours to enjoy a good book.

Whatever we would like to instill in our children, be it a love for music or for reading, the key words are enjoyment, consistency and commitment. I remember the hours that I spent reading to the children and sitting with them in a variety of music classes. I remember the number of music teachers that came in and out of our house – the short-lived strict teachers, the ill-tempered teachers and the encouraging teachers.

We all want our children to make us proud. Teaching them manners, respect, ethics and a good attitude in life is what will set them apart. Disciplining them when they are wrong and teaching them the realities of life will help them know that the world does not owe them a living. Making them capable and confident will prevent them from relying on others for handouts. We do the child a huge favour when he is made to realise that he is not the centre of the universe and not everything is about him.

While Ireland celebrates Mother’s day in March, May 11 is Mother’s Day in Malaysia.

Audrey wrote on my timeline ‘Thank you for being such a great mum who brought me up to love the Lord and to reach for my goals. Thank you for all the love and care you’ve shown me throughout the years. Thank you for everything you’ve done. I love you, mum.’

And she gave me a dinosaur onesie. (one-piece jumpsuit) Now what child gives a mum with grown up children that? She must know her mum very well. So I wore it complete with a ridge on its back and a tail and when I worked in the garden, my dog went completely mad, wondering what his mistress has morphed into.

Back to the dollhouse. When the switch is on, voila, the whole house lights up with the little people in it and it looks so beautiful, just like a home with the people you love in it.

                                             I am thankful that God has made me a mother.

                                                               Happy Mother’s Day

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/the-gift-of-motherhood-1.586486

Looking For the Blueprint

THE movie Philomena won the BAFTA award for best adapted screenplay. The story of a son looking for his biological mother and the biological mother looking for her son would tug any heartstrings, more so when the mother and son in question are Irish.

Stories abound where years ago, unwed Irish mothers were put away in workhouses or convents because they were "fallen women" and their children were given up for adoption or sold.

Philomena was pregnant and unmarried at 18, so she was kept out of sight at Sean Ross Abbey in Roscrea, county Tipperary, behind grey stone walls.

In recent years however, adoptions in Ireland have become increasingly rare. Prospective parents now look abroad to adopt a child in a process called inter-country adoption.

At some point or another in our lives, we have wondered if we were adopted, especially when we do not look like our siblings.

Doubts creep in when we think and feel that our parents favour our brother or sister over us.

Stories that our parents tell us when we ask them about conception do not help either: the stork drops babies into chimneys or babies are found in dustbins and cabbage patches.

In the process of instilling fear into us or making us toe the line, parents even threaten to "give us away" if we misbehave.

I am not adopted and neither have I adopted a child. I cannot imagine what a parent goes through in the process of giving up a child to someone else.

However, my earliest memory of such a scenario was when I was about 10. I was living above a furniture shop then and usually I would exchange pleasantries with the owner of the shop when I got home from school, before making my way up the stairs, school bag and all.

On that particular day, he looked very downcast and, even after I had greeted him, he made no response.

So I asked my mother what had happened to him and she told me that he had just "given away" his sixth daughter because business was poor and they could not afford to feed another mouth.

In some cultures, it is required by law to state that a child is adopted. However, there are cases where the names of the adoptive parents are recorded as the biological parents of the child.

I have friends who have told their adopted children that they were adopted right from the start.

I also have friends who have never told their children they were adopted. '

Among the famous who were adopted were Marilyn Monroe, John Lennon, Nelson Mandela and Babe Ruth.

Steve Jobs was adopted and even though he was subsequently re-united with his biological parents, he continually affirmed that his adoptive parents were his parents 1,000 per cent.

Every now and again, we read in the papers of people searching for their biological parents or parents searching for the babies that they had given up for adoption many years ago.

Sometimes, a chance meeting of siblings separated by birth but yet look very much alike, has paved the way for a reunification.

The book Adoption Healing, a path to recovery by psychotherapist Joe Soll, a licensed clinical social worker, lists down the myths and facts about adoption.

According to his findings, most people surrender a child to adoption because they lack the resources to do otherwise.

Bonding begins before birth and the child suffers the pain of separation from her mother.

The discovery of her adoption status is confirmation of what is innately felt and known by the child. Women who lose babies to adoption never forget and their loss is unresolvable.

There are reports of happy endings where families are re-united and aching chasms filled.

Yet, I have heard of those who have met their biological parents but chose not to have further contact with them. I have also read of biological mothers who had kept it a secret all their lives and felt that the resurfacing of a child given up for adoption would disrupt their present status.

There is just no generic rule that reunification spells happiness.

Source: Looking for the blueprint - Columnist - New Straits Times http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/looking-for-the-blueprint-1.503229#ixzz2w54r9wM6

A Day Off for Mums turns them back on

When my children were young, I would read to them every night before they fell asleep.

One of their favourite books was about a stay-at-home mother who would cook, sew and do practically everything until the father came home. Once in a while, her friends would call over and she would go out with them and the father minded the children.

A simple story but it reminds me of the times when mothers, whether they are working full time outside or at home, need a day out.

My mother had her own days out. She used to go to the Orchid hair salon every Saturday to "set" her hair.

She never missed an appointment and would come home with beautifully coiffured hair, resembling a pineapple, stiffed with hair-spray. Such was the fashion then.

And every Sunday, she would hang up her pots and pans and there was absolutely no cooking done.

Interestingly enough, there are church-run Mother's Day Out programmes, especially for stay-at-home mothers who do not have domestic helpers or relatives to help them mind their children.

Teenagers and young adults run the programme. There is no real structure to the programme, no curriculum or schedule of events.

These volunteers sign up to supervise the children who play, do crafts, learn letters, numbers, shapes, take naps, and eat with their friends. These are typically between three and six hours and are usually two to five days a week.

This gives the mother the much needed break to go grocery shopping without a crying baby, get her hair cut, take a nap, blog or do anything she wants.

The greatest obstacle is the mother's difficulty to deal with the "guilt" of leaving the child with someone else. Whatever form a mother's day-out can take, it is certainly therapeutic. It helps preserve sanity and breaks the mundane cycle of things.

I was in Dublin recently as my daughter was receiving an award from the university. I did not want to drive and thus I took an express bus. It was actually quite fun because I had not travelled leisurely on my own for a while. I had the whole day to myself as the ceremony was at night and my daughter had day lectures.

The bus stopped near Grafton street, which was perfect. All the mannequins in the window display were screaming at the shopaholic in me. I read somewhere that we should not shop on an empty stomach so I took a turn to Georges street where most of the Asian restaurants are. I was spoilt for choice and sat down at a Nepali restaurant for a three-course lunch of piping hot mountain rice topped with well-stewed lamb pakuwa.

I was not disappointed as I imagined myself somewhere in the Himalayas and tasting the food of gods.

There were pigeons everywhere pecking breadcrumbs from off the sidewalks. Obviously, they were not subjected to any signs of a recessive economy as they were so fat, I could not see their legs.

I chuckled when I saw a bus with a big chocolate chip cookie advertisement over it "Chip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah" (an ingenious twist of the song from the Disney 1946 animated movie Song of the South).

I thought of my bills that have been paid. I thought of the house mortgage that has been settled.

I thought of no more car loans or any other outstanding loans. I thought of my older two children who are working. I thought of my youngest daughter's education expenses at Trinity that have been taken care of.

It was time to go for the award ceremony. As I walked towards the university in my new dress and matching shoes and handbag, I felt like a million dollars.

It was indeed a mother's day out, a good beginning for a new year.

Source: A day off for mums turns them back on - Columnist - New Straits Times http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/a-day-off-for-mums-turns-them-back-on-1.460352?cache=03%2F7.206773%3Fkey%3DMalaysia%2F7.288059%2F7.308059%3Fkey%3DKuala+Lumpur%2F7.320411%2F7.320411%2F7.330034%2F7.330034%2F7.480850%2F7.480850%2F7.480850%2F7.480850%2F7.490557%2F7.490557%2F7.490557%2F7.490557%2F7.490557%2F7.575117%2F7.575117#ixzz2qDDm5Win

Strange thing about teenage years

SEVENTY thousand young people were screaming at Leicester Square, London,  on a Tuesday night. They had waited for hours; some were said to have camped out overnight on the street, and they were not disappointed. Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Niall Horan arrived in style.

Who?

The fact that I was not impressed by the names of the Great Foursome, a.k.a. One Direction, is because I had left my teenage years a long time ago. I am a parent the worst nightmare that a teenager could morph into.

The teenage years are the strangest ever. It is when everything is about I, me and myself.

If people talk, they are talking about me. If they do not talk, they are not talking about me. I speak in hyperboles. I write in hyperboles.

I even dream in hyberboles. If I fail in anything, the humiliation is magnified many times over. If I am successful, I believe everyone should know what I have achieved and if he does not, I wonder whether he is living on Earth or on an unknown meteor.

If I am committed to a viewpoint, I will defend it to death. If anyone has contrary ideas, I will have to sit down and have a very long discussion with the person ... no, not a discussion, but perhaps more like an argument. My energy is boundless and my dogged determination to get something that I like, usually a popular product that other teens have, is almost unshakable.

That is the teen in me, shouting from the mountain top.

The most common phrase a teen will use in a parent-teen argument is "You don't understand. During your time it was different". But then again, is there any difference? On the surface level, the setting may have changed.

Technology has advanced, toys have changed, holiday destinations are more exotic but underlying principles and teenage experiences, whether specific or general, have not changed much.

Now that I am a parent and am on the other end of the continuum, I can see that there is a great similarity between what I had experienced and gone through and what that young person is going through now. But, of course, when you are a teenager you do not realise that.

I was watching a documentary about the Bee Gees. I enjoyed their songs tremendously when I was a teen and there was this clip that jolted me back to my past. I saw Robin Gibb cupping his ear with his hand as he sang Massachusetts. I remember I was so engrossed in watching the very same performance over a black and white television, oh so many years ago. It was very rare in those days for national television to air a pop group singing and it must have been on one of the festive days.

So there I was watching Gibb cupping his ear, mesmerised until my mother said: "I think he has an ear ache."

I was aghast that my mother would even mention such a thing about this demi god and highly irritated that my precious time with the Bee Gees was interrupted.

I attempted to correct her by saying that he was trying to deaden the side noise so he could hear his own voice better.

Ignoring my reply, my mother contemplated and came up with another more ingenious suggestion.

"I think he must have a toothache."

My face reddened and if my mother had not gone to the kitchen to check on the rice boiling over the charcoal stove, I would not know what I could have done to her.

So now, many years later, when I see Gibb cupping his ear on a flat screen television, I laugh loudly to myself and wonder why I was so uptight over the cupping-ear incident once.

Whether it was a ear ache or a toothache or a sound technique, what did it matter?

Oscar Wilde said, "youth is wasted on the young" and there is a Chinese phrase that goes: "I eat salt more than you eat rice", meaning that the older person has gone through more experiences than the young person would credit him for.

Tell it to an adult and he will shake his head knowingly. Tell it to a teen and he cannot believe that the adult has gone through what he is going through.

I hear that in Dublin, patient parents queued for more than two hours with their excited children to get a good seat in one of the two cinemas that had premiere screening of the movie One Direction: This Is Us.

At a time like this, I am so glad my children have outgrown the phase of going in that direction.

Read more: Strange thing about teenage years - Columnist - New Straits Times http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/strange-thing-about-teenage-years-1.351333#ixzz2eK4RZGhI

Drivers of Success

I met up with some Asian friends whom I had not seen in 30 years and congratulated each other on how like fine wine we have aged, and jokingly, talked about the gold bullion that we have locked in a safe deposit box somewhere -  the latter I take to denote success or how far we have come in life through dogged determination and sheer hard work.

So, what is it with Asians and a spirit of excellence?

According to a New York Times 2012 report, Asian-Americans constitute 5.6 percent of the nation’s population but 12 to 18 percent of the student body at Ivy League schools.  The percentages are astounding: 24% at Stanford, 18% at Harvard, and 25% at both Columbia and Cornell. More Asian Americans over the age of 25 have bachelor's degrees and advanced degrees than any other race or ethnic group. Besides outperforming their colleagues in school, Asian Americans also bring home higher incomes than their non-Asian counterparts - almost $10,000 more annually than the rest of the population (2002 statistics).

My take is that it is not that we are born Asian that we reach for excellence, but rather how we are raised.

 There have been so many reports and books written about the Asian concept of  hard work and success and when I chance upon yet another, I never fail to give it a good read. I guess it is partly to double check whether I have been doing the right thing especially when others do not practise the same parenting techniques that I do.

In Top of the Class: How Asian Parents Raise High Achievers - and How You Can Too, the daughters of Korean immigrants  Dr. Soo Kim Abboud and Jane Kim discuss 17 ways parents can raise children to love learning and maximize their intellectual potential. Abboud is a clinical assistant professor at the University of Pennsylvania, and Jane Kim is a lawyer who specializes in immigration issues

I tend to agree with the overall slant of the book.

One of my friends told me that I have always been an achiever. I find great contentment in achieving and living to one’s full potential. In agriculture terms, when I put my hand on the plough there are no half measures, no laid back attitude -  whether it is being a lecturer in the classroom or in planting potatoes in my back yard. To me, we are given a spirit of excellence and to settle for anything less is to sell yourself short.

The spirit of excellence sets the child apart from his peers. I can identify greatly with Dr. Soo Kim Abboud’s concept of clearly defining your child’s role as a student and then steering her towards her potential.

Asian children are brought up with three clear cut rules:

·                                 Respect your elders (teachers, people who are older and people in authority) and obey your 

                  parents.

·                                 Study hard and do well in school to secure a bright future.

·                                 Mediocrity does not garner praise. Hard work and praiseworthy performance do.

The final ring of the school bell does not mean freedom from learning and education. Studying still takes place at home – homework, assignments and sometimes even doing additional workbooks given by the parents themselves. Besides doing household chores, studying  is a normal way of life away from the multitude of distractions that others face once school ends.

I respect educators, and this respect is passed on to my children as I view the educators as collaborators - not adversaries. I strongly believe that if children do not respect their educators, then they will find it difficult to embrace their roles as students or subordinates,  not only in the classroom but in the home and society as well. It is sad that while Teacher’s Day is celebrated in Malaysia and in other parts of the world, Irish teachers in the town where I live do not enjoy the same celebration. If I am not mistaken, my daughter was the only one who made appreciation cards for the teachers during Teacher’s Day this year..

I do not know how it has evolved such that children are rewarded for mediocre school performances, for fear that any challenge or correction will permanently damage their children's self-esteem. 

To me, I believe in both effort and result, commiserating with the child’s ability.

Anything less is underachieving, indiscipline and looking for short cuts in life.

Source: New Straits Times 25 August 2013

The Father as a Provider and a Protector

Recently some bulbuls came and build a nest in the porch of my house. Although this was not the first time, it was a joy watching them flutter their wings in great excitement and making a wonderful noise. They would fly to the porch carrying bits and pieces of straw and wood chips in their beaks. Before long the mother bird was spending days sitting on her two eggs.  This was then followed by an endless hunting of food by both parents to feed the young fledglings until they were able to fly away.

Looking at the birds, I thought of the role of a guardian. The  ‘guardian’ is one of the four temperaments identified in the Keirsey Temperament Sorter, a  self-assessed personality questionnaire designed to help people better understand themselves. Among many things, the ‘guardian’ takes on the position of the provider and the protector.

In a family, the primal role of the father should be that of the provider and protector. The provider takes it upon himself to look after the health and welfare of those in his care. He is the hunter who ekes out a living so that there is food on the table and there are basic amenities in the home. For the many of us who have such fathers, we feel secure and know that we will not be in want.  We might even take for granted that  shampoo, ketchup, stationery and many other things in our homes would always be there whenever we wanted them.

Having said that, there are fathers who do not provide for their families. Examples are alcoholics and gamblers. Unless he seeks help an alcoholic brings nothing but pain to his family through his incessant drinking or abusive behavior. The gambler who falls prey to loan sharks sets up his family for a life of misery. To escape the loan sharks, the family lives in fear and are always on the move.

When a father neglects his role as a provider, it is not uncommon to see the mother or the first born taking the weight of leadership to become the provider for the family instead. This unhealthy situation causes the mother to feel trapped and the first born to be deprived of a normal childhood, having to grow up too fast.

The provider is sometimes taken for granted and left unappreciated. Because a provider is extremely sensitive to the feelings of others, he is somewhat self-conscious and sensitive to what others think of him and is crushed by personal criticism.

The father is also the protector because his primary interest is in the safety and security of those he cares about. I remember my father used to make sure that every door was well pad-locked at night, and now I see my husband doing that as well. The protector is loyal and responsible in his makeup and seems fulfilled in the sense that he can shield others from the dangers of the world. The protector’s shyness is often misjudged as selfishness or even coldness but he is actually warm hearted and sympathetic, putting the interests of the ones he loves above himself. He is quite happy working alone and will try to do everything himself rather than direct others to get the task done. A lack of external expression of love does not necessarily mean that he does not care enough.

I feel that both the parents’ roles are complimentary. While the father is the provider and protector, the mother can be the primary carer and confidante. In fact, most times the roles are well blended as befits the occasion.

Just like the bulbuls that built the nest, happy is the home when both parents know their roles and contribute whole heartedly to the raising of the children.  Like the fledglings who must also learn to fly, adult children should start looking out for their father and his needs instead.The love and security that good parents provide can never be understated in the development of a child. The bulbul’s nest may look messy on the outside but apparently it is well lined and comfortable on the inside. Now that the fledglings have flown off, I must climb on a chair and have a look at the interior of the nest.

                                                                      HAPPY FATHER’S DAY

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/the-father-as-a-provider-and-a-protector-1.301090?cache=%27%60%22bvU7C%2F7.241524%2F7.258950%2F7.258950%2F7.258950%2F7.289627%2F7.330034%2F7.330034%2F7.330034