When dad was Tim's age, a color TV was one of the five must-haves for a wedding,
it would take another six years for even the beeper/pager to appear, and five
days a week he boarded at middle school. Dad had no luxuries and he roamed with
no parental guidance at hand. Looking back, however, he enjoyed the whole
package, including the bland food, the freezing nights, the 7:00am- 10:00pm
spartan routine, and the friends as well as the bad blood among cohorts.
On the other hand, it must be miserable to live under the same roof with
obsessive immigrant parents insecure in their own ways, especially when one is
the only son.
Tim didn't lack much and not in the least his parents' attention. When it comes
to his education, e.g., mom has insisted on math, the Chinese language, and
the piano. His objections ignored, dad has played along and over the years added
swimming, BJJ, and strength training. Caught in the crossfire, Tim juggles with
whatever thrown at him and relishes computer games every chance he's got.
Since day one, mom has put the kid through private math programs and loaded him
with extra homework. Moreover, she had been keen on helping, one hour after
supper each day. Mom was a fighter and loved challenges and to be right. She
would come up with answers at lightning speed and triumphantly show to the
struggling kid who instantly felt a mixture of relief and defeat. Mom was so in
the game as the kid was not that a passerby might have trouble telling whose
homework was being worked on. Watching like a hawk, mom corrected every little
mistake the instant it was made. He, however, hated being constantly righted and
often their sessions escalated into shouting matches. The ungrateful kid was not
slow but something didn't click. In school, he enjoyed history, literature,
science, and PE. Despite of mom's faith of a Job, patience of a saint, and
Herculean effort, his math refused to sail.
Starting 8th grade, however, problems have become harder and things changed
abruptly at home. Mom exited the scene and switched to video-watching mode after
supper and told the kid matter-of-factly: "Go ask your dad." Dad, however,
didn't do anything unless bothered and Tim, who loathed to be told what to do,
didn't like to bother anyone. As a result, the teenager was often left alone.
Dad's help, when it did come, meant another kind of suffering. He never
corrected him or gave the answer outright, but painfully pointed out the clues
and secretly enjoyed watching the kid toil. "Never pray for an easy life, Tim."
The colorless, mid-aged, and mildly sadistic programmer would begin with a smug
smirk on his face and the kid would continue nonchalantly: "Pray for the
strength to endure ..." The boy hated it, in a different way.
One would expect things to fall through the crack, Tim end up helpless, and his
scores plummet. Dad certainly had delegated his son's math education to the
teacher and Fate. So it was a small miracle that Tim survived and improved! "I
finally got the chance to use my own brain, after all you guys did to me!" he
savored this revelation during an evening walk. "You should thank me, dad," he
declared, "because I know you love money. If I had been let loose to work on
my own, I could have gone to a school that costs you a lot more."
