VOLUME DOES NOT MEAN AUTHORITY
A couple of days ago, I was - as usual - giving tuition to the 2 little sisters. Since the kids are currently enjoying their one-month-long mid-year vacation, the Mom had arranged for tuition to be reduced from 2 times per week to 1 time per week - on every Tuesdays; instead of the usual Saturdays and Mondays.
This Tuesday, after having ended an 1.5hour session with the elder sister who is in Primary 5, I was left with another grueling 1.5hour to complete with the younger one. She hopped into the room, placed her assessment books on the table, and skipped her way back out to get her pencil cases (yes, amazingly, she has 2 pencil cases). I took a sip of my Peach Tea drink.
It's tiring to talk relentlessly for a full an hour and a half, you know?
The bubbly girl bounced back into the room and took her seat beside me. Reaching out to take the Mathematic assessment book, I flipped open the pages, only to realize that not even a single question out of the 10 given was attempted.
I frowned lightly, but kept my mouth shut. It's alright. Perhaps the questions proved too much of a challenge for her.
Reaching out a second time, I flipped through the English assessment book next. I frowned harder.
For English, I had given her an entire topic revision exercise to complete as homework assignment, and only 1 miserable PAGE was done - 2 Close Passages. So this is the grand amount of revision and homework completed after our last tuition session; which took place 2 whole weeks ago? 2 short Close Passages? Wonderful.
I threw her a cold, hard stare, and demanded an explanation. Just like any other students, the reason given was that she could not understand the questions. But just like any other kids, her story was full of loopholes.
I glanced down at the miserable, lone page that has her handwriting on it. I'm not so naive to get lied to so easily. Surely there is a way to call her bluff.
Turning the offending page with slightly more force than was required, I gave a cursory look-through at the next section, which is Comprehension.
"Have you read this Comprehension passage?" I inquired.
"Yes, but I don't understand." She chirped unconvincingly.
For a moment, I gave her the benefit of the doubt. After all, her English is weak for Primary 2 standard, and definitely has more than enough room for improvement.
I turned to the other side of the page, and read the MCQ questions based on the Comprehension passage. Positioning and angling the assessment book back towards her, I poked at the face of the book with my right forefinger.
"Read aloud Question. 1 for me." I commanded coldly.
"The King has ___ antique vases." She read obediently.
"So? How many?" I barked.
She turned back to the Comprehension passage. The answer is directly on the first line of the first paragraph.
"Oh..." She looked sheepish. "50 vases."
"Do you mean to say that the Comprehension passage is so ridiculously difficult that you can't even do Question 1?" I threw her yet another hard stare. "Tell me the truth. Have you even attempted to read the passage?"
She dared not to even raise her eyes. Staring off randomly into space, she muttered almost to herself, "I didn't read it."
"So why did you lie that you could not understand what the passage is talking about?" I retorted.
Without bothering to wait for an answer, I set the English assignment book aside and reached out again for the Math one. Positioning the book in front of her again, I jabbed at the face of the book yet again, and requested her to read out Question 1.
"Mary saved $xx.xx on January, $x.xx on February, and $xxx.xx on March. How much did she save for the three months?" She read aloud.
"So! Tell me, which part of the question do you not understand?" I demanded, deliberately lacing and peppering my question with sarcasm.
By now, I was feeling pissed. This is not the first time she has not fully completed her homework assignment. But it has never been so ridiculous before. Only 1 page was done out of the total 20plus pages I've assigned. It's totally audacious, to say the least.
It's plain obvious at how much effort was put into the homework assignment throughout the whole 14 days. And it boils me even more to realize that she does not harbour any fear of facing my wrath.
I was hopping mad by now. Nice as I may be most of the time; but it definitely doesn't mean that I'm an easy pushover.
My first instinct was to raise my voice to express my anger. But I did not want to shout - shouting never help anything in any way; but only exacerbates matters.
Just like how gentleness and softness do not equate to a lack of assertiveness, volume does not necessarily mean authority.
Sometimes, the soft way is the hard way. The effective way.
"Do you realize," I seethed inwardly, "that only 1 PAGE of homework is done out of all the assignments that I've given you? 2 whole weeks, and you have the cheek to give me 1 PAGE of homework?" I made a conscious effort to keep my voice at normal volume; though with an authoritative and clipped element incorporated in it.
"And do you realize," I continued my tirade in the same controlled voice, "that this is not the first time that such an incident has occurred? That you've not fully completed your homework?"
"AND what makes me really angry, is that you did not even ATTEMPT to do your homework assignments. If you had tried, I would have understand. But no, you did NOT EVEN bother to read through anything. Not even the questions. Not even the passages. You did not even bother to TRY. Is this right, you tell me? Is this the right attitude?" I berated.
I'm on a roll now. Nothing is stopping me; unless I allow myself to be stopped. Sometimes, certain things are best to be thrashed out once and for all. "AND our tuition session for last week was canceled. This means that it has been 2 whole weeks since I've given you the homework assignments. 2 weeks; and only 1 miserable page of English assignment - 2 Close Passages? Have you really been so terribly busy for all of the past 14 days?"
"Are you putting in any effort to do your homework at all?" I asked the ultimate, burning question irritably in the same controlled and authoritative tone. "If you are, I can't see it at all."
By now, she was keeping unusually and solemnly quiet. My guts instinct tells me that she's not far from bursting into tears. I've ticked her off a couple of times before, but this is the most severe of all. And this is also the first time she looks like she's breaking apart. And hate though to admit it, this piece of information is having a slightly alarming effect on me.
The last thing I want is to have a crying kid on my hands, knowing all too well that it is yours truly who's the guilty one who induced the flow of tears.
I continued looking at her. She was looking down at her book, and kept blinking her eyes. Part of me caved in, but part of me wanted to continue my tirade and knock some sense into her. To tell her that I mean business here. Serious business.
The creature of wrath was still smoking inside me, refusing to be appeased so easily. I opened my mouth, with the full intention of telling her straight in her face something along the line that "Your elder sister has never given me such problems". That's true. In fact, the latter sometimes even do more than what I had assigned. Such good attitude towards learning and self-improving.
The words were dangerously at the tips of my tongue. But before a single word could escape my mouth, a brief feeling of uneasiness tickled my conscience. "Is this the right way to guide a young child who is only 8-year-old? By demeaning her and comparing her with her siblings? Making her demoralized and feel lousy about herself? Telling her that her elder sister is less 'problematic' than she is? That her sister outperforms her?" I thought silently to myself.
I may not be a parent. Neither am I a trained psychologist. But it definitely doesn't take a rocket scientist or Harvard scholar to figure out that this is not an effective and healthy way to correct a child. Neither is it the only way.
I took a deep breath and sighed heavily to release my frustration. I don't like depriving people of second chances. Feeling a lot calmer now, I raised my right forefinger threateningly, looked her straight and fierce in the eye, and said in a no-nonsense tone, "This is the last chance I'm giving you. If such an occurrence were to happen again, I'll straightaway feedback to your Mom. You hear me?"
She gave a silent little nod.
I gave her another hard look. Sometimes, it's more effective to let the eyes do the talking. After all, the eyes are the windows to the soul. I did not say anything, but maintained the silence between us for a short moment. Sometimes, silence carries more weight and effect than words do.
I took a look at the time. 10 otherwise useful minutes have already been wasted. It's high time to start our lesson proper. Pointing at the offending Comprehension passage, I instructed her to read it aloud like how it is done in Oral Tests so that I can correct her pronunciation and articulation at the same time.
While I was walking home later that night, I found myself reflecting on life. There used to be a season of time when the threat "you do it again, and I'll tell your parents" worked reasonably well on me too. Of course, that was when I was a young innocent little kiddo who does not know better. Conversely, if you use such threats on me nowadays, I'll simply just tell you to shoo off and go fly kite.
Perhaps, this is the awesome beauty of children. Something breathtaking and irreplaceable. The inexplicable, precious little gift of joy from Heaven.
A couple of days ago, I was - as usual - giving tuition to the 2 little sisters. Since the kids are currently enjoying their one-month-long mid-year vacation, the Mom had arranged for tuition to be reduced from 2 times per week to 1 time per week - on every Tuesdays; instead of the usual Saturdays and Mondays.
This Tuesday, after having ended an 1.5hour session with the elder sister who is in Primary 5, I was left with another grueling 1.5hour to complete with the younger one. She hopped into the room, placed her assessment books on the table, and skipped her way back out to get her pencil cases (yes, amazingly, she has 2 pencil cases). I took a sip of my Peach Tea drink.
It's tiring to talk relentlessly for a full an hour and a half, you know?
The bubbly girl bounced back into the room and took her seat beside me. Reaching out to take the Mathematic assessment book, I flipped open the pages, only to realize that not even a single question out of the 10 given was attempted.
I frowned lightly, but kept my mouth shut. It's alright. Perhaps the questions proved too much of a challenge for her.
Reaching out a second time, I flipped through the English assessment book next. I frowned harder.
For English, I had given her an entire topic revision exercise to complete as homework assignment, and only 1 miserable PAGE was done - 2 Close Passages. So this is the grand amount of revision and homework completed after our last tuition session; which took place 2 whole weeks ago? 2 short Close Passages? Wonderful.
I threw her a cold, hard stare, and demanded an explanation. Just like any other students, the reason given was that she could not understand the questions. But just like any other kids, her story was full of loopholes.
I glanced down at the miserable, lone page that has her handwriting on it. I'm not so naive to get lied to so easily. Surely there is a way to call her bluff.
Turning the offending page with slightly more force than was required, I gave a cursory look-through at the next section, which is Comprehension.
"Have you read this Comprehension passage?" I inquired.
"Yes, but I don't understand." She chirped unconvincingly.
For a moment, I gave her the benefit of the doubt. After all, her English is weak for Primary 2 standard, and definitely has more than enough room for improvement.
I turned to the other side of the page, and read the MCQ questions based on the Comprehension passage. Positioning and angling the assessment book back towards her, I poked at the face of the book with my right forefinger.
"Read aloud Question. 1 for me." I commanded coldly.
"The King has ___ antique vases." She read obediently.
"So? How many?" I barked.
She turned back to the Comprehension passage. The answer is directly on the first line of the first paragraph.
"Oh..." She looked sheepish. "50 vases."
"Do you mean to say that the Comprehension passage is so ridiculously difficult that you can't even do Question 1?" I threw her yet another hard stare. "Tell me the truth. Have you even attempted to read the passage?"
She dared not to even raise her eyes. Staring off randomly into space, she muttered almost to herself, "I didn't read it."
"So why did you lie that you could not understand what the passage is talking about?" I retorted.
Without bothering to wait for an answer, I set the English assignment book aside and reached out again for the Math one. Positioning the book in front of her again, I jabbed at the face of the book yet again, and requested her to read out Question 1.
"Mary saved $xx.xx on January, $x.xx on February, and $xxx.xx on March. How much did she save for the three months?" She read aloud.
"So! Tell me, which part of the question do you not understand?" I demanded, deliberately lacing and peppering my question with sarcasm.
By now, I was feeling pissed. This is not the first time she has not fully completed her homework assignment. But it has never been so ridiculous before. Only 1 page was done out of the total 20plus pages I've assigned. It's totally audacious, to say the least.
It's plain obvious at how much effort was put into the homework assignment throughout the whole 14 days. And it boils me even more to realize that she does not harbour any fear of facing my wrath.
I was hopping mad by now. Nice as I may be most of the time; but it definitely doesn't mean that I'm an easy pushover.
My first instinct was to raise my voice to express my anger. But I did not want to shout - shouting never help anything in any way; but only exacerbates matters.
Just like how gentleness and softness do not equate to a lack of assertiveness, volume does not necessarily mean authority.
Sometimes, the soft way is the hard way. The effective way.
"Do you realize," I seethed inwardly, "that only 1 PAGE of homework is done out of all the assignments that I've given you? 2 whole weeks, and you have the cheek to give me 1 PAGE of homework?" I made a conscious effort to keep my voice at normal volume; though with an authoritative and clipped element incorporated in it.
"And do you realize," I continued my tirade in the same controlled voice, "that this is not the first time that such an incident has occurred? That you've not fully completed your homework?"
"AND what makes me really angry, is that you did not even ATTEMPT to do your homework assignments. If you had tried, I would have understand. But no, you did NOT EVEN bother to read through anything. Not even the questions. Not even the passages. You did not even bother to TRY. Is this right, you tell me? Is this the right attitude?" I berated.
I'm on a roll now. Nothing is stopping me; unless I allow myself to be stopped. Sometimes, certain things are best to be thrashed out once and for all. "AND our tuition session for last week was canceled. This means that it has been 2 whole weeks since I've given you the homework assignments. 2 weeks; and only 1 miserable page of English assignment - 2 Close Passages? Have you really been so terribly busy for all of the past 14 days?"
"Are you putting in any effort to do your homework at all?" I asked the ultimate, burning question irritably in the same controlled and authoritative tone. "If you are, I can't see it at all."
By now, she was keeping unusually and solemnly quiet. My guts instinct tells me that she's not far from bursting into tears. I've ticked her off a couple of times before, but this is the most severe of all. And this is also the first time she looks like she's breaking apart. And hate though to admit it, this piece of information is having a slightly alarming effect on me.
The last thing I want is to have a crying kid on my hands, knowing all too well that it is yours truly who's the guilty one who induced the flow of tears.
I continued looking at her. She was looking down at her book, and kept blinking her eyes. Part of me caved in, but part of me wanted to continue my tirade and knock some sense into her. To tell her that I mean business here. Serious business.
The creature of wrath was still smoking inside me, refusing to be appeased so easily. I opened my mouth, with the full intention of telling her straight in her face something along the line that "Your elder sister has never given me such problems". That's true. In fact, the latter sometimes even do more than what I had assigned. Such good attitude towards learning and self-improving.
The words were dangerously at the tips of my tongue. But before a single word could escape my mouth, a brief feeling of uneasiness tickled my conscience. "Is this the right way to guide a young child who is only 8-year-old? By demeaning her and comparing her with her siblings? Making her demoralized and feel lousy about herself? Telling her that her elder sister is less 'problematic' than she is? That her sister outperforms her?" I thought silently to myself.
I may not be a parent. Neither am I a trained psychologist. But it definitely doesn't take a rocket scientist or Harvard scholar to figure out that this is not an effective and healthy way to correct a child. Neither is it the only way.
I took a deep breath and sighed heavily to release my frustration. I don't like depriving people of second chances. Feeling a lot calmer now, I raised my right forefinger threateningly, looked her straight and fierce in the eye, and said in a no-nonsense tone, "This is the last chance I'm giving you. If such an occurrence were to happen again, I'll straightaway feedback to your Mom. You hear me?"
She gave a silent little nod.
I gave her another hard look. Sometimes, it's more effective to let the eyes do the talking. After all, the eyes are the windows to the soul. I did not say anything, but maintained the silence between us for a short moment. Sometimes, silence carries more weight and effect than words do.
I took a look at the time. 10 otherwise useful minutes have already been wasted. It's high time to start our lesson proper. Pointing at the offending Comprehension passage, I instructed her to read it aloud like how it is done in Oral Tests so that I can correct her pronunciation and articulation at the same time.
While I was walking home later that night, I found myself reflecting on life. There used to be a season of time when the threat "you do it again, and I'll tell your parents" worked reasonably well on me too. Of course, that was when I was a young innocent little kiddo who does not know better. Conversely, if you use such threats on me nowadays, I'll simply just tell you to shoo off and go fly kite.
Perhaps, this is the awesome beauty of children. Something breathtaking and irreplaceable. The inexplicable, precious little gift of joy from Heaven.
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