Beijing Baba

No pain, no gain

The verse for this month’s lesson on daddy-ing dilemmas comes from chapter one, page one of the quaintly named “The Pre-school Book.” Written by Brenda Thompson and published in the year of my birth (1976), this bible of parenting wisdom is getting to be a little more faded and smelling a little mustier these days.

Despite its age, however, it remains a timelessly trendy guide to how parents should bring up their kids. What’s more, as one of my mum and dad’s parenting manuals, it is now a family heirloom. Thompson offers educated advice that is guaranteed to warm the staunchest of liberal hearts – “encouragement” and “help” feature prominently.

One quote in particular has been playing on my mind as I have been reflecting on my latest adventures in fatherland: “You needn’t be disappointed if your child is late developing a certain skill,” says Thompson. “Children develop their abilities in different orders and at different rates.”

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But which way is “home”? With each visit back to the States, it is becoming more and more difficult for my kids to accept the fact that they live in China and won’t be moving back anytime soon. During our first two years here, it wasn’t an issue – we had nice, extended visits back to the US and were able to return, drama-free. It never really occurred to me that this would suddenly shift. But coming back last summer proved tough on them, and our most recent trip last December only served to reinforce their feelings. It is, I suppose, our new paradigm.

Last August, it was immediately after my nephew’s bar mitzvah that we left, and with all the families still gathered together, my kids really wanted to stay. For the first time, Jacob cried the night before our departure. His slightly older cousins Sarah and Emma tried to comfort him with reassuring words and encouragement about his present life. It was very sweet.

“It’s so cool you live in China.”

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Planning our baby’s future

It might seem a bit premature to be worrying already about my son Daniel’s education. After all, he’s only 8 months old – there’s plenty of time yet to save our pennies for his formal education. But they say education begins at home, and as a headmaster’s son with memories of extra homework during the school holidays, I know it to be true. What happens, though, when home is multi-cultural?

I’m fortunate that my wife and I seem to be on the same page: I was subjected to intense competition and my wife suffered spoon-fed rote learning, so we both want to avoid our son being pushed in the same way. And if Su and I share many of the same ideas about how to bring up our child, we also share many of the same worries. Chief amongst these is the difficulty of bringing up an independent-spirited, unpampered child in Beijing around his extended family. Loving as they are, some of Dan’s relatives have a tendency to mollycoddle. Okay, I know he’s only a baby and babies are meant to be coddled, but how many people does it take to change a nappy? Two, it seems: one to do the actual changing, and another to hold baby’s hand lest he utter the merest whimper, offering comforting words like “There, there, it’ll all be over soon.” I admit that at this stage it almost certainly doesn’t matter. But as parents, we worry about what will happen later on, and I am inclined to believe it may be kinder to be cruel.

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When we were looking into moving to Beijing almost three years ago, it never occurred to me to search out a school beyond the main international options. As a newbie expat, I didn’t really even know there were other choices, and we gladly signed up at the school where colleagues sent their kids.

I don’t have any major regrets and I’m glad that we ended up in a British school rather than a more American institution, because at least my kids know they are somewhere distinctly different from New Jersey. But I cringe whenever I hear my kids speak Chinese - or more to the point, not speak Chinese. Their lack of language skills is really a sore spot for me.

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Not quite family, but close enough

After trying to explain the word ayi on the phone to my mum, I’ve concluded that it just doesn’t translate. “Child-minder” is too officious, though Zhao Ayi does look after our baby. “Maid” just brings to mind characters from old comedies on TV that poked fun at class distinctions. “Au pair” perhaps? Or “nanny”? For middle-class Englishmen such as myself, such luxuries simply do not exist. An ayi is, well, an ayi, and somehow seems a warmer word than anything we have in English – it is, after all, often translated as “auntie.” So I’ve given up trying to translate it, and now Mum has learned a new Chinese word to add to her wei and ni hao.

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Beijing today, but what next?

Four-year-old Anna is crammed into the back seat of a cab next to her two older brothers and myself. “This. Is. Boring!” she screams, and to make sure I get her point, she leaps into the air and lands hard on my lap. Apparently, cruising through Shanghai’s fetching French concession is not enough stimulation for my pint-sized adrenaline junkie.

Her mom (my wife) hears the outburst from the passenger seat and looks back to reciprocate my glance. After two and a half years in China, we are still far from jaded with our surroundings, and it would be near impossible for either of us to combine the words “Shanghai,” “French concession” and “boring” in a meaningful sentence.

But this life is normal for our kids: Beijing is where they live, and Shanghai is just another place to visit. Their expectations are often quite high, due to a lifestyle a far cry from my own upbringing in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, or Rebecca’s in Bay City, Michigan.

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Four generations, three countries, two continents, one family

Before we had children, I might have thought of the following as drawbacks to living in Beijing in an international marriage with a Chinese girl: being mutually incomprehensible in an argument, never being able to win an argument, protracted lunches with the extended family on frequent feast days, not being able to have Sunday lunch with the European relatives, and being bankrupted by the cost of sharing Christmas dinner and a pint with the folks back home. For sentimental reasons, living half a world away from my son's Anglo-Saxon grandparents now tops the list, while practical reasons place the cost of bridging the distance to our far-flung family at second.

With that said, we don't regret a penny spent taking Daniel to see the big-nosed branch of the family in Europe this summer. Though the month-long family reunion may, perhaps, have been a bit extravagant, it yielded many priceless moments. One of the highlights was introducing Daniel to my irrepressible granddad, who, at 94, is one of the sprightliest among those in the retirement community in London where he lives. The old fella was so excited, in fact, that as soon as he clapped eyes on Daniel he rushed next door, returning moments later to wheel his neighbor in for a viewing session ñ after all, it's not only the Chinese elderly who like to show off their newest family members.

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Transient expat life can be hard on kids

Eli and Jacob first met Hugo Ohlsson while his family and our family were visiting Thailand from Beijing. Playing on the beach, Hugo asked my boys if they could be friends forever.

“Sorry, no,” Jacob replied, acting as the spokesman.
“We actually live in New Jersey and we’re just in China for three years.”
“Oh,” Hugo replied. “Can we be friends for three years then?”
“Sure.”
Hugo smiled; three years is forever to a 5-year-old.

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Introducing Daniel Martin Adams

I am finally worthy of this column’s title. I became a Beijing baba at 10.37am on April 26, when our son Daniel Martin Adams/Su Rui (苏锐) was delivered by caesarean at the Beijing OB/GYN Hospital (Beijing Fuchang Yiyuan). Showing an early propensity for the forward somersault, our germinating gymnast flipped himself the wrong way up in the 36th week – hence the caesarean, which went well. If readers are anything like my mum, they will be dying to know that Daniel was born 51cm “long” and weighing 7.2 jin. (And in case, like my mum, you thought jin was a drink, you might like to note that it is a Chinese measurement equal to half a kilogram.)

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Traveling in China’s interior is tough for families

There are countless motivations for traveling, and countless travel methods, but these often seem to fall away once you start a family. When kids arrive on the scene, many people largely abandon the whole “throw yourself into the deep end and see if you can swim” approach. The risks simply feel too heavy – it’s much easier to just hit a beach in Thailand or stick to Hong Kong Disney.

My family has certainly done our share of safe and comfortable travel, but sometimes we like to reach for something more. It’s not just for mom and dad’s sake – we’ve discovered that our kids can also tap into something deep within themselves when forced to stretch their comfort zones. However, on a recent trip to Sichuan’s Wild West, we realized that it’s possible to reach too far, and that there’s a limit to the elasticity of every comfort zone.

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