Not only it’s full of competitive parents; (“Mine already memorizes ABCs, knows her numbers, perfectly potty trained, and she’s only 2!” claimed one and the other would quickly chip in “Oooh wonderful, but mine could spell and had a vocabulary of 300 words even before he was 2”)
it’s full of those pinpointing others’ weaknesses.
“Their son is terrible, terrible. He is an accident waiting to happen. Didn’t you know that he almost fell into the big pot of curry in our neighbor’s kitchen when they were visiting last Raya? Not once, but twice! Imagine him in our home, with all our crystals. What horrors!”
“Didn’t you know that their 4 year old stopped a car by standing in the middle of the road? What were they thinking not locking him up properly in the house?”
“Has the boy no shame, still insisting being breastfed when he’s what, almost 4? Shouldn’t she started weaning him off ages ago?”
“She asked her maid to do her 12 year old daughter period-stained laundry. The girl should be taught how to get it done herself. Berdosa orang lain basuh darah haid dia.”
“Their kids need to learn more discipline. They came in, caused a ruckus and they left without apologizing at all. Look at all those stains on our sofa, the spills on the floor and the eldest almost broke our standing lamp. And the parents never said a thing to stop them at all!”Oh yes, it’s easy to gossip about other kids, other parents.
It’s easy to point out their weaknesses, easy to say that they should be doing this or that.
I guess that‘s why the top choice for an online poll regarding almarhumah Nurin Jazlin’s case in Utusan Malaysia recently was one which could imply that her parents had been rather careless all these while. Despite feeling sorry for the parents, a friend believed that they were partly to be blamed for the tragedy – what were they thinking letting an 8-year old on her own going to the pasar malam? A tabloid was crueler – implying that the poor kid had been kidnapped due to the father’s dealing with Ah Long. These two allegations were untrue, of course – haven’t we been reminded again and again not to believe everything written in the newspaper? Go read the blog by the late girl’s uncle to get the honest truth… Al-fatihah for almarhumah Nurin…
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Anyway, I am with those who call for public to stop criminalizing parents for negligence. Accidents could happen to anyone - and people in glass houses should not throw stone. This world we live in now is becoming more and more selfish with each passing day. When I was eight, I could wander alone after school, went to the shop alone, with not much care. Chances are – people passing by would recognize me as cucu Hj Hassan (I used to stay with my grandparents until I was 9). If they saw me or my friends doing something unbecoming – like eating rambutan on someone else’s tree – they would call out – “Hoi, dok buat apa tu? Aku habaq kat ayah/ tok wan hang sat ni…” and I/we would lintang pukang climbed down and ran away. Society used to play an active role in being a child’s caretaker.
So was the role of being a child’s protector – if they saw a group of children playing in dangerous area – the canal for example, unsupervised – then an adult passing by on a motorbike would stop and warned us to go home. On the other hand, they wouldn’t hesitate for a second to jump in the canal if they suspect that a child might be drowning. No decent neighbor would give a mother uncaring blank look like this blogger received when her child almost drowned in a public pool.
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Close friends of mine might have heard of the ‘adventure’ I had as a 7 year old runaway. Not that I was seriously thinking of leaving my home for good. It just so happened that very morning Ayah had taken my younger brother out without taking me too, so I made up my mind to join them at the “Rest House”, their supposed destination I overheard when Ayah was talking on the phone. Ayah left in early morning, so mid morning, while I was supposed to be playing with my youngest brother at the front porch, I slipped quietly, leaving my 2 year old brother on his own. Yes, I was reckless, and that was very irresponsible, so kids, please do not try this at home.
So I began walking one of the longest walk I ever took. I was in Kampung Syed Syeh, Kelang Lama, (which was closer to Lunas than to Kulim) hoping to reach the Rest House in Bukit Mertajam by walking. I thought surely the “Rest House” Ayah mentioned in his phone conversation was the one in Bukit Mertajam, where he sometimes brought us to for dinner since Kulim back in the 80s was rather small and had nothing much to offer in term of good makan place. I thought I knew the way and it wasn’t that difficult – the route from Kulim to Bukit Mertajam back then was mostly a long, long stretch of rubber plantations. Kelang Lama to Kulim itself was not that near. By the time I reached Kulim town, it was getting hotter and humid. I paced evenly, sometimes skipping so as to make the journey faster.
I walked on and on until I reached the junction going to Junjung – people familiar with Kulim would know it as the junction where one turn to go to Kolej Mara Kulim (MRSM Kulim back then) when one pakcik on a bicycle asked me – where was I going. I answered that I was going to the Rest House in Bukit Mertajam, to meet up with my Ayah. “Awat tak naik bas?,” the pakcik asked me. No money, I answered, “Dah makan?,” he further enquired. Not yet – and I began to realize that I was turning hungry just that very moment.
That pakcik asked me to hop on the back of his bike and he cycled back home. I had lunch with him and his wife – I couldn’t remember what I had, but I remember the lunch to be ‘sedap’. After praying Zohor, pakcik took me on his bike and cycled to Kulim, to the police station. I sat on a bench while he lodged a police report, and then a lanky abang polis in plain clothes came to me and asked a few questions – where was I going, who was I going to meet, why did I want to walk all the way to Bukit Mertajam. I concocted some story about meeting my Ayah in Bukit Mertajam, that I am used to go to Bukit Mertajam on my own or something along that line.
It so happened that the particular lanky abang polis was going to Bukit Mertajam himself, so he thanked the pakcik for bringing me to the police station and assured him that they would take care of me from then on. I salam the pakcik and he gave me 1 ringgit. 1 ringgit at that time was a lot for a 7 year old – what more coming from a pakcik who was living in a simple hut. I took it, thanked him for the lunch, the money and kirim salam to makcik.
So, next - adventure with abang polis. He took my hand and walked with me to the bus station where we boarded a bus to Bukit Mertajam. “Adik berapa tahun?”, he asked, and I answered 6 – too afraid that if I told him the truth – 7 - then he would ask me where my school was and might follow up with more questions and I would be returning home to Kampung Syed Syeh instead of going to Bukit Mertajam. He asked me a few other stuff – what does my father do, why do I have to meet him in Bukit Mertajam instead of him picking me up in Kulim etc etc etc. But for most part of the journey, I was not really paying attention to abang polis’s queries as I was more interested in looking out the bus window, because it was my first time ever boarding a public bus to Bukit Mertajam and the scenery sure looked different from the ones I usually viewed in Ayah’s car.
The bus journey ended all too soon when the next thing I knew, we were stopping right in front of the Rest House. And my heart started to beat doubly harder than usual. My palms started to get clammy when I noticed that Ayah’s car was nowhere to be seen in the Rest House’s compound. Right after we entered the Rest House together, Abang polis asked the girl behind the Registration counter if anyone was registered under my Ayah’s name. Nope. I pulled on his pants – let’s go check the restaurant, and so we went to the Rest House’s café. But like I miserably suspected when I saw Ayah’s car was not in the parking lot – there was no trace of Ayah or my brother there. Abang polis was getting to be more concerned – but hey, right then he bumped onto a higher police officer in the café.
So they re-interrogated me – my name, my father’s name, my father’s occupation, my address. I told them that my Ayah worked in Bagan (Butterworth, as known to oghang utagha), but instead of a contractor, I told them that my father was an inspector. And it happened that there was one Inspector Baharom working in Butterworth, which they traced by making phone calls from the café.
But alas Inspector Baharom’s kids were all a lot older than a scruffy 7 year old girl. "No, she’s not mine", he told the two police officers who were obviously getting to be more ruffled.
“Adik, kita balik Kulim naa,” abang polis said softly, to which I nodded my agreement. It was no fun anymore – all the way to Bukit Mertajam and Ayah was not in sight. I was getting scared too – thinking of the punishment Ayah would lay down for me. Rotan, ketuk ketampi, no duit sekolah, the works. We went back to Kulim on the senior officer’s Alfa Romeo. I remembered thinking how stiff the cushion was compared to the comfy seat in my Ayah’s battered Mercedes. And the car perfume was too strong – perhaps to conceal the smell of cigarette which it failed miserably. I was familiar with the smell of 555 cigarettes, which used to be my late Tok Ayah’s choice. I was quiet most of the journey back to Kelang Lama, until they reached Sekolah Sultan Badlishah and asked for direction to my house.
I was too afraid to lead them back to my house, so I showed them the way to my neighbor’s house. Remember – I lived in a kampong where a neighbor is not quite next door as in modern taman perumahan. My neighbor, upon being asked by the policemen if they recognize me, quickly pointed to my grandparents house – “ni cucu Hj Hassan…”. So we went back in the car and they finally sent me to the right place where I belonged.
The two policemen went out of the car first, as I began to slump as lowly as possible on the stiff seat. It wasn’t long before Tok Ayah came to the window to identify me. He yelled at me. The first – and only – time he ever scolded me. My gentle Tok Ayah who had never hit me or raised his voice at me – was looking terribly furious at that time. I quickly dashed out of the car, and ran to my room, locking myself in. Clutching tightly the 1 ringgit note given by the pakcik earlier, I suddenly regretted venturing out that morning. I was scared, I was exhausted and I cried myself to sleep.
The caning came as I deserved it. For leaving my baby brother on his own. For not telling my grandparents that I was going out. For venturing out alone – who knows what dangers were out there? I could have been kidnapped and sold! What was I thinking?
It turned out that Ayah took my brother to see a child specialist in Penang, agreeing to meet my biological mother in the Rest House in Penang first before going to the clinic together. They never went to Bukit Mertajam at all – I merely assumed they would, because the one Rest House I was familiar with was the one in Bukit Mertajam where Ayah sometimes took us for a beefsteak treat. They were not taking my brother out alone for a fun trip, but rather a medical treatment. I didn’t know that my brother was seriously ill at that time – that they needed to operate on his bone marrow or something.
No, I still don’t know what I was thinking back then, intending to walk all the way from Kelang Lama to Bukit Mertajam. Sometimes, as we drove along the stretch I walked from Kelang Lama to the Junjung junction, I wondered myself – from where did I got the energy to walk that far? Looking back, I guess it’s only Allah’s miraculous protection that keep anything bad from happening to me at all. So many things could have gone wrong. I could have been kidnapped and be sold, I could have met with an accident, I could have been lost and never found my way back.
What happened that day – it was not due to my guardian’s negligence. But the fact that I was returned safely to my family – was contributed by good people; the pakcik, the abang polis, the senior police officer, my neighbor.
Back in the days when "mendidik anak seorang" really involved "sekampung"…
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