In 2014, Winston Chiu quit his successful career in private equity to groom his six-year-old daughter for greatness. Now 12, she’s a golf and tennis sensation who has qualified for junior tournaments all over the world. Through the years, Chiu has attended not just every competition, but every practice session, dutifully taking videos for post-mortems with his daughter. Covid-19 has been a “frustrating” interruption, he says.
Whether Chiu is a tiger parent, a helicopter parent or simply a very involved one is almost irrelevant. His experience speaks to something many families are facing – here in Singapore and beyond – as schools and activities open up but restrictions on chaperones remain: the black hole of information between what children tell us and what teachers, coaches and instructors say. No amount of Seesaw updates or Zoom conferences can replicate physical presence. The best solution may not be more communication, but a different playbook entirely.
The first thing to consider is that the information vacuum may be having more of a direct impact on parents than children. The youngest may not even remember the mask-free days of “mystery reader” or birthday cupcakes. One mother I spoke with described the feeling of seeing her seven-year-old daughter emerge from her first solo dance competition, performed before a line of judges and an empty auditorium. She won gold. After waiting anxiously outside, the only feedback the mother got: “It was fine.”
But even if children aren’t responding to the absence explicitly, there are indirect consequences. Teachers and counselors say that physical restrictions on activities and outdoor time have made children more anxious, aggressive and impatient. Kids also absorb their parents’ stress. It’s these moments when students are “off” that teachers are missing the small check-ins they used to share with parents during pick-ups and drop-offs, when a quick word could address a budding problem. Now, low-grade incidents are filed away for another time.
When that phone call or email does arrive, it’s usually after a buildup. And no matter how kind or reassuring the voice on the other end may be, these interactions can put parents on the defensive. One mother told me her six-year-old son had been suspended from school for three physical incidents, all without her being able to step foot on campus. “My son is who he is, I don’t blame the pandemic for that,” she said. “We do blame the pandemic for not being able to come into class or walk our kid around the bus bay. Our eyes are not there.”
Tension can escalate quickly when there’s a void of trust. In his book “Learning in Lockdown,” Singapore-based school counselor Dylan Meikle writes about “naming the fear” of home-based learning: “When we co-exist with unnamed and undiscussed fears for our children’s future, we are far more likely to start (over)reacting to the challenges that campus closure presents us with, and small problems become big problems.” Much in the same way, parents in this intermediate stage of living with Covid need to “name the loss,” or the grief they feel from being absent. While many schools have gone into communication overdrive with apps and push notifications, that hasn’t filled the lack of connection, Meikle told me.
A better approach is establishing a personal relationship before there’s a problem. Setting up ad hoc meetings with your child’s teachers could head off the feeling of doom when you see their emails or phone numbers pop up. Meikle says the principal at the school where he works, XCL World Academy, is also asking teachers to get creative about engaging parents. One idea floated is inviting them to call into classrooms for informal live performances and readings. Even a 10-minute window could bridge the gap, he says — and for parents still working from home, it would be a low-friction way to feel part of the school setting.
Finally, think about maximizing the information you can get from your kids. Instead of, “How was your day at school?” (which, inevitably, will be some version of “fine”), ask specific questions about classes, friends or activities. Try to steer away from yes-or-no answers to more qualitative responses. One mother I spoke with said she got her 11- and 16-year-old girls talking more by riding around in the car, which broke the plane of eye contact. “I feel like a taxi driver listening to someone else. The stories they share are amazing,” she said.
Tweaking the finely tuned machine of parenting in Singapore won’t be easy. After all, this is a place where violin classes start before toddlers have even mastered their gross motor skills, and it’s not uncommon to see a whiteboard calendar full of color-coded activities in family kitchens. Some locals joke that a child’s only job is to be smart.
For Chiu, no amount of social distancing will change his battle rhythm. At a recent tennis tournament, he stood on the street to shoot footage of his daughter, counting her double faults and unforced errors on his MatchTrack app from about 45 yards away. He’s devised an even more elegant solution for golf: volunteering as the event photographer.
Bloomberg
