You reap what you sow, that's the English equivalent of the Vietnamese (in VISCII format) I put in the title of this blog entry. My wife had a performance with her instructor (Changyuan Wang) and classmates at Lincoln Center yesterday. Many people in her family came and my son and I were among the crowd. It turned out J wasn't ready for the serious environment of the concert hall. At first he pretended to be a conductor, using a pencil as the conductor's wand. Cute and harmless, as he was not making any noises. But then he got bored and wanted a snack. I just convinced him that no eating was allowed in the concert hall, when a niece of my wife started eating some snacks. Of course J renewed his whining and I finally gave him a snack after we went outside. The various items in our backpack would rustle and interfere with the show, I was sure. Back with the show not too long, J began playing with a Happy Meal toy that made noises - not loud noises, just one simple sound as the toy lion from the movie The Wild crouches and leaps, but I was sure it would not be long before someone near us would complain. My late father used to teach me and my siblings to be aware of ourselves and do not wait for others to tell us that we are bothering them. So I took J outside for the last time, as we stayed out for the rest of the show. I reprimanded him and he cried. I thought that just because during the hours before the show, we had ice cream, hotdogs, played in Central Park, went to the movie theater's lobby to play on Reactrix screen, etc. that he should behave himself in the concert hall. Who was I kidding? There's no negotiation with five-year-old kids. They just do what they want.
I do recall that when I was a kid, I was like C too. Too impatient for movies, which I thought the main event of was the snack. When snacks were all gone, it was time to leave. I remember making my mother miss the later half of The Chinese Connection, starring Bruce Lee. And some basketball game with my eldest sister. There were probably more. These are the stories that I do remember, not those others accused, uh told, me about without me having any memories of. So I wasn't a good kid and now my son gave me what I deserve.