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As long as it’s put to good use； there will always be room for it in the adult world。
Early memories can be deceptive； in that they are usually quite appealing。 As if； in the whole range of emotions experienced by a young child； pleasure is the main one to register。
This innocent； infantile inclination to acknowledge only the positive may be a protective mechanism designed to build up our morale as a bulwark against difficulties ahead。
Or else these impressions are part of a myth created by ourselves； saying more about us than about our childhood。
Even so – they have to emanate from somewhere。
I recall – or believe that I recall – lying in my pram； being wheeled through a forest； watching high above the sun…lit tops of giant fir…trees standing out deep green against a clear blue sky dotted with cotton…wool clouds。 Birds are singing； brooks are babbling； the air has the fresh tang of earth and conifers。
Closer to； my mother’s face： her eyes sad； lost in the distance。 I call out to her； and she smiles。 I smile back。 Now we are both happy。
And I have a cosy recollection of her in middle of the night； ing to lift me out of my cot； taking me to her bed； where we curl up together。 I go back to sleep in her soft warm embrace； clutched by her like a teddy bear。
Giving fort； though I know nothing about grief； have no way of prehending the meaning of despair。
“But I had a happy childhood！” protested the man； to whom I’d tactfully suggested that his chronic health problems might be somehow related to the traumas I knew had overshadowed his early years。
We were close enough for me to gently challenge his assertion： “But with your mother dying so early… And not having a father…That must have been difficult。”
Childhood 童年（3）
“Oh I don’t know… I was lucky to have an aunt who took me in。 That was a lovely place。 She was very good to me。”
“Well her husband wasn’t。 I’ve been told that he used to e home drunk and beat both you and her。”
“These things happen。 And I was only there for three years。 Until my aunt had her breakdown and I was taken into care。”
“So how did that feel？ Ending up in a home with no one in the world to turn to？”
“By then I was old enough to manage。 The brothers there were nice enough。 Some of them； anyhow。”
I left it at that； made no mention of the members of the order who had been sent to jail for interfering with children in their care。 I accepted that I had no right to force the wall of denial that only the man himself could decide to demolish。
“Look at this！” I overheard a mother admonish her young children。 “This is beautiful。” “Ooh！” chimed the children。 “Isn’t it beautiful？”
And on numerous other occasions： “Watch out！ This is dangerous。” “Help！” wailed the children。 “It is dangerous； very dangerous。”
So it went on； year in； year out。 “This is good； that is bad。 This is marvellous； that abominable。” The children swallowed every word she said； without ever stopping to chew； without even looking。
She could have pointed to the black kettle and told them it was white； and they would have piped in unison： “Oh yes！ Very white indeed。” They were such nice； amenable children。
Watching from a distance； I sometimes felt like crying out：“For goodness’ sake； don’t believe everything you hear！ That kettle isn’t white at all； it’s black！ Use your eyes and see for yourselves！ Rely on your own judgement！”
But of course I didn’t。 It wasn’t my place。 All I could do was hope to see the day when these children would find the wherewithal to break the bonds of their conditioning；establish a truth of their own。
They were well into their thirties before it finally happened。
I heaved a sigh of relief。
Their mother was devastated。
It is a lovely day in August； five days after my sixth birthday。
I have been sent into the garden to play。 My grandmother is lying down。 She has a pain in her chest。
It’s unusual for her to be ill。 Grandpa is the one with a weak heart。
Listlessly； I rock to and fro on the swing。 I’m feeling lonely。 I wish I had someone to play with。
Then； suddenly； I see just the person I need： my grandfather； on his way home from work； though it’s the middle of the afternoon。 “Grandpa！” I cry delightedly； “e and push me！”
His face is white and stern； as I’ve never seen it before。 “You shouldn’t be out playing；” he says gruffly； as if I was doing something I shouldn’t。
“But – ” I want to tell him that I’m only doing as I’ve been told。 “It’s going to rain；” he adds brusquely。 I look up； baffled； at the bright blue sky。 Not a cloud in sight。
“e with me！” His voice has a note of desperation。
As we walk together up the stairs； he takes my hand； holds on to it； as if he needs support。 I am gripped by a sense of foreboding。 But it will be some time before I realize that this moment represents the point where my childhood ends。
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Growing up 长大（1）
自从孩子降生那一刻起，作为父母，我们就总是希望给他们最好的。全心全意爱着他们、保护着他们，养育、安抚着他们，回应着他们提出的每一个要求。
我们应该宠爱他们多久呢？有没有那么一次，我们不去理睬他们的苦恼，让他们自己去承受一点点郁闷？或者，不去试着逗他们开心？我们为什么就不能这样做呢？
我们先不要去想，孩子们是否被剥夺了渴望、梦想他们不能得到的东西的内在需求；是否没能去体验那种得到了盼望许久的东西时的极大满足。
我们只需去想象一下让这种情况继续下去的后果：孩子们长大后，进入了成人的世界，却发现没有人会满足他的每一个要求，他们身边的每一个人都跟他有一样的想法，那就是，自己才是最重要的……
想象一下，他们由于只顾自己的需求而无法处理好与他人的关系。因为他们从来都没被教导过，要去通过修正自己的需要以满足他人……
教导你的孩子去独立生活吧——生活上独立、情感上独立、交往上独立——这是每一个为人父母的义务，且开始得越早越好。
你是这样的人吗：为你自己是谁而感到愧对父母，或者为你没能成为他们期望的人而感到抱歉？
如果是，那么你就属于那些并不少见的、工于操纵的家长的受害者。再没有什么比一个母亲或父亲让自己的孩子感到他没能达到自己的期望更容易办到的事情了。
这很符合他们的心意——尽可能地去控制孩子，减少不轨行为的发生几率，以让孩子赢得别人的认同。
如果这种“管制”能够保持到孩子成人以后，那么它带给父母的“好处”也会随之增加，因为这种习惯常常会转移到孩子自己成立的小家庭里，这个小家庭也会生活在对父辈们的权威的敬畏中。
当孩子们渐渐长大、独立后，这些父母又提高了自己的要求，只有得到儿女们的奉承才高兴；而孩子们也生怕有什么事情让父母不开心。似乎再怎么努力，也不能弥补父母对自己的失望之心。
只有到死，才能打破这一精心策划束缚。而这样的父母，将会永远地长眠于坟墓中，得不到儿女真正的爱。
正如每个7岁的孩子一样，我很崇拜自己的第一位老师，欣赏着她用至高无上的、无限的权威所赋予的能力，驱赶着我们的无知。
她所说的每一个字、所讲的每一个知识点，我都好似吸吮母亲乳汁般地舔舐着。
有一天，她向我们介绍“起源”这一概念。“你们在教室里看到的每一样东西，”她说，“以前都是别的样子。”然后，我们每指一样东西问她，她都会解释出它们原来是什么。
比如，这张桌子，曾经是森林里的一棵树……那个书包是用牛皮做的……而那件毛衣，则是从羊身上的毛而来的，等等。
幸好有这么一个解释事物缘起的机会，电源插座到底是由何而来这个问题以前一直困扰着我，现在终于有机会弄明白了。我兴奋地指了指插座问老师。
她的脸色突然变白了。过了一会儿，她似乎不知该说什么。然后，她顿了顿，用一种教导式的语调说道：“这个插座，嗯，嗯，是进口的。对，它来自非洲，是从一个很稀有的灌木丛里长出来的。下一个问题。”
从那一刻起，我就再没有相信过权威。
“或许这就是上帝的旨意。”一位母亲在聊天中开玩笑似地说，“是上帝让你的小心肝变得淘气、可恶，好让你在他们飞离巢穴时感到那是种解脱，而非苦难。”
然后，她又悄悄地小声说：“有时候我真觉得连我自己都无法忍受我的这种反叛的想法。”
我试着用古老东方的至理名言让她放宽心，有道是，那些给我们带来最多麻烦的人或事，正是我们能够从中学到最多的源泉。
“哦，是的。”她冷笑着反驳，“我是学到了很多。明白了我不该那样去教育我的孩子，我真是对他们好过头了。”
即使是发生在最健康家庭中的青少年问题，我们也不应该放松警惕，不该将其视作一种正常的过渡阶段而忽略它。当家庭中业已确立的家长—孩子关系已经不再适应实际情况时，这些冲突恰好反映出了某种必要的转折和变化。
不论是长期潜藏的孩子的不满最终浮出了水面，还是家�