The Constant Study Of The Parents And Kids At Playtown/ Fun Zone

It's A Jungle In There

While waiting for Rockstar’s Putonghua class one evening, we’re killing time at Fun Zone (formerly Playtown) when it occurs to me what a great place this is for anyone interested in doing a study in human nature. Though really it’s not a new idea, I know of working mums who leave the work force, then get so amazed at the politics.. And write books. Playground or Sandpit Politics, I think they called it, in Marie Claire US ages ago…

Anyway, I used to absolutely loathe coming here – but if you remove yourself from the fact you are trying to keep your pint-sized toddler (except he really isn’t anymore! He’s finishing K2 soon! When did that happen??) from getting run over by the bigger kids, or really Lone You from catching a bad case of the Mean Mums Who Leave Their Bullying Packs Of Kids To Terrorize Lone Kids While They Yak On Seemingly Oblivious – it’s actually very interesting to People Watch. Or Child Watch. Or Parenting Watch.

I liked to remind friends to observe what their babies’ personalities were like, because I believed that even toddlers learned fast how to “hide” certain bits about their behavior (especially if they’re bright) that were less… rewarding. And kids….. An even more interesting case study. They’ve learnt some “grownup tricks”, but they’re well, kids. And here’s some of the personalities we see at this big play area with people of all sorts (yes some categories overlap):

1) local parents

2) expat parents, both Asian and Caucasian, newly come to HK

3) expat parents, both Asian and Caucasian, pretty much settled in HK, many of whom speak scary good Cantonese and/ or Putonghua (Case in point: Kings’ blonde-and-blue-eyed French ex-colleagues who worked in derivatives structuring and could write “Collateralized Debt Obligation” and other chim stuff in Mandarin.)

4) local kids attending local schools

5) local kids attending private international schools

6) expat kids attending local schools

7) expat kids attending private international schools

8) expat parents, both Asian and Caucasian, some of whom can have strange prejudices (most interesting is a group I only very newly identified – the Asian parent born/ who has studied or lived abroad, who expends effort differentiating herself from Asians born or raised in Asian countries. NOT to be confused with BBCs or ABCs or etc (I have ABC and BBC friends. Obviously I don’t qualify to be these other Asians’ friends) – I refer only to the ones who actually make it a point to socialize only with Caucasians. It’s only happened to me a couple times in 7 years here, but it’s been obvious enough each time for friends with me (both Asian and Caucasian) to remark on, so I know it’s not just me. They exist.

Yes, Meow Alert. But if I’m honest I’ll admit to secretly referring to these “Asians” as The Whiter Than Whites. And I dislike the very few I’ve come across more than the simply prejudiced Caucasians who have not seen enough of Asia to be more impressed with our Char Koay Teow and pasar malam haggling abilities. Maybe because (some of these Asians) might actually know about our pasar malam haggling abilities so how dare they remain unimpressed? Very cool skill okay!!

(And yes my opinion is colored by a recent encounter (at Wisekids though, not here) with one of them so busy tending her mixed-race toddler who was flinging things around that she turned and pushed into Rockstar so roughly he fell and hit his head. Hard. So hard that a Caucasian grandmother (with equally blonde curly haired charge) came across to see if he was ok. Rockstar btw, couldn’t speak initially because tears of pain were silently rolling down his cheeks. And Caucasian Grandmother spoke up because she overheard this woman pretending his fall was no big deal. So she and her helper said, “She pushed him, against that corner and that’s how he fell. And it was hard.” This woman then just kept quiet. Eventually, without looking or speaking to me, she apologized to still-quietly-tearing Rockstar and walked off. I would later watch in disgust as her Caucasian companion’s baby bawls angrily over a tiny bump when the baby sat down, and she becomes totally fawning in her concern.)

9) kids being minded by any of the aforementioned parents

10) kids being minded by fairly competent helpers (I witnessed one Phillippino helper who, when the Caucasian child under her care threw a huge hissy tantrum after she checked him from bullying other kids in the area, threatened to haul him off home – and then really did. I forever regret I didn’t get a chance to catch up to her, hands full with struggling child, to tell her how much I respected her for doing that – helpers far more often take the easy way out. I probably would Not my child. Potentially thankless job.)

11) kids being minded by helpers who very obviously don’t give a damn. (Well… a helper makes what, HKD 4,000 a month thereabouts? Do you really expect her to make life that much more difficult for herself by disciplining a child rather than taking the easy way out? Some days I tell Rockstar lucky for him he is my flesh and blood or I would stick him in a cupboard (extenuating circumstances, like when there was an entire toilet roll of paper dropped in the toilet this morning – we both know I’m joking) – and he’s my flesh and blood, I have not left my own children miles away to come and take care of someone else’s privileged brats.)

12) brand new mums who freak out about everything (I used to be one of em. Sometimes I might still be.)

13) mums who are bringing like, their fourth kid and are super Been There Done That Stop Bawling, The Stairs You Tumbled Down Are Foam-Padded

And then of course there’s that humbling reminder of the impossibility of stereotyping – like, the moment you get judgmental something comes along and totally throws your conclusions about someone else’s parenting under a bus….

Chances are you think that mum is being snippy because she’s prejudiced about you being Asian/ Caucasian/ a mum/ crazy (in your parenting) and she’s just having her period. Or thinking you are being snippy because you’re prejudiced about her being Asian/ Caucasian/ a mum/ crazy (in her parenting). Because we as parents are oh-so-secure about our choices all the time.

<gravely> “Mum. I need help.” I snap out of my reverie to find Rockstar perched on top of a giant ice cream cone, about chest-high for me. Not meant as a climbing frame, therefore having no handholds and not an easy climb, even for older children, but Rockstar makes it a point to climb that thing each time we visit. “Someone is shooting at me.” I follow Rockstar’s gaze just in time to see a boy of about 10 with one of those air-pressured foam ball guns pointing straight at us. Reluctantly, he angles it away.

“Was he shooting directly at you?” <grave nod>

“Did he actually hit you?” <another nod>

That just pisses me off. The balls don’t really hurt (though they are being shot at Rockstar at close range). We’ve played with other older boys before, exchanging shots often (though not at nearly such close range). But I’m annoyed because Rockstar was obviously not playing at shooting – he was nowhere near another gun, he was trying to clamber up the ice cream cone – and getting shot at for the fun of it by this boy who is fairly close to my 5ft 7 inch height. Somehow I don’t think he’s older than about 10, but he’s big. Chubby. My son is barely 100cm tall on a good day, and weighs in at 16kg.

While I’m still staring at them trying to figure if more than one had been shooting at Rockstar, a Cantonese-speaking mum comes in and says something to the collective group of local-looking boys, without looking at me. Immediately, my hackles rise. I know it’s possible we are all totally focussed on our own children, but I very much appreciate times like when Rockstar decides to try something funny on the bike several feet away from a busy intersection, and while collecting my frustrated, bawling child from under a bush I look up into the grey-green eyes of a mum who has actually asked her own child to wait for her across the street, then crossed back across the road to where we are and apologized for not stopping Rockstar behind her before crossing with her own child. It is an unexpected courtesy that I hope I might return to other mums as well.

There’s a bunch of older girls of various ethnicities (Asian, Caucasian) who have taken over all the stools and buckets, and have diligently sorted 80% of the foam balls into their different colors. (Obviously no one else is allowed to play with those). Rockstar methodically climbs up and down while clutching a stool, insisting on playing near them, and sure enough loses his stool. He does open his mouth about it but is ignored and turns back to me with s shrug. I can’t climb up there (which was why I did warn he’d be playing at his own peril), so I’m looking around in vain for another stool while still another child keeps trying to pull Rockstar’s remaining hard-won bucket of foam balls out of my hands. (His mum, sporting a heavy Aussie accent, will eventually haul him kicking and bawling away from Rockstar in a later fight over Rockstar’s bucket before I can reach the two. Seriously, some days it’s like the Wild Wild West but with kids and foam balls. Guard your turf or lose it. I hate kiddie fights, but am thinking there’s still something they learn, from being exposed to so many different personalities and pack behavior.)

I’m surprised when Rockstar starts running up and down with another boy from what I thought was the same play group as the boy who had been shooting at him. “My friend’s helping me, Mum,” Rockstar tells me delightedly. They don’t managed to get any stools back from the Scary Girl Gang on the upper deck, but I watch them shrug it off and start a game of tag, never mind Rockstar barely reaches the other boy’s chest. (Whose mother will later tell me he’s 7+.)

Awhile later, his mum comes up – yes, the same Cantonese-speaking woman whom I was all judgmental over – and as she loudly ticks her son off for messing up his clothes (which btw look fine to me), I come up and thank him for taking care of Rockstar.

The grateful look I get from him is…. hugely rewarding. And it soon turns into a conspiratorial grin as his mum then encourages him to practice his English with Rockstar (who has stopped running about to say goodbye/ thank you/ are you still playing or leaving?). It turns out they’re from Macau, have come over to HK for the holidays, and he only ever gets some English practice in school. “You know how to speak English right, go and practice,” his mum tells him. They were going to leave, but she decides to extend his playtime. When I try to strike up a conversation with her, I find she really doesn’t speak any English herself, not even the few words I have to use because I don’t know the Cantonese for them. And just like that, Rockstar has himself a 7yr old buddy for the day, who follows him around rest of their session together.

Stay tuned, for more Tales From The Wild Wild West.