No, It's Not Okay To Abuse Children (Part II)

There’s a big difference between having a kid, Barack Obama once said, and being a parent.

Giving birth to a child does not automatically make you a father or mother. Neither does it make you a person with the ability to make a child. It is, at its core, the courage to raise a child that makes you a parent.

But of course, being a parent means you can't escape the unpleasant responsibilities, the things-you-rather-not-do if you were given a choice. You cleanse and nourish and attire and cradle your newborn with no prior experience. You come back to a messy home after a long day at work and clean up all by yourself. You operate at full speed—get ready the kids for school, cook their meals, chauffeur them around— while surviving on minimal sleep or any personal time. When the rebellious child talks back, you embody the spirit of self-control and resist the temptation to retaliate in anger. When the plans for the weekend are derailed by an unexpected sickness, the thing to do—the only thing we can do—is to accept the situation, make necessary adjustments and move on.

This demands a big deal of us—to say the least—that from the day we brought our children into this world, our purpose is to love them, to empower them, to protect them.

Yet time and time again, we come across stories of how the leaders of the family fail to uphold the values and morales entrusted to them.

Let me give you the craziest of examples. About three weeks ago, horrific news broke of a 44 year-old man who had, over the course of two years—TWO YEARS—abused his children at the most inhumane of levels. You would have thought that possessing a black belt in the martial arts should be used to protect your family, this man would repeatedly punch and slap and kick and his biological children as if they were his punching-bags for his frustrations. The kids were assaulted at the slightest of instances and forced to live, eat, sleep in a makeshift "prison" at home, which was, according to the report, adopted from the concept of a "naughty-corner" and mutated into a zone of torture. Even after his actions came to light, he attempted to cover his tracks by manipulating the police into thinking his ex-wife was the culprit.

Children ate their own faeces out of hunger, the article reports.

Eventually, the five-year old girl died from repeated blows to her head. Her younger brother—though alive on the outside but dead on the inside—is unable to speak, severely malnourished and unable to stand independently, not to mention, the post traumatic stress disorder that would continue to plague his inner being for who knows how long.

I can't help but wonder, what could have possibly happened to the father—so terribly I must assume—that compelled him to commit such atrocious acts against his own flesh and blood? What kind of trauma did he have to suffer through as a child to think it was okay rain torment upon his own children?

What were the demons that drove him to the epicenter of lunacy, to a point where he placed his children upon the altars of death, where he no longer feels or thinks like a sane person, let alone as a father? Was it hate? Was it the ultimate exemplification of man's wickedness? Or was it a mirror of a similar experience the father himself had to go through when he was a kid? Whatever it was, courage was lost along the way.

But of course, you’re not like them.

More than just providing clothes and shelter, you're nurturing them with love. You're actively engaged, not neglectful. You're teaching empathy, not resorting to violence. You're opening doors to knowledge by sending them to school. You're safeguarding their childhood, not allowing exploitation. You're creating a healthy environment, free from drugs and smoking. By this measure, your dedication and love outshine many parents today.

But remember, this is just the beginning. The bare minimum. They require more. They are worthy of more.

​Pia Mellody, the addiction specialist, has this standard for parents that’s exceedingly high, seemingly impossible to meet: Anything less than nurturing is abuse.

She has seen it all—tens of thousands of addicts, their families, and trauma survivors. Every kind of emotional wound, she's encountered. Of course, most of them are not severe like the abuse case we just talked about. Many of them come from what we're discussing—or rather, they're resulted from the absence of what we’re discussing: Parents who never cheered their kids on, who never gave them room to breathe, who skimped on hugs, who didn't help them handle feelings, who never said sorry, who were always tied up with other pressing matters, who didn't communicate, who couldn't say, "I love you"—they're the ones we're talking about.

Every time I come across child abuse cases I'd always tell myself it can't get any worse than this, and then get stunned by another far, far worse not long down the road. Unprecedented cases claims the headlines, like that of a preschool teacher in Singapore who was caught, through the inhouse CCTVs, mistreating her children for, apparently, not drinking enough water (I wrote a short piece on this case when the news broke, and decided to use the same title for this piece, hence 'Part II'). Or the occasional sick and perverted instances of grown-ups sexually grooming innocent little children. It's even more sickening to know that the offenders are people whom the kids have unwaveringly entrusted them to do what they've been entrusted to do. More than the physical act of abuse in itself, the abuse of trust is a total abomination. But to torture helpless kids to the point of death for no reason other than the perpetrators can't live up to their role as protectors, what does it really say about us?

More accurately, what does it say about what could happen when leaders lose sight of their original purpose?

As C.S. Lewis wrote, “Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point.” And the testing point in our circuitry cannot go beyond what we believe to be our purpose as parents: To become the kind of parent that could do it—that could nurture and empower the child, that would exemplify the standards of excellence, that would constantly and irresistibly shower love upon them even when the situation doesn't warrant it.

When the pressure seems so insurmountable, so endless, so painful to handle, your courage makes you dive into the surf even though that’s almost certainly not going to be pleasant.

There is a big difference between having a kid and being a parent. Being a parent is about empowerment. Being a parent is about nurturing. Being a parent is about courage.

Anything less than that is a form of abuse.

Whatever you deem important for your home—these are habits. They’re the best rewards you get from always doing the right thing. They are not something you declare, like bankruptcy. They are something you earn, that become part of you, the parent, the leader of your household. Just as a writer becomes one by writing—courage is built in you by being.

Be strong.

Be courageous.

That's all they need.