The Sufiah Yusuf case begs reflection - on raising children. There is a lot about the case that would no doubt leave many a parent stumped and stymied. As parents, we raise our children the way we think fit under the social and economic circumstances that we find ourselves in. How they would eventually turn out is anybody's guess really. Our tools (for me, anyway) are the education and the upbringing that we ourselves had. Parenting is not a skill to be learnt from schools or books. Or is it? Parenting is a know-how that we pick up as we go along, with each child. Really?

Sufiah's parents believed that they had come up with the best way to school their children - on a strict regime at home under freezing conditions (according to media reports). And why shouldn't they? The three elder siblings of Sufiah - no less intelligent, surely - seemingly turned out alright. So what happened with her? I can only speculate (with no attempt at being Freud).
All parents know that each of their children is different, and cannot be treated like another product on an assembly line. What more a prodigious child. Is she then a victim of circumstances, of well-intentioned parents who had taken the one-size-fits-all approach? Then again it is not her academic achievement that is in question here. Being able to gain entry into Oxford Univ. at 12 was undoubtedly success personified. This alone would have augmented her parents' confidence in their homegrown education system. But what have haunted me since was the mother's fear that it could have been their desire for success that turned the daughter against them. Were they bent purely on academic success that they failed to pay attention to Sufiah's emotional make-up?

As she ponders her daughter's fate, I was drawn to reflect on mine. Being a mother of three, I had my fair share of the challenges of raising children. They are now young adults, trying to carve out a life on their own. They did not turn out as I had wanted them too. And what did I want? That they all enter university and graduate, albeit not necessarily with flying colours nor in the course that I would have preferred. Not all of them did - and I agonised over the 'why' umpteen times.

I did not come from a rich family. There was always food on the table, but no luxuries nor extravagances. My mother was a traditional housewife whose preoccupation was cooking for the household - a husband, a sister, seven children and the frequent (some daily) visitors. It was a mundane life that I recoiled from, helped along by her constant reminder that I had to do well in my studies if I did not want to be bound to the kitchen my whole life. A view that my father shared wholeheartedly albeit not quite in the same vein. For her, it sufficed that I always managed to advance to the next level each year, and my bringing home report cards that had no red marks. My father was the one who set the standards. He was not easy to please. I found myself having to perform up to his expectations every time although he never expressed it. Hence, I grew up with the fear of failing academically, of letting him down. I studied hard in school and always made the grade all the way to university. And, with God's benevolence, I have a good life.

In raising the children, I harped on academic achievement as the only way to success in life. I enrolled them in good schools which we had to pay for. I failed to realise that it must have been difficult for my children to emulate me because they are different in nature. While I had hoped to inspire them to do their best, I failed to appreciate the differences in their ability, needs and aspirations. I never asked them what they wanted. I should have raised them to realise their own ambitions, instead of pandering to mine. Then I realised that my upbringing had been far more significant in the way I raised my children than I had bargained for. I forgot that they were growing up in a different time altogether from that of mine. Perhaps I had imposed standards and values which were not necessarily consistent with theirs, and the only way for them to be true to themselves was to 'fail' me.

I should have devoted my time to helping them realise their individuality and nurturing their inclination, instead of casting a mould for them. It is a lesson learnt and I am humbled by it. I have learnt to let go and can only pray for their happiness. While they are not all graduates, they have qualities that I am proud of which will no doubt help them achieve the kind of success that they want. I have resigned myself to acceptance and while I empathise, I hope that Sufiah's mother can do the same.

Are we making too much of Sufiah Yusuf? This is a case thousands of miles away that has some do-gooders ruffled beyond their senses. Don't we have girls on our own shores who have for some reason or other joined the world's oldest profession? What makes the news? That she was a Maths. prodigy who had gained a place in the prestigious Oxford Uni. at the tender age of 12? Of course that was newsworthy and I remember feeling quite elated as I did last Sunday reading about Cassandra Yong, dubbed the piano princess' in the NST. But does she merit a rescue from the Govt. (or us for that matter)? Is there a save-the prostitutes campaign that has escaped me? I watched the video-interview that the London newspaper had with her, and no where did I sense a call for help! She was actually quite nonchalant about her 'job', and sees no stigma attached to it. In fact, I thought she's enjoying the fruits of her 'labour'.

So why the fuss? Because this is a Muslim girl? Granted that we Muslims have an obligation to see that others are guided onto the 'right' path when they have gone astray. But this is a case thousands of miles away. This is a 23 year old who, prodigy or not, would have weighed her options and made her choice as she deemed fit. Not unlike we mere mortals with average intelligence. Surely her mother and her siblings would have sought help from the local resources. It is not as if the UK is void of Muslim organisations/community services that would be more than willing to exercise their religious prerogative. At the risk of seeming callous, I would say this is really a personal crisis, that does not merit a government involvement, and better resolved by the family, one way or another.

But what should concern us is our ability to handle child prodigies. Have we got such a mechanism in place? Is there provision in our education system for precocious children? Rare though they may be, we should be ready to handle them when they appear. Can we even recognise one among the millions?

Lately, there is the case of Adi, supposedly a Maths. genius for one so young. What's been done about him? The last I read, the situation with him was not quite what it should be if we are indeed concerned about child prodigies. This is a matter that warrants intervention, instead of leaving it to the parents alone. I also recall many years ago of the child (from Kedah?) who could recite the Quran from a very early age. Having received all that publicity then in the media, he is now a mere farm hand. What ever happened to the prodigiousness? Did he lose it, or did we?