Yanwen’s blog

As a parent of a daughter, reading The Lying Life of Adults by Elena Ferrante was an emotionally difficult experience.

Giovanna, the novel’s teenage protagonist, is every parent’s worst nightmare—angry, unpredictable, and determined to dismantle the moral authority of the adults around her. Ferrante has always excelled at portraying the frailties and contradictions of adult life, but this novel struck closer to the bone: What happens when your own child begins to see you as the enemy?

Giovanna is rebellious, cruel in moments, and cold in others. Her descent into adolescent fury begins with a single overheard insult, but it quickly spirals into distrust, self-sabotage, and alienation.

As a parent, it’s hard not to think: Her parents weren’t saints, but they didn’t deserve this. They didn’t deserve to become targets of such harsh judgment from their daughter.

And then there’s Vittoria—the aunt. Mysterious, venomous. She becomes a symbol of the chaotic adulthood Giovanna longs to explore, precisely because it seems so brutally honest, in contrast to her parents’ guarded world. But Vittoria’s world isn’t freer or kinder—it’s just more raw, more wounded.

What terrified me wasn’t that adults were exposed as flawed—this we all know—but that the generational bridge between parent and child could collapse so easily and completely. That parental love was so fragile. That a child could decide, seemingly overnight, that love had been a lie all along. And that parents, no matter how earnest or well-meaning, are so vulnerable to rejection.

Postscript: What Ferrante Taught Us About Parenting

Reading The Lying Life of Adults felt like watching a slow-motion car crash—inescapable and devastating. Giovanna’s sudden transformation—her defiance, her bitterness, her urge to unravel everything her parents stood for—felt more like a cautionary tale than fiction. I kept asking myself: Is there a way to avoid raising a daughter like Giovanna? To not become the kind of parent a child fights against?

I’ve come to believe that, instead of offering moral lectures or pretending to be perfect, perhaps honesty really is the best policy. We need to allow our children to question us without fear, see us as what we truly are, and we need to be willing to listen—even when it’s uncomfortable.

Ultimately we can’t choose our children’s paths. But we can walk beside them as loved ones, long enough—and openly enough—so that when they need, they’ll know where home is—and that it’s a place where truth, love, and forgiveness live.

July 7, 2025

It began on the morning of July 5th, while I was walking with my daughter along the Brooklyn waterfront. As we passed a poplar tree, I plucked a leaf and showed her a childhood game we used to play. I curled four fingers inward to meet my thumb to show her the game.

The Leaf‑Pop Game

The game goes like this: you curl the four fingers of one hand inward to meet the thumb, forming a circle with a hollow center. Then you place the round blade of a poplar leaf over the opening, aim well and give it a quick slap with your other palm—POP!—and the leaf breaks, its echo ringing like a tiny firecracker.

Sometimes, when the leaf tore silently—what we called a “哑炮” (“dud”)—everyone laughed, and the unlucky player was left with a stinging hand and bruised pride. We’d slap harder, chasing the loudest pop.

The Petiole Tug‑of‑War

We didn't throw away the rest of the leaf. We'd keep for another game the petiole of the leaf—that long, string-like stem of the leaf. It's called “拉钩,” like tiny tug‑of‑war ropes: two players would hook their leaf petioles together and then pull, each trying to break the other’s petiole without snapping their own. The one whose petiole stayed intact was the winner.

Next, I told my daughter that we didn't have money and toys, but we had plenty of time and a lot of play time. We played many games and made our own toys with whatever materials we got hold of.

Clay Pots, Ice‑Stick Swords, and Other Lost Inventions

We invented games and toys from whatever we could find. Even now, whenever I see something discarded or ordinary, my mind still wonders how it might be repurposed or recycled—how something that looks like junk could become a toy, or a useful thing. And even today, whenever I have a piece of paper in hand, I always think of folding it into some toy like bird or flower or pig or dog.

• “炸锅锅”: a game we enjoyed playing. We mixed dirt and water, shaped it into clay pots, slapped them on the ground, and thrilled at the crisp explosion.

• Popsicle‑stick treasures: materials for toys. We picked and saved these sticks and used them to make whatever we imagined.

• Pencil knives & wood scraps: we carved our own slingshots and wooden “handguns” with found wood and our pencil knives.

• Dragonfly hunts: catching dragonflies in summer was a fun summer thrill, with the exhilaration of a swift catch.

• Bottle‑cap markets: some toys that cost money that we didn’t have, like color glass marble, we bartered our handmade toys to kids who did.

I grew peppers and green beans using discarded broken pan. Every alley and field was both playground and treasure-island.

A Contrast

My daughter listened, wide‑eyed. Her room closet was overflown with toys that I could never have imagined, yet she never seemed to have time for them, with all kinds of interest classes, music, sport, art, etc, the modern arms race of childhood achievement leaves little space and time for creation or aimless wonder.

Back in our childhood, unstructured play was abundant. We had little in material things but plenty of time to imagine, create, and explore. Today, the contrast is stark: material abundance meets time scarcity, and free play has become a rare luxury. Maybe it's time we loosen our children’s tightly packed schedules, giving them back the space and time to wander, to tinker, and to simply be themselves.

Why Record This?

“These stories are history,” I told my daughter. “If I don’t tell them—and write them—they’ll disappear.”

One leaf, one story, passed down before it fades.

July 5, 2025

I've been working on an article about China’s fourth-generation universities, but despite days of effort, I haven’t made much progress. Other writing projects have also been postponed.

Then something happened today—something small, perhaps, but truly meaningful to me. I want to write it down before the memory fades.

We’ve been staying at my son’s place since July 3rd. Early this morning, my daughter came over and the three of us went for a walk along the Brooklyn waterfront. Afterward, we wandered east in search of breakfast. That’s when we noticed the empty streets and a line of NO PARKING signs.

NO PARKING
Macy’s 4th of July Fireworks Spectacular
Thurs., July 3, 2025, 8:00 PM through July 5, 2025, 1:00 AM
Violators will be towed.
New York Police Department

We had parked our car around 5:30 PM on July 3rd, not seeing any signs at the time. If the no-parking rule went into effect at 8:00 PM, that gave less than three hours' notice—far short of the 24-hour minimum we thought was required. We assumed Joralemon Street wouldn’t be part of the restricted area.

Still uneasy, we rushed over to check. When we arrived, our car was gone.

We stood there, stunned. Speechless. Our minds immediately raced to the worst: the car had been towed, we’d have to navigate a maze of bureaucracy, pay a heavy fine… What a way to ruin a wonderful weekend!

Before I could even finish a thought, my daughter had already pulled out her phone, looked up the relevant number, and made the call. Within minutes, she got through to someone, found out exactly where the car was, and confirmed that there would be no fine—since it had been legally parked. Unbelievable fast turn of event!

Just like that, what could’ve been a full-day ordeal was resolved in ten minutes. A happy ending, thanks entirely to her quick thinking and problem-solving ability.

It reminded me of a friend of mine back in Kansas. She had just turned 65 and was trying to apply for Medicare Part A. Her English isn't strong, and she struggled to understand the process. She called her daughter—the only person she could turn to—left messages asking for help, but never heard back. Eventually, she called me to help with the application.

The contrast stayed with me.
I feel so blessed to have a daughter who not only shows up but steps up—especially in moments like this.

Recently, I came across a book titled Einstein Never Used Flash Cards: How Our Children Really Learn—and Why They Need to Play More and Memorize Less by Kathy Hirsh-Pasek and Roberta Michnick Golinkoff (2004). The core message is clear: rote memorization, early academic drills, and flash-card routines often do more harm than good for young children. What children truly need is unstructured play, free-style exploration, and interaction—these are the building blocks of cognitive, emotional, and social development.

What struck me most was this: the book confirmed that I had gotten many things wrong as a parent.

I didn’t realize, back then, that play is not a distraction from learning—it is learning and the best way to learn. I used to believe that educational success came from structure, discipline, and early academic head starts. So I pushed my children toward “productive” activities. Even with toys, I encouraged “educational” toys, and steered them away from aimless play. Looking back now, I see how little room there was for joy without a purpose.

This pattern isn't unique to me. In today’s early childhood education, free play—the kind done purely for fun—has become rare. From as early as two or three, many parents begin enrolling their kids in a flurry of classes, hoping they’ll gain a competitive edge, fearing the kids will fall behind if they don't. Even toys must come with the promise of “brain development.” A game must teach math, vocabulary, or logic. Otherwise, it’s considered a waste of time.

Like many anxious parents, I was afraid that if I let my children just play, they would miss out on something crucial. But I never paused to ask: what science supports this early push? What proof is there that early reading, memorization, or math drills actually help long-term development? I suspect most parents don’t know either. We’re just afraid to be the only ones not doing enough.

This book challenges all that—with research, not just opinion.

One experiment compared two groups of mice: one raised in a cage filled with toys, and another in the wild. Surprisingly, the mice raised in free nature—not the toy-filled cages—developed more brain synapses. Why? Because they faced real-world complexity: spiders, wildcats, choosing leaders, grooming, mates and social play. These rich sensory experiences naturally stimulated brain growth. No artificial “brain boosters” required.

I also used to believe that more synapses meant better learning. But the human brain, like other biological systems, thrives not on more, but on efficient organization. Disorganized synaptic growth can overwhelm the neural system and harm development. Each synapse can only process so much. Overstimulating infants with too many inputs—however “educational”—may actually lead to neural crowding rather than enrichment.

Einstein, the book points out, wasn’t subjected to early academic pressure. He was allowed to grow without overcrowding his developing brain. That space, paradoxically, helped set the stage for his intellectual breakthroughs later.

The Role of Play

Play is to a child what gasoline is to a car—it is the fuel of learning.

What matters isn’t the game itself, but whether the child is engaged and joyful. Whether they’re stacking blocks or pretending to be dragons, the key is that they choose it. Their curiosity, not our checklist, should lead the way.

When parents play with their children, their role isn’t to direct but to observe: What lights up their child? What are they drawn to? What new skill are they working on? The parent’s job is to notice those small moments—and gently help them stretch just a little further.

But I Didn’t Get Everything Wrong

Of course, I didn’t get everything wrong. Looking back, there are things I’m proud of. I spent a lot of time talking with my children—really talking to them as if they understood, even when they were very young. According to the authors, this kind of rich, responsive conversation helps build vocabulary, comprehension, and cognitive flexibility.

I also read books with them regularly, which nurtured not only their language and attention span but also our emotional connection. And I made sure to engage them in the kinds of interactions that develop self-control and social skills—like role-playing, turn-taking, negotiating disagreements, practicing empathy, and learning how to be part of a team.

Parenting with Less—and Better

Being a good parent is never easy. One moment of overcorrection, one missed opportunity, and we start wondering if we’ve done lasting damage. But this book reminds me: raising children doesn’t follow absolute rules—not even relative ones. There’s only one guiding principle that seems to hold up across the research and common sense alike: Less is often more.

The most enlightened way to raise a child isn’t to constantly “shift into a higher gear,” but to know when to slow down—or even coast for a while. Come to think of it, that’s probably good advice for adults too.

If we want to reach our goals, one of the most valuable skills we need is the ability to manage our time effectively. But real time management isn’t just about calendars and checklists—it’s about making strategic choices, learning to prioritize what truly matters, gaining control over how we spend our energy, and investing our time where it yields the highest long-term return.

To that end, here are three keys about time management:

1. Allocating time to what truly matters.

2. Your ability to control your own time.

3. Maximize the value of each hour spent.

This framework becomes even more powerful when paired with the Four-Quadrant Rule of time management, a simple but profound tool that helps us identify how to best use our time.

The Four Quadrants of Time

Every task or activity we face can be sorted into one of four categories:

• Important and Urgent

• Important but Not Urgent

• Urgent but Not Important

• Not Urgent and Not Important

Note: “Important” refers to whether activities helps you grow as a person. Even if a task is mandatory or urgent, if it doesn’t contribute to your long-term development, it’s not truly important.

Let’s look at what each quadrant teaches us.

1. Eliminate the Trivial--Not Urgent and Not Important

Step one: become aware of and eliminate activities that are neither urgent nor important, that is, pure time-wasters. This includes things like aimlessly scrolling on your phone or engaging in meaningless socializing. Many people complain that they don’t have time, yet still spend hours each day on these distractions.

2. Invest in What Matters in the Long Run

Step two, the important but not urgent tasks are where the magic happens. This includes activities like reading, learning, exercising, skill-enhancing and building long-term relationships. These actions yield the highest returns over time. They require discipline, persistence, and what ancient thinkers called "绵力" (a soft, sustained force).

3. Plan Ahead to Avoid Crisis

The important and urgent category often includes tasks we let slide until the last minute—a project we procrastinated on, or an unexpected deadline. While some emergencies are unavoidable, many arise from a lack of planning or procrastination. If we prepare in advance, these tasks become manageable routines, not last-minute crises.

4. Delegate the Noise

Last, urgent but not important tasks are best handled by others. Ordering food or calling a car may be necessary, but they don’t contribute to personal growth. They don't make you smart and better. Delegating these tasks—or spending some money to save time—allows you to focus on what really matters in life.

Common Pitfalls and How to Break the Cycle

Most people fall into the trap of constantly reacting to what’s urgent and important. By day’s end, they’re physically and mentally exhausted and are too weak to resist the temptation of trivial distractions. This creates a vicious cycle: high stress, followed by low-value relaxation.

To break the cycle, start with awareness and avoid procrastination. Eliminate nonessential distractions, then reinvest that time into activities that help you grow in the long run.

For example, instead of procrastinating on writing until a deadline threatens, finish the task early and preserve your energy. This boosts your sense of control, making it easier to resist time-wasting activities and invest in your own development.

Eventually, you’ll notice a shift: less urgent tasks, trivial distractions losing their appeal. Your calendar fills with things that are important but not urgent. This shift is the key to personal and professional growth.

Remember:

• Plan ahead to reduce emergencies.

• Stay away from low-value distractions.

• Invest your best hours in high-return tasks.

• Delegate the non-important tasks when you can.

"Spend money to save time." It’s one of the best investments you’ll ever make. Mastering your time means mastering your life.

This post is dedicated to my students and myself.