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But Then Again: Mary Schneider A teenager’s plan to prepare for college overseas is overtaken by call-up for National Service.
WHEN I first found out that my daughter would have to participate in the National Service programme next January, my brain went into overdrive. “Oh my God! What about her asthma and her allergies?” I said to a friend. “They will force her to march until her poor lungs can’t take it any more, and then deprive her of her inhaler. “And if that doesn’t kill her, she’ll be forced to eat fried rice or noodles containing prawns, causing her throat to swell up to such an extent that she won’t be able to breathe. I can just picture her gasping for air in the middle of some far-flung jungle as a bunch of people with no First Aid knowledge look on. “And if by some fluke, she does survive all of that, some lecherous instructor will molest her in the girls’ bathroom while she’s brushing her teeth.” “But surely, they’ve ironed out all those kinks from previous stints,” said my friend, sounding way too pragmatic for my liking. “Kinks? Since when were death and rape classified as kinks?” “I didn’t mean to suggest ...” “And what about the National Service camp in Penang that is on the verge of collapse after a recent landslide? What does that tell you about the planning that goes into these places? Doesn’t that indicate that one set of ‘kinks’ is being replaced by yet another?” “But isn’t the Government going to inspect all National Service camps to make sure they are safe?” “Yes, but I’m sure something else will happen that the organisers didn’t have the foresight or experience to think about.” “What else could happen?” “Well, there’s always food poisoning, gangsterism and violence.” “But these things have already happened.” “Exactly!” Fortunately, my daughter is not as paranoid as her mother. She is disappointed about being called up for National Service, but her grouch isn’t with the programme per se but with the timing of it. For the past six months, my daughter has been making plans for that period between finishing her SPM exams at the beginning of December and going off to college at the beginning of April next year. And no, those plans do not include daily activities like sleeping for 16 hours, sending text messages to her friends for two hours, updating her Facebook profile for one hour, hanging out at the shopping mall for four hours, watching TV for six hours, and learning that a day doesn’t have 29 hours. Among other plans, there were the French lessons that would have given her a head start with her college course work; the driving lessons that would have led to more independence; and the temporary job she was hoping would partially pay for her air ticket for an overseas trip to attend a family wedding next year. But enough of the whining. If participants succeed in fulfilling the objectives of the National Service programme, they will morph (in a mere three months) into people of character who take setbacks in their stride and try to look for the positive in every experience. Such people will go to college during the day, take extra lessons in the evening, hold down a job on the weekend, help the less fortunate, and take public transport without complaint. As a parent, I surely can’t complain about that. But there’s more. According to the great resource that is Wikipedia, the National Service has the following objectives: > Develop a young generation that is patriotic and loves its country. > Enhance unity among the multi-racial communities in the country. > Instill a spirit of caring and volunteerism among society. > Produce an active, intelligent and confident generation. > Develop positive characteristics among the younger generation through good values. > Develop a generation that will always obey the current government. So parents who wave goodbye to a bodoh child can look forward to welcoming home a new, improved, intelligent version after just 90 days of their teenager eating bad food, getting lost in the jungle and learning how to handle a rifle, among other character-building activities. As a parent, I surely can’t complain about that. Perhaps the people responsible for developing the programme ought to take part in the exercises themselves. As a parent, I surely wouldn’t complain about that. - The Star
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