Every man wants his son to be somewhat of a clone, not in features but in footsteps. As he grows, you also age, and your ambitions become more unachievable. You begin to realize that your boy, in your footsteps, could probably achieve what you hoped for. But footsteps can be muddied and they can go off in different directions.

    My son Jody has hated school since day one in kindergarten. Science projects waited until the last moment. Book reports weren't written until the final threat.

    I've been a newspaperman all my adult life. My daughter is a university graduate working toward her master's degree in English. But Jody? When he entered the tenth grade, he became a “vo-tech(技校)” student. They're called “motorheads” by the rest of the student body.

    When a secretary in my office first called him “motorhead”, I was shocked. “Hey, he's a good kid,” I wanted to say. “And smart, really.”

    I learned later that motorheads are, indeed, different. They usually have dirty hands and wear dirty work clothes. And they don't often make school honor rolls(光荣榜).

    But being the parent of a motorhead is itself an experience in education. We, who work in clean shirts in offices, don't have the abilities that motorheads have. I began to learn this when I had my car crashed. The cost to repair it was estimated at $800. “Hey, I can fix it,” said Jody. I doubted it, but let him go ahead, for I had nothing to lose.

    My son, with other motorheads, fixed the car. They got parts(零件) from a junkyard, and ability from vo-tech classes. The cost was $25 instead of $800.

Since that first repair job, a broken air-conditioner, a non-functioning washer and a non-toasting toaster have been fixed. Neighbors and co-workers trust their car repairs to him.

    These kids are happiest when doing repairs. They joke and laugh and are living in their own relaxed world. And their minds are bright in spite of their dirty hands and clothes.

    I have learned a lot from my motorhead: publishers need printers, engineers need mechanics, and architects need builders. Most importantly, I have learned that fathers don't need clones in footsteps or anywhere else.

My son may never make the school honor roll, but he made mine.

    An Indian movie about two sisters has become a huge hit in China. The Hindi language film, called Dangal, has earned almost $ 170 million in China since its release there on May 5.

    Much has been written about why Dangal has enjoyed such big success in China. Some people say one reason is that the film's star and producer, Aamir Khan. He is famous in India's Bollywood film industry. Two of his earlier films were also big hits in China.

    Khan's popularity was clear after he got more than 600,000 followers on the Chinese social media service Sina Weibo within two months of joining. But he is not the only reason that the Him strongly connects with audience across China. Media has pointed out how it shows similarities between parental systems in China and India.

    Dangal is based on the true story of a man who enjoyed the sport of wrestling (摔跤). He competed as a wrestler, but never could achieve his lifelong dream: winning a gold medal. As a father, he wanted his son to win the medal. But his wife only gives birth to daughters. So he finally decides to train them to be world-class wrestlers.

    The movie is more serious than most Bollywood productions, which tell happy love stories and include colorful music and dance performances.

    Edward Chan is a professor at the Hong Kong Polytechnic University. He says the strict way of parenting in the film is something people in China can easily relate to. “I think the father role described by the movie in India is quite similar to the culture, especially the traditional culture in China.”

    The Chinese government-supported Global Times newspaper pointed that movie critics (评论家) in China did not like Dangal. Most of them agree with the fact that the father in the film was forceful in pushing his daughters to become wrestlers. But the film Dangal is really aimed to educate children to work for their dreams.

    It was a comfortable sunny Sunday. I was going to meet an old university friend I hadn't seen for years, and was really excited.

    My train was running a little late, but that was no big problem - I could text him to say I would be delayed. He would understand. But… where was my mobile phone? I had that familiar sinking feeling. Yes, I'd left it at home.

    No mobile phone. I'm sure I'm not alone in feeling anxious, on edge and worried when I don't have my phone with me. In fact, I know I'm not alone: two-thirds of us experience 'nomophobia' (无手机恐惧症), the fear of being out of mobile phone contact.

    That's according to a study from 2012 which surveyed 1,000 people in the UK about their relationship with mobile phones.

    It says we check our mobile phones 34 times a day, and that 18-24 year-olds, especially girls, are the most likely to suffer fear of being without their mobiles: 77% of them say they are unable to be apart from their phones for more than a few minutes.

    Do you have nomophobia?

    You never turn your phone off

    You frequently(频繁地) check for texts, missed calls and emails

    You always take your phone to the bathroom with you

    You never let the battery run out

    It's funny to think that around 20 years ago the only people with mobile phones would be businessmen carrying their large, plastic 'bricks'. Of course, these days, mobile phones are everywhere. A UN study from this year said there would be more mobile phones than people across the world by the end of 2020.

    And when there are more phones than people in the world, maybe it's time to ask who really is in charge(主管)? Are you in control of your phone, or does your phone control you?

    So, what happened with my university friend? When I arrived a few minutes late he just laughed and said: "You haven't changed at all – still always late!" And we had a great afternoon catching up, full of jokes and stories, with no desire(欲望) to check my phone.

    Not having it with me felt strangely free. Maybe I'll leave it at home on purpose next time.

    Like many other people, I love my smart phone, which keeps me connected with the larger world that can go anywhere with me. I also love my laptop, because it holds all of my writing and thoughts. In spite of this love of technology, I know that there are times when I need to move away from these devices and truly communicate with others.

On occasion, I teach a course called History Matters for a group of higher education managers. My goals for the class include a full discussion of historical themes and ideas. Because I want students to thoroughly study the materials and exchange their ideas with each other in the classroom, I have a rule —no laptop, iPads, phones, etc. When students were told my rule in advance of the class, some of them were not happy.

    Most students assume that my reasons for this rule include unpleasant experiences in the past with students misusing technology. There's a bit of truth to that. Some students assume that I am anti-technology. There's no truth in that at all. I love technology and try to keep up with it, so I create to my students.

    The real reason why I ask students to leave technology at the door is that I think there are very few places in which we can have deep conversions and truly engage complex ideas. Interruptions by technology often break concentration and allow for too much dependence on outside information for ideas. I want students to dig deep within themselves for inspiration and ideas. I want them to push each other to think differently and make connections between the course materials and the class discussion.

    I've been teaching my history class in this way for many years and the evaluations reflect students' satisfaction with the environment that I create. Students realize that with deep conversation and challenge, they learn at a level that helps them keep the course materials beyond the classroom.

    I'm not saying that I won't ever change my mind about technology use in my history class, but until I hear a really good reason for the change, I'm sticking to my plan. A few hours of technology-free dialogue is just too sweet to give up.

    A survey said the average Asian dad spent one minute a day with his children. I was shocked. I mean, a whole minute? Every day? Get real. Once a week maybe. The fact is, many Asian males are terrible at kid-related things. In fact, I am one of them.

    Child-rearing (养育) doesn't come naturally to guys. My mother knew the names of our teachers, best friends and crushes. My dad was only vaguely aware there were short people sharing the apartment. My mother bought healthy fresh food at the market every day. My dad would only go shopping when there was nothing in the fridge except a jar of butter. Then he'd buy beer. My mother always knew the right questions to ask our teachers. My dad would ask my English teacher if she could get us a discount on school fees. My mother served kid food to kids. My dad added chili sauce to everything, including our baby food.

    The truth is, mothers have superpowers. My son fell off a wall once and hurt himself all over. I demanded someone bring me a computer so I could google what to do. My wife ignored me and did some sort of chanting (咏诵) phrase such as" Mummy kiss it better," and cured 17 separate injuries in less than 15 seconds.

    Yes, mothers are incredible people, but they are not always correct. Yet honesty forces me to record the fact that mothers only know best 99.99 percent of the time. Here are some famous slip-ups.

    The mother of Bill Gates:" If you're going to drop out of college and hang out with your stupid friends, don't come running to me when you find yourself penniless." The mother of Albert Einstein:" When you grow up, you'll find that sitting around thinking about the nature of time and space won't pay the grocery bills." The mother of George W. Bush: "You'll never be like your dad, who became President of the United States and started his own war."