A child who has once been pleased with a tale likes, as a rule, to have it retold in almost the same words, but this should not lead parents to treat printed fairy stories as formal texts. It is always much better to tell a story than read it out of a book, and, if a parent can produce what, in the actual situation of the time and the child, is an improvement on the printed text, so much the better.

    A charge made against fairy tales is that they harm the child by frightening him or making him sad thinking. To prove the latter, one would have to show in a controlled experiment that children who have read fairy stories were more often sorry for cruelty than those who had not. As to fears, there are, I think, some cases of children being dangerously terrified by some fairy story. Often, however, this arises from the child having heard the story once. Familiarity with the story by repetition turns the pain of fear into the pleasure of a fear faced and mastered.

    There are also people who object to fairy stories on the grounds that they are not objectively true, that giants, witches, two - headed dragons, magic carpets, etc. do not exist; and that, instead of being fond of the strange side in fairy tales, the child should be taught to learn the reality by studying history. I find such people, I must say so peculiar (奇怪的, 异常的) that I do not know how to argue with them. If their cases were sound, the world should be full of mad men attempting to fly from New York to Philadelphia on a stick or covering a telephone with kisses in the belief that it was their beloved girl -friend.

    No fairy story ever declared to be a description of the real world and no clever child has ever believed that it was.

    Many parents have learned the hard way that what sounds like open communication is often the very thing that closes a youngster's ears and month. One common mistake is The Lecture, the long monologue that often starts with “When I was your age….” Eighteen-year-old Kelly calls lectures “long, one-side discussions in which I don't say much.”

    Kids reflexively（条件反射地） shut down in the face of a lecture. Their eyes glaze over(呆滞), and they don't register any incoming information. Listen to 13-year-old Sarah describe her least favorite times with her mom and dad. “First, they scream. Then comes the ‘We're so disappointed' speech. Then the ‘I never did that to my parents' lecture begins. After that, even if they realize how ridiculous they sound, they never take it back.”

    Lines like “When you have children of your own, you'll understand” have been seriously said by parents since time immemorial. But many of our expert parents, like Bobby, a registered nurse and mother of three, feel that by falling back on clichés（陈词滥调） to justify our actions, we weaken our position.

    Since kids are creatures of the here and now, the far-off future has no relevance to them. Therefore, good communicators like Bobby suggest, “Give specific reasons for your actions in present language: ‘I'm not letting you go to the party because I don't think there will be enough adult supervisions（监护）.'”

    Betty, who lives in Missiouri, uses an indirect approach. “I find that warnings are accepted more readily if I discuss a news article on a subject I am concerned about. My husband and I talk about it while our children absorb the information. Then they never think I'm preaching.”

    This really helped when Betty's kids began driving. Instead of constantly repeating “Don't drink; don't speed,” she would talk about articles in the paper and express sympathy for the victims of a car crash. Betty made no special effort to draw her kids into the conversation. She depended on a teen-ager's strong desire to put in his opinions-especially if he thinks he isn't being asked for them.

    A new study of 8,000 young people in the Journal of Health and Social Behavior shows that although love can make adults live healthily and happily, it is a bad thing for young people. Puppy love, (早恋) may bring stress for young people and can lead to depression. The study shows that girls become more depressed than boys, and younger girls are the worst of all.

    The possible reason for the connection between love and higher risk of depression for girls is “loss of self”. According to the study, even though boys would say “lose themselves in a romantic relationship”, this “loss of self” is much more likely to lead to depression when it happens to girls. Young girls who have romantic relationships usually like hiding their feelings and opinions. They won't tell that to their parents.

    Dr Marianm Kaufman, an expert on young people problems, says 15% to 20% young people will have depression during their growing. Trying romance often causes the depression. She advises kids not to jump into romance too early. During growing up, it is important for young people to build strong friendships and a strong sense of self. She also suggests the parents should encourage their kids to keep close to their friends, attend more interesting school activities and spend enough time with family.

    Parents should watch for signs of depression-eating or mood changes-and if they see signs from their daughters or sons, they need to give help. The good news is that the connection between romance and depression seems to become weak with age. Love will always make us feel young, but only maturity gives us a chance to avoid its bad side effects.

Maths and Music

    An excellent way to kill a conversation is to say you are a mathematician. Tell others you are also a musician, however, and they will be hooked. Although there are obvious similarities between mathematical and musical activity, there is no direct evidence for the kind of magical connection many people seem to believe in.

    I'm partly referring here to the "Mozart effect", where children who have been played Mozart compositions are supposedly more intelligent, including at maths, than other children. It is not hard to see why such a theory would be popular: we would all like to become better at maths without putting in any effort. But the conclusions of the experiment that expressed the belief in the Mozart effect were much more modest. If you want your brain to work better, you clearly have to put in hard work. As for learning to play the piano, it also takes effort.

    Surely a connection is quite reasonable. Both maths and music deal with abstract structures, so if you become good at one, then it is likely that you become good at something more general that helps you with the other. If this is correct, it would show a connection between mathematical and musical ability. It would be more like the connection between abilities at football and tennis. To become better at one, you need to improve your fitness and coordination (协调). That makes you better at sport and probably helps with the other.

    Abstract structures don't exist only in maths and music. If you learn a language then you need to understand its abstract structures like grammar. Yet we don't hear people asking about a connection between mathematical and linguistic (语言的) ability. Maybe this is because grammar feels mathematical, so it wouldn't be surprising that mathematicians were better at learning grammar. Music, however, is strongly tied up with feelings and can be enjoyed even by people who know little about it. As such, it seems different from maths, so there wouldn't be any connection between the two.

    Let's see how we solve problems of the "A is to B as C is to D" kind. These appear in intelligence tests but they are also central to both music and maths. Consider the opening of Mozart's Eine Kleine Nachtmusik (小夜曲). The second phrase is a clear answer to the first. The listener thinks: "The first phrase goes upward and uses the notes of a G major chord (和弦); what would be the corresponding phrase that goes downward and uses the notes of a D7?" Music is full of puzzles like this. If you are good at them, expectations will constantly be set up in your mind. The best moments surprise you by being unexpected, but we need the expectations in the first place.

    I have never been a fan of the phrase, "No pains, no gains." I prefer the alternative version, "No pains, no pains!" When it comes to exercise, for example, I learned years ago that pushing through pain was more likely to lay me up with an aching back than to leave me feeling strong and healthy.

    But there are times when stressful situations actually do lead to greater happiness. A new study published in the Journal of Happiness Studies found that people who pursue (追求) goals that are tough to achieve feel more stress in the moment, but greater happiness in the aftermath particularly if they feel connected to others along the way.

    The researchers concluded that happiness increases when people develop greater competence in something and greater competence only comes when people keep on working through the stress-inducing phase of trying, fighting, and trying again to learn and grow. If the psychological needs to be autonomous or self-directed, and to be connected to others are met, the momentary stresses will be less acute, and the resulting happiness will be more lasting.

    This idea reminds me of another often quoted phrase, which I have heard in reference to challenging tasks, such as exercise —"Fill-in-the-blank-stressful-task is the worst thing to do, but the greatest thing to have done." In other words, suffering from the stress of an exercise class that leaves us feeling sweat-drenched shouldn't lead us to walk away from exercising. And if we can pass those stressful moments with a friend, colleague or family member who is trustworthy and supportive, all will be better.

    As I travel my positive path, I'm certainly not seeking out stress. But life will offer me plenty of it, whether I ask for it or not. My task is to choose wisely when and how to face it head-on, knowing that happiness awaits on the other side.

Long ago, poets in Japan listened, watched, and caught the beauty of the earth's songs like the raindrops. They did this with the tiniest poems in the world, called haiku. A haiku is a poem that is just three lines and seventeen syllables long. And the poets who wrote them watched and listened, not only with their eyes and ears, but also with their hearts!

In their haiku, the early Japanese poets caught the colours, sounds, and beauties of the seasons of the year. They sang of their islands' beauties. Their miniature poems were not meant to fully describe a scene or to explain it but rather were a flash impression. 

Interestingly enough, Japanese poetry has had a long and colourful history. In the prehaiku period in the early eighth century, Japanese poets wrote katauta, poems in a question-and-answer form, using two people. Each three-line verse contained about seventeen syllables that could be delivered easily in one breath—just as one would naturally ask or answer a question. This has remained the basic pattern for traditional Japanese poetry throughout the centuries. 

Another form that appeared was the tanka, which contained five lines and thirty-one syllables(5, 7, 5, 7, 7), written by either one or two persons. From that evolved(逐步形成) the renga, which contained more than one verse, or link. Written by three or more people, it could have as many as 100 links! The first verse of the renga introduced a subject. It had three lines and was called hokku, or starting verse. Renga parties became a great pleasure. 

Around 1450, haikai no renga became popular. This style of linked verse contained puns (双关) and was humorous and amusing. The opening three lines were still called a hokku, and from haikai and hokku the term haiku evolved.