Is there a magic cutoff period when children become responsible for their own actions? Is there a wonderful moment when parents can become spectators in the lives of their children and shrug, “It’s their life,” and feel nothing?

When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital passage waiting for doctors to put a few stitches (缝线) in my son’s head. I asked, “When do you stop worry?” The nurse said, “When they get out of the accident stage.” My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.

When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little chair in a classroom and heard how one of my children talked continually and disrupted the class. As if to read my mind, a teacher said. “Don’t worry, they all go through this stage and then you can sit back, relax and enjoy them.” My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.

When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime waiting for the phone to ring, the cars to come home, the front door to open. A friend said, “They’re trying to find themselves. Don’t worry, in a few years, you can stop worrying. They’ll adults.” My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.

By the time I was 50, I was sick and tired of being weak. I was still worrying over my children, but there was a new wrinkle, there was nothing I could do about it. My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.

I continued to suffer from their failures, and be absorbed in their disappointments. My friends said that when my kids got married, I could stop worrying and lead my own life. I wanted to believe that, but I was haunted by my mother’s warm smile and her occasional “You look pale. Are you all right? Call me the minute you get home. Are you depressed about something?” Can it be that parents are sentenced to a lifetime of worry?

One of my children telephoned me last month, saying, “Where were you? I’ve been calling for three days, and no one answered. I was worried.”

I smiled a warm smile.

Have you ever splashed out (花大笔钱) on a present for someone you love, spending far more than you would on yourself? 【小题1】.

Splashing out on close relatives may be related to evolutionary psychology. Evolutionary psychology claims that, given the level of familiarity, relatives will usually be given more. 【小题2】. “Since my close relatives share more genes with me, natural selection has selected for the way of investing in close relatives,” says Sigal Tifferet.

Our emotional intelligence (or EQ) may also play a role in determining the extent to which we splash out. Those with higher EQ spent more money on gifts for others, especially people they were close to. 【小题3】. “The idea is that people with higher emotional understanding can better predict their own emotions, as well as those of the receiver,” Pillai says.

【小题4】. Experts have recognized plenty of others reasons, from cheering someone up to the self-interested. One interesting finding was that married couples in the US, where the divorce rate is high, gave more gifts to each other than married couples in Japan, where the divorce rate is relatively low.       

Yet if we splash out on friends or relatives, that may be nothing compared to what we spend on our kids. Again, this may be partly down to evolution — a desire by the old generation to help descendants(后代). Research suggests that the lower your income, the bigger part of it you spend on children, compared to more wealthy families. 【小题5】.

I remember walking across campus to my dad's office every day after school for over a decade. Upon my arrival，I would find my dad siting at his desk，surrounded by piles of papers and books. Although the empty chair sitting beside him was probably for a colleague in need of guidance or a college student seeking scheduling help，I always believed that empty chair was for me.

Dad would look up from whatever he was doing and greet me with a smile. Then，as if just at the same time，he'd place the cap on the black felt-tip pen that he used to grade papers or drat notes. The pen cap gesture was my signal. It meant my dad wanted to hear about my day. Sometimes I told him a few things；other times I went on and on about something exciting or dramatic that had happened at school. My dad would listen，nod，and sometimes add his two cents. Without fail，my dad would smile as if hearing about my day was the best part of his day.

This was the routine. From my first grade through the senior year in high school，I had after-school chats with my dad. I can't remember a time when he said he couldn't talk right now，even when he was working on his paper，dealing with challenging issues，or facing budget cuts.

My dad wasn't perfect. He lost his temper sometimes. He worked too much. He experienced periods of depression. But even through the rough patches，my dad was always there for me. He was never too busy or too distracted to hear his son's thoughts and opinions.

So though the critics say that giving a child our undivided attention creates a child who thinks the world spins around him or her，I believe otherwise: Having a parent who listens creates a child who believes he or she has a voice that matters in this world.