How was Jay Z's childhood

raising children : Early Chinese instead of security and love

How am I supposed to explain this now? I'll try it this way: The singer Beyonce Knowles and her husband, the rapper Jay-Z, have had a child, a daughter, her name is Blue Ivy, but the golden rule of gags also applies to columnists: no jokes with names - none Jokes about names. In this case, it is not necessary at all.

Blue Ivy was born in Manhattan, at Lenox Hill Hospital, and a new maternity ward for $ 1.3 million was built in that hospital shortly before Blue Ivy arrived. Blue Ivy was born in a room with armored glass windows. The hallway was guarded by bodyguards, other parents did not come to their children who were in the intensive care unit - if someone wants to make an extremely funny remark about over-ambitious Prenzlauer Berg parents, it could backfire.

In any case, family Z has meanwhile left this hospital, but on Monday you could read that mother and father cannot agree on the location of the elementary school - and while in Berlin the problem looks more like that as a Neukölln you might still quickly find a place to live organized in Charlottenburg so that the children do not have to go to Pierre Littbarski Elementary School, the parents of Blue Ivy are arguing about whether the child should go to school in Houston, Texas or in New York. Beyonce is from Houston, Jay-Z is from New York, and they both believe that their starting conditions were better. Hopefully they will find a compromise for the sake of the child - what's that called? - Blue Ivy. The city of Knoxville would be relatively in the middle. That's when the director Quentin Tarantino was born, but his mother moved with him to Los Angeles when he was two years old, but that's really going too far now.

At least one thing seems to have already been settled: Beyonce and Jay-Z are looking for a nanny, they should speak three languages ​​and be able to teach this Blue Ivy. We also want manners, especially Jay-Z shouldn't be very knowledgeable about this area. Childhood, street, rap music - you already guessed it.

I know a few people who have children, small children who haven't started school yet. You speak - as far as I can tell - quite fluent German. What you hear is not a disadvantage. They are also able to say “please”, “thank you” too, and I know nothing of nannies who would have taught them that with the help of complicated pedagogical tricks. What I notice is that the parents are talking when the children are with them, and that the father is talking to the child when the mother is with them and vice versa. Father, mother, child - and everyone talks to each other, and in the end the child can speak the language and say thank you, and all of this although the child was born in the Charite, one hardly thinks it possible.

Some of these parents are currently looking for a school for the child, although “looking” does not quite apply, because they simply check which school is around the corner from them - and then register their child there. What I'm really just trying to say: I believe that parents in Berlin, who until recently did everything to comply with even the most absurd cliché of over-ambitious career parents, are just relaxing because they have noticed that love and security are then but lead to something and early Chinese maybe not going anywhere (or to the kiosk, where you have to buy the “stern” to read the big story about burnout, but nobody really wants that). Perhaps, fortunately, they also remember their own childhood, the school around the corner, playing and romping around - a childhood that had no plan, no structure, no parents' wishes. Something happened to the children from back then.

Giving your child a silly name and planning his career through to university - that's finally the business of the nouveau riche, intellectual lower class. And that doesn't have to be bad, because in the end it shows an unconditional desire for advancement. And that Blue Ivy should have it one day better than Beyonce Knowles, one can only wish the child that.

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