THERE is a little drummer boy in my house right now. That's anything but merry news for me.

Sitting behind the electronic drum set I bought him more than a year ago, my two-yearold son, Julian, observes rock bands performing on the MTV channel. Then, he beats out a storm with his plastic drumsticks.

Problem is, he often decides to engage in these intensive sessions around midnight. His papa and I groan with our hands over our ears, quaking at the prospect of angry, sleepless neighbours banging down our door in protest.

Julian beseeches us to join his toddler garage band, by pointing out his toy maracas, guitars and pianos to us. In the end, we cave in. Like the sheer enthusiastic force of his drumbeats, Julian is anything if not persistent.

Now 33 months old, impossible is nothing to him. He has hit upon the art of persuasion too. He begs, pleads and cajoles. He has even got this irresistible little gesture: He puts his two small palms together and shakes them at me while saying "Play with me, pleeeeease" in a cute voice. Who could resist? It's refreshing, really, to watch a small child discover how to get what he wants without crying (tears are still a last resort, of course).

Having observed the adults in his life negotiate with one another over everyday matters, he seems to have picked up some clues on how people and emotions can be handled.

Take, for instance, requests for ice cream at 10pm.

Julian: "I want ice cream. Can we go to the ice-cream shop, please? I love ice cream. It's my favourite."

Papa: "How about some chocolate at home?"

Julian: (in a small voice) "How about ice cream?" We drive straight to the ice-cream shop.

Witness Julian's use of the "it's my favourite" technique, as he knows his parents cannot resist giving him something that would bring him absolute joy.

(We parents are suckers like that.)

The boy also varies and combines his methods, employing both hard, direct-selling and softer suggestions. And then - badabing, badaboom! He gets us where he wants.

But the thing that amazes me is his unwillingness to give up, no matter the odds.

His persistence is starting to rub off on me. Since I was a kid, I've tried sporadically to conquer the regular 3x3 Rubik's Cube, but to no avail.

So, recently, I got a pocket- size 2x2 version of the Rubik's Cube. I was resolved to solve it, even if it killed me.

For two days, housework in my flat ground to a stop. While the Supportive Spouse unwound with his nightcap of whisky, I sat like a whale on our sofa, trying to twist the coloured cube into submission.

I consulted the Internet for how-to videos, appealed for help on Facebook, and dodged Julian whenever he wanted to hijack the cube and unscramble my hard work.

"Why don't you just give up?" said the Supportive Spouse, after I'd thrown the darned cube down in frustration for the nth time.

"Never!" I cried.

On the third day, I did it.

When asked why kids can figure out the cube more easily than adults, the cube's inventor, Mr Erno Rubik, had answered: "Because children don't know (that) it's impossible."

That's a lesson my son has taught me. Now, please excuse us, we have some drumming to do.

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