On the same day that Amy Chua's
Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother went
viral, I learned I was pregnant with my first child. And while talk
shows, op-ed pages, parenting blogs, email inboxes, and Facebook and
Twitter feeds across the nation began to flood with outraged
invocations of damaged self-esteem, elevated suicide rates, Asian
automatons, "Yellow Peril," and even child abuse, I stayed in bed
reading Chua's story, feeling strangely sentimental.
It wasn't just my hormones. Chua's tale of extreme parenting -- including
those infamous scenes of calling her daughters "garbage" for imperfect
piano playing and rejecting their birthday cards for being sloppy -- made
me profoundly grateful for my own Tiger Mother.
Like Chua, my mother was a Chinese mother who directed an iron will
toward her daughters' success. Growing up, whenever people remarked
upon my grades or awards, I almost wanted to tell them I hadn't had
any choice in the matter.
Because I had the kind of mother who, if I brought home a test score
of 98, would demand an explanation for how those two points had
escaped me. If I scored 100, she'd demand to know why I'd failed to
earn extra credit. Explanation was futile. As my mother would say,
"There's no Chinese word for try."
I generally resist simplistic East/West dichotomies, but this is true.
In Chinese, you can try something out -- as in sampling, tasting, taking
a turn -- but you can't say, "I tried my best" or "But I tried." In any
case, I knew better than to attempt such excuses in English.
I had a duty to excel because, as the daughter of immigrants, I was
privileged: privileged to grow up in a land of peace and
prosperity -- with a Chinese mother. With privilege came responsibility:
responsibility to validate her sacrifices and avail myself of
opportunities that, by her implication, might otherwise fall to
Americans who were lazier, dumber, or more self-entitled than me.
So I tried to fulfill that duty -- but, like Chua's daughters, I wasn't
always happy about it. There were times when I disappointed my mother,
intentionally and not; when I raged and rebelled, doctored report
cards and forged signatures. There were times when we fought like
animals; when she screamed that I was ruining her life and I screamed
back much the same.
The moment I got into the college of her choice, I figured I'd
satisfied enough of my mother's expectations. I partied, slacked off,
had boyfriends who dismayed her. I self-indulgently pursued a degree
in creative writing. I spent most of my twenties abroad, far away from
her.
And I worked on a
novel in which a family of strong-willed Chinese
American women reunite for a tour of China in the wake of tragedy. I
wrote about family secrets, hidden political history, what we seek
when we travel -- and the lifelong pressure to be extraordinary. I wrote
about the tolls exacted on these women's relationships with their own
mothers and daughters, and the difficulty of reconnecting when we lack
a common language for failure or weakness -- for what makes us human, as
opposed to, say, tigers.
So my own sentimental reaction to Chua's book caught me off-guard.
That same day, I sent
Battle Hymn to my mother, along with a note
expressing my gratitude. And then I had my husband read it, as a
primer.
Because I'd just had another realization: According to the Chinese
calendar, our baby would be born in the year of the rabbit. Not a
tiger like Chua, not a boar like my mother, not a horse like me, but a
bunny. Cuddly, cute, and -- the adjective Chua deploys with the greatest
disgust -- soft.
I decided we needed a battle plan.
My husband was game. He hadn't grown up with a Chinese mother, but he
sometimes wishes he had. Once, strolling Prospect Park, we watched a
little kid point out his shadow to applause and cheers of "Great job!"
from his parents. My husband muttered, "'Great job?' More like,
'Correct.'" Here was a sign of a soon-to-be Tiger Dad.
We started strategizing how to raise our kids -- by Chua's
definition -- Chinese. Self-esteem built upon hard-won skills and
achievements, not mindless praise. Discipline and obedience. Respect
for elders -- i.e., us. Regimented chores. Academic drills, Mandarin
lessons, and practice tests after school. That's when my husband asked
what school our kids should attend (here in New York, an issue often
raised before conception). I said they would simply attend the local
elementary, like me, then test into the elite city school from which
I'd graduated.
My husband looked worried. "What if they don't get in?"
Without hesitating, I said, "We'll beat them."
Right about then, I received a reply from my mother: a correspondingly
loving message, along with a declaration that Amy Chua's depiction of
Chinese mothers was "totally distorted" and that Chua herself was "a
hysterical control freak."
Of course, in many ways, she was right.
I'd gotten a little carried away with Chua's manifesto. After living
in China for four years, I'm well aware that her characterization of
"Chinese mothers" would perplex most of those one-point-three-billion
masses, from the impoverished villages where toddlers often wander
unsupervised amid livestock and littered streams to the booming cities
where overweight "little emperors" (the spawn of China's one-child
policy) often tyrannize their doting parents and grandparents. During
my time there, I was continually struck by how my homegrown notion of
"Chinese mothers" bore almost no relation to the realities on Chinese
ground.
And as Chua acknowledges, the traits she attributes to Chinese mothers
are also found among "Korean, Indian, Jamaican, Irish and Ghanaian
parents." In fact, this parenting style would much more accurately be
described as common to striving immigrants -- in other words, to those
whose life trajectories are "uniquely American," as a
Time article
astutely observed. But that doesn't have the same ring as "Chinese
mothers." Neither does it play to the current national fear of losing
to China on the global stage nor to long-held xenophobic views of
Asian kids as "hypercompetitive robots," as Ken Chen noted at CNN.
Finally, for me to call my mother a Chinese mother diminishes not only
her American-ness, but her individuality. Unlike Chua, my mother never
outlawed school plays or TV or sleepovers. She wanted her daughters to
engage in society, rather than hold ourselves above it; to develop
social skills, independent minds, a strong sense of personal
responsibility and civic duty. That was more important to her than
raising the "math whizzes and music prodigies" that Chua (perhaps
self-mockingly) promises.
And whereas Chua tells her daughters that hard work is what
differentiates them from the school janitor, my mother never indulged
the temptation to overlook social inequality. A former journalist and
social worker who earned a law degree while I was in college, she
enforced academic success not as an end in itself, but as a necessary
foundation for the power to challenge the status quo and the freedom
to pursue the passions that can't be decreed, that can only spring
from our individuality.
Maybe it's no accident that I became a novelist, in the same way that
one of my sisters now heads a nonprofit defending immigrants' rights
while the other teaches public school -- careers that Chua might not
consider "stereotypically successful" but have made my mother very
proud.
Which is not to say that my mother is superior to other mothers. I can
attest that her daughters are as deeply flawed as anyone -- and that we
all carry battle scars. To be honest, I have no idea whether my mother
represents "Chinese mothers" any more than Amy Chua. All I know is
that the central way she raised us -- holding us to the highest standards
and refusing to settle for less -- is how I want to raise my own
children. And while my mother might loathe the term "Tiger Mother," as
far as labels go, I like it -- with a few caveats.
My husband and I made some modifications to our battle plan. We'll
emphasize basic diligence and rigor, along with personal choice. We'll
probably deploy my mother's line about the word "try," but only if our
kids bring home a grade below, say, 92. We won't care if our kids
can't play piano for their lives, as long as they pursue some kind of
passion. And, lest anyone worry, I can't imagine any scenario in which
I would beat my children, not a failing test score, not even a crappy
birthday card.
Most importantly, I realize there's no right way to be a Chinese
mother or a Tiger Mother or any kind of mother. Every mother is only
human. The best-laid of battle plans will always be works-in-progress,
like our children, like ourselves.
Still, I remain grateful for Chua's call to arms. Her manifesto might
be reckless on some counts, but what's undeniable is that parenting
will often feel like war. And to fight that war, whatever our
ethnicity, we need to cultivate a certain fierce spirit residing in
each of us. That includes the little creature now growing inside me,
these days better known in our house as "Tiger Cub."
Follow Deanna Fei on Twitter:
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I can tell you that he didn't get the most enthusiastic of responses, which seemed to surprise him, although it shouldn't have.
Southern parents aren't too far removed from the Tiger model, to be honest. Hard work, respect to adults, "Do as you're told!", Ma'am and Sir, buck up, stop whining and we throw in a good dose of Worship The Lord for good measure. I know there are plenty of parents who do not "spare the rod", although I chose not to use physical punishments, with good results. Of course once the kids get out on their own, it's all up to them. Having laid a solid foundation for them, I know I did my very best. I for one am glad I didn't ease up. Go Tigers! (I do suggest the no physical punishment way, though.)
Many other "ethnics" have similar drive and goals already set for their children as they worked out their futures in the USA and expect their kids to succeed here.
So one asian wrote a book and just about everyone is amazed and appalled .
Many are not.
They coud have writen it as well.
During high school, my parents told me that "you don't have to go university. You can go to college and get a job you enjoy." Of course they would never say that to my siblings but still I was happy that my parents supported me.
It's one thing to push your kids to succeed, but when nothing they do is good enough for you, all you've done is destroy their self worth and self esteem.
Now let me just tell you something you don't yet realize: There's one more person who's going to decide your parenting style, and it's little Tiger Cub him- or herself.
Children shape their parents -- almost as much as the other way around. I have to smile when I read your earnest descriptions of how you and your husband are "going to" raise your child.
The truth is, you have an idea about how you will be as a parent, you have a set of beliefs and a set of values, but you don't really know. The truth is, if you have more than one, you won't even raise the two of them the same way.
Having kids is a relationship. Children change you. Life changes you.
One day, in ten, 15 or 20 years, you will look on this piece you just wrote with amused and rueful eyes. I hope you decide to write another piece at that time. I will look forward to it. It will be good!
I find this comment directly in conflict with the style in which she has decided is the best way to raise her children. This statment alone to me means that her mother was not successful in creating a healthy balanced relationship in which the child has decided to pursue excellence because he is motiviated by his passion and desire to do well. In my opinion raising your children to only please others and especially to please their parents misses the whole point of instilling in children to do well for themselves and not anyone else. It is important in my opinion to help the child to discover his or her talents and support and encourage them to find their passion and to pursue that. This author needs to spend some time analyzing her own childhood. That period in her life when she ran away and rebelled could have easily lead to drugs, alcohol reckless sex... how do these actions build self esteem. Personally I don't want to raise a child that feels they must escape and rebel the chains of parenthood.
rebel without applause ?
etc.
My college age daughter could not be compelled to do her homework in high school. No reward nor punishment could force her to do it and, most importantly, turn it in. Her test scores were high, but her homework was half her grade.
In recent conversations, it became clear that her greatest fear was leaving home. Had she done well in high school, leaving home for college was an option. It would have certainly been encouraged. By sabotaging herself, she guaranteed her only option was to live at home while attending community college.
But when she goes, she will be gone. She won't be back in the summer or after graduation. This is her nature. When she is sure of the ground beneath her, she takes off without looking back. To force her would be to break her, to undermine her self confidence.
It is our job to give our children roots and wings. Clipping those wings with self doubt or insecurity isn't doing them any favors. (and your husband was right. "correct" was the correct answer)
"I got into the college of her choice"
This is one of the main problems with Tiger Parenting: children who grow up without making decisions for themselves. It results in great followers, not great innovators -- and a host of other problems you mention at the start.
For a balanced perspective, try reading "Tiger Mother: Son of a B*tch," by Derrick Lin, a bright young Chinese-American man whose life was ruined by tiger parenting. http://tinyurl.com/tigermothersob
Deanna, your article makes me sad. While it is GREAT to reinforce discipline and hard-work in your children growing up, you are risking destroying any self-worth this child may have. In this country, we have a constitutional right to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness". For you to deprive your child of being a child, learning through making mistakes, laughter, love, appreciation for the beauitful things in this world, you are depriving him/her of her civil rights. If you are incapable of love and tenderness, that's your business. It is WRONG to deprive a child of learning those qualities themselves.