Tiger Mom…Take a Break

You’ve likely heard about Amy Chua’s ‘tiger mom’ parenting, which has aroused waves of indignation, admiration, and just plain ol’ gossip. “She did what to her daughters when they didn’t practice their music?”

I don’t need my three-year-old child to excel at piano but I do marvel at her ability to sell books. What concerns me is that Chua doesn’t see beyond the blinders of her social class and privilege.

It’s easy to attribute this parenting style, Confucian in some ways, draconian in others, simply to cultural background. As a Chinese American daughter, I’m familiar with the truisms.

My father (born in the year of the Tiger) thought an A wasn’t good enough if the teacher could give an A+. I didn’t go to sleepovers or summer camp. Then again, growing up in an alleyway in Chinatown, I didn’t get to celebrate Christmas, go to movies (missed out on E.T. and Star Wars) or participate in sports. I was practically the only Chinese American in my freshman dorm that didn’t have piano lessons as a child. One suburban friend had an enviable life, a full schedule of music and dance lessons, and a troupe that made it to the nationals. And their family celebrated Christmas.

Yes, I did miss out on the activities that came with a certain amount of privilege and acculturation, but I don’t feel the need to foist it all on my son. I’ll let him pick up an instrument, or try baseball, and if he doesn’t like it he can move on. Of course, I’d love for him to excel at something. But I want my son to enjoy what he’s doing.

The story of classical pianist Lang Lang is familiar to Chinese ears; he spent countless waking hours to attain mastery of his art, and his parents sacrificed through it all. Yet the passion came from him, cultivating a lifelong love that led to worldly fame. It’s true that Lang Lang’s father was living his unrealized dreams through his son, but lucky for father and son, they wanted the same thing. Has anyone asked Chua’s daughters what they truly want?

Over the years, I’ve worked with thousands of Asian American and immigrant students in community college. In some ways the stereotype rings true. There’s a push for academic achievement, an expectation for one’s offspring to become doctors-lawyers-engineers, and the scourge of shame if you don’t live up to expectations. But there are plenty of young people who don’t fit the mold, as well as parents who are too busy making ends meet to hover over their children. Not only are music lessons a luxury for many of these families, but so is time.

As a parent I aspire to a different set of expectations, for myself and my child. Let me take care of my dreams, the unfulfilled ones. And if I can extend one more ounce of patience when I want to scream, or read one more bedtime story when my eyelids are failing me, then I’ll have succeeded another day as a mother