On January 8, 2011 my life as a mother changed forever. For this, I have to admire Amy Chua. On that day Chua, aka "The Tiger Mom," published her incendiary article "Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior" in the Wall Street Journal. Within hours four independent (i.e. not Facebook friends to each other, i.e. evidence of widespread viral penetration) friends sent it to me. The WSJ site received thousands of comments. The blogosphere went nuts. Chua, rumor has it, received death threats.
The Tiger Mom shocked me too, but in a good way. I would describe our encounter as a reality check. If I were an animal mom, I'd be the Penguin Mom. My husband and I are small-ish people, more likely to waddle up and try to be your friend than to claw your back to get your kill. We work hard to share parenting: Jordy sits on the eggs while I trek to the ocean to feed; then I return to vomit up krill for the chicks while he waddles off to replenish his own wasted reserves. We are social (some might say compulsively so), enjoying the comradery and security of huddling with other penguins against the cold. We especially love it when one of the other penguins leads us in a song -- we are likely to dance along with great enthusiasm.
The Tiger Mom appeared on the edge of my snowy landscape like an animal that had escaped her cage, pacing the zoo with growling frustration to stir the rest of us to revolt. You live in a cage! She snarled. That snowy landscape? An artist's rendering to trick you into accepting limited horizons! Your so-called "hunt"? A zookeeper tossing you a fish! Don't accept the flattery of school children at the window as substitute for the pride of achieving your full animal potential!
Many found the Tiger Mom offensive, stereotypical, abusive, self-impressed, dismissive. I get those reactions. But I think she's worth listening to too. She believes many American kids are suffering from a needless lack of accomplishment, not just for status but for authentic self-confidence. As a former high school teacher, I appreciate this message; at the extreme, I had tenth graders who could barely read. I hear her message that Americans (yes, too broad a category but nonetheless) undervalue repetition, i.e. practice, as a route to mastery. We fear anything "rote" as a killer of creativity. Malcolm Gladwell would back her up that hours in = mastery out, and he uses the Beatles as an example. Practice hardly killed their creativity! I accept this criticism of myself and my parenting. I've always been lousy about daily practice of anything, and I fear I'm already passing my lassitude on to my children.
Over time the Tiger Mom has inhabited the parenting lobe of my brain. She gives me advice. I question her assumptions. She questions mine. We debate. Am I a good mom? Do I help my children achieve their fullest potential? Do I offer them a clear enough set of values to guide them in a confusing, contradictory, and often frivolous world? There are two things I've particularly grown to like about her point of view. First, she has confidence in her role as a parent. This speaks to a cultural neurosis in our generation. In my observation, many "American" parents tell themselves they should neither demand performance from their kids nor take credit for it. Why? To uphold our ideal of individualism? So as not to crush their spirits? Or as insurance against the existential risk of linking our fates with others? Chua makes no bones about it: She both expects and takes credit. Kind of refreshing. Does her investment diminish the kids' pride in their own accomplishment? I don't know. Second, I like that Chua doesn't complain about the hard work required of her to parent well -- a stark contrast to countless conversations I've had with women who are finding mothering "unfulfilling," "a burden," and who want their "lives back." Isn't this the flipside of the first coin? How can you find satisfaction in the hardest job you'll ever do when you don't allow yourself to take pride in it? And, moreover, your culture (and economy) doesn't take pride in you for doing it?
In her memoir, Chua recounts forbidding her kids from taking drums because kids who play drums inevitably "do drugs." I laughed at loud: Our 6-year old had just had his first drumming lesson. When he starts smoking pot at age 12, the blame will be mine. (Then again, drugs may be pre-requisite to success in the field of drumming. Exhibit A: Ringo Starr. So we're right on track!) But after a month of lessons without a single practice session, this Penguin Mom found her inner Tiger.
Yesterday when I picked Duncan up at the bus, he asked what we were doing after school. I dropped casually, "First we'll practice drums for 10 minutes, then-"
"Why? Why do I have to? I already had my lesson yesterday! I only want to play with Dan! No fair! ..." Despite the 21-degree air, he collapsed on the sidewalk in a huff, immovable. I walked on, my confidence boosted by the tiger. When we got home we ate a snack, then, hoping I'd forgotten, Duncan proposed playing with the baby.
"After we practice the drums," I reminded, in a neutral voice. Repeat meltdown. I let it subside, then I calmly threatened to take away Angry Birds for all time. With that we went to the basement to practice.
In fact, he loved showing his younger brothers and me what he had learned. It only got dicey again when we practiced a more challenging clapping pattern. He wanted to stop at one repetition, after which it fell apart. I demanded he keep going until I said stop. He tried, more mistakes. He stomped off. I told him mistakes were fine; the effort is what mattered. Tears, frustration. I told him to try again. He refused. I pushed it, "You think the drummer of the band quits when he misses a beat? The band depends on him. You have to keep going till the end of the song."
Anger. "Now you're hurting my feelings!" he yelled at me.
To which, thank you Tiger Mom, I was prepared with a quiet but powerful response. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to hurt your feelings. But do you know what should actually hurt your feelings? If I said, 'Ok, you're right, this is too hard for you, you can't do it.' That should hurt your feelings. But I don't believe that. I believe you can do it. I believe if you try again and again, you will get it." He groaned, then tried again, and did it.
I could never go to the lengths Chua went with her kids, but I was glad for the prompt to go further than I had before. Duncan was proud of getting past his fear. I was proud of getting past mine. Amy Chua and I will always differ in our definitions of success for our children, and her methods will never be mine. I am a penguin after all, and I am happy hanging out on the iceberg with my chicks, not always practicing our diving or roosting skills. And I think the world is big enough for all kinds of Moms and kids, and that we shouldn't let the proximity that modern life gives different cultures -- our contemporary zoo -- make us feel we have to prove one way "superior" and all do that. Then we'd all just be lemmings. But this penguin owes the tiger sincere thanks for helping us reach our fuller penguin potential.
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5 comments:
Well-written, insightful, and humorous. I like that you are able to take something from Chua, and not just dismiss it all in one lump. I'm sure there are things Chua could learn from the penguins of the world (I include myself in that category--thank you for giving me an animal to relate to!) if she broadened her sights a little.
I was quickly drawn in by your clear and persuasive writing. As a relatively new mother of one in this hot bed of a city in which I grew up and am now raising a child, I am just starting to think about how "success" will be a part of Sabine's life and mine as a parent. It made me sad to read what you said, wisely to Duncan, about not letting him off the hook: my mother let me off the hook all the time ("maybe you're just not good at math, history, tests, etc. etc.). She was letting me know that she did not have faith that I could actually be good at x,y.z. Thank you for meaningfully adding to my ongoing thoughts on this tough subject.
A thought that crosses my mind is that no matter what kind of animal parent we are (I think I might be a bear - somewhat reclusive and quiet but ready to show my teeth when someone or something threatens my babies), what is essential here is that both the tiger mom and the penguin mom are present with their children and are not trying to escape their "burdens". Because the tiger mom was present, she took time to reflect and change course when her tigerly ways did not work with her second daughter. Because the penguin mom was present with her pup, she was able to facilitate success and a sense of accomplishment. I know that this bear mom wouldn't do or say some of the things the tiger mom chose to do and say but I admire her for challenging all of us and for making us a bit uncomfortable.
This is a terrific piece of writing, and the comments are really fine as well. It is very reassuring to this old grandparent to witness such articulate, thoughtful, humorous and sane thinking.
I love this post--funny, insightful, and truthful. I wrote something myself recently (and continue to reflect on) the issue of what we want for our kids: accomplishment vs. happiness, and the complex relationship between those two. The Malcolm Gladwell ref was there in my piece too, though to opposite effect (I said I didn't want my kids to become Bill Gates, which upset my mother to no end...!). Looking forward to reading more.
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