Battle Hymn still humming in my ears

When I first read the WSJ article on Amy Chua’s book “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother” I did not know it was a cut-and-paste collection of provocative passages for maximum emotional effect and not a real excerpt. I fell into that outrage trap as many others did. The sound and the fury, mixed with little pride and much prejudice, erupted everywhere generating tons of online blogs/articles/cartoons, and readers chattered. Some Asian friends expressed distress that they did not know this was the model for parenting and maybe they had failed their children; others said thank goodness “I am not like her”. Some said their children questioned “why did you not push me like that so I could be successful?” My cousin and I emailed back and forth about how he wished his parents had pushed him, and how glad I am that mine never pushed me because it would not have worked. Then he listed reasons why Chinese parenting indeed is superior, so is Chinese food. And to that I countered with my points. Then he said I was getting to be too “white” and too “PC”. I had a great disadvantage. My own Chinese mother never demanded excellence of any kind. She was busy and tired working full time as a Special Ed teacher while raising four children—one mostly A student and three C students. She doted on us equally never favoring anyone. Around her we could just be ourselves and own our own problems. We had the best time playing Mahjon or just being goofy together. As a result, I had a hard time with Amy Chua’s assertion that Chinese Mothers, the term used loosely as she claimed, are superior pushy tiger moms who raise successful children. Even though I perceive warpping unfairness by the author, I as a reader need to read the book to be fair. If nothing else, I hope for closure. I meant to read it in a book store so as not to boost the sales, but since there was not a chunk of time to hang out at the store, I bought a paper version that I could loan to people so as not to boost the sales. It was slow reading initially with many distractions by the dichotomy of Chinese vs Western, full of clichés and stereotypes. And I had to pause and digest the scene of Amy Chua pushing three year old Lulu out in the freezing cold because she would not “obey”, and her “racing against time” urgency to get as much music practice in as fast as possible because others are becoming prodigies by age 8 or 10. The teeth mark left on the piano by her lonely but prodigious daughter Sophie gnawing in frustration sent chills up my spine. Her threats to burn the girls’ stuffed animals and to haul away their beloved dollhouse were just painful to read. I mused on the generational decline theory, and her question to her husband: what dreams do you have for our girls? I ask myself, what dreams did I have for my children? Well, aside from wishing them being happy, self-reliant, and becoming contributing members of society I came up empty in the dreams department. Sorry M and E, you’ll just have to dream your own dreams. And I think about my own parenting. As our friend Sumie pointed out, many of us engaged in a lazier version of the so called “Chinese parenting”. In my case there was proof in my son’s 5th grade autobiography. In the mother chapter he wrote about a witch who did not have a good temper and made him do extra math and practice piano (clarifications: 30 minutes some days for piano, Kumon math sheets some days, dinner first always). In the father chapter he wrote about a fun guy who liked to "play with me". No doubt this lazy version would not be approved by Amy Chua, but what would the kids say? Too much? Too little? It was in the chapter of “Popo” (an endearing Chinese word for grandma) that it dawned on me that Chua used the word “Chinese” also with pride and honor. And as I read on I have to say her dedication to her girls’ musical practice schedules, though ferociously strict and detailed bordering on mental disorders (many of which did not exist in China according to Chua), was simply not physically or mentally achievable by most parents, Chinese or Western. But that is what my cousin was talking about, the dedication and self sacrifice from parents to help their children achieve excellence and realize their potentials. Chua’s brutal honesty and sheer fortitude was impressive, and her dogged sense of satire was growing on me. I was deeply moved by Sophie’s essay on performing in Carniegie Hall. But then, a nagging thought popped up: if the mother was in every note in the music practice, was she in every word in the essay writing? And still, why not just give Lulu some dinner after a grueling day of auditioning before demanding more practice? Following one daughter’s addictive highs of success was the other daughter’s unacceptable failure. “Chinese parenting does not address failure very well”, Chua dryly admitted. If Chua demonized herself in the first two parts of the book, her violin daughter Lulu’s escalating rebellion possibly humanized her in the third part. Or did it? After the blow out confrontation between mother and daughter on the Red Square in Moscow ( of all places, Lulu broke loose on the very spot symbolizing oppression ), Chua allowed Lulu to make “choices”, which meant Chua finally gave up on molding a virtuoso violinist out of Lulu. And she started writing this memoir the day after they returned from Moscow. The day after!! Does this mean when she realized the violin dream had failed, she moved on the very next day to make the book about this failure a success? Was Lulu right all along? “It is always all about you mommy”. “You are a show off”. None of that really matters. What really matters is the relationship between mother and daughters, and Amy Chua realizes as much. She generalized in the beginning that Chinese families are always tight together, only to reveal in the end her father’s bitter estrangement from his own family. I, like all readers, hope the hurt is not too deep to heal in her family. And loving those dogs who could not learn tricks maybe the true rehabilitation for her addiction to super achievements.