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Exactly one year ago, my grandfather died. On the day of the funeral, we gathered at the cemetery. In the center of all of us, stood my grandmother. The matriarch. The tiger mother of six Chinese American baby boomers. The woman who sent her kids under the dining room table if they talked during dinner.
In a moment of silence she asked my dad, son number three, to say a prayer.
My dad – who doesn't always hear the phone ring – missed the cue.
The moment passed, and we collectively launched into the Lord's Prayer.
It was then that I heard my aunt whisper to my dad one of the only Chinese phrases I know, a phrase so rude, we knew we were never supposed to use it – "Are you deaf?"
In the middle of that moment, which was loaded with Chinese ceremony, tradition, respect, duty, and expectations of perfection – my dad chuckled.
This is Chinese humor. It's sometimes insulting, sometimes self-deprecating, and often subtle. This is what people missed about Amy Chua's book, “The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother.”
Chua spoke at the Hillside Club in Berkeley yesterday, and as I listened, I came to think of the book as one big inside joke. Chua said repeatedly, "You either get it, or you don't." Turns out, she is just a drama queen, who is ready to laugh at how she told her children that if they dared leave the house, they would be eaten by ferocious man-eating fish.
In light of the scathing reviews, Chua emphasized that the book was a memoir and not a parenting how-to guide. She read aloud one of the harshest points of her story, where she calls her daughter a 'savage,' and people were laughing hysterically. This Berkeley audience got the joke. Chua said, "My daughters have all the best lines." For example, when she threatens to drag her daughter's dollhouse to Salvation Army, her daughter calls her bluff and says, "Well, why are you still here? Aren't you going to Salvation Army?"
Not that the whole evening was fun and games. You could tell the audience wanted Chua to explain the media explosion around her book. KPFA Morning Show Host Aimee Allison asked probing questions like:
If my kid is not successful, did I fail?
- No. There are so many definitions of success.
Is the narrator in the book really you?
- Yes, but 18 years ago. The narrator changes over the course of the book.
Were you played by the media?
- No, I take full responsibility for it, just like my parents taught me to.
Some people would say what you did to your kids was abuse, what do you think?
- People use 'abuse' too broadly. There are kids who are seriously hurt by their parents and I take that very seriously.
Chua admitted that she said horrible things in the past, but she was trying to impart values in the only way she knew how. During her own childhood, the violin symbolized perfection, elegance, and achievement. Instead of allowing her daughters to pursue achievement in another way, she forced them to play the violin.
After Chua's crisis in the book, when her daughter smashes a glass in St. Petersburg, she allows her younger daughter to quit the violin and take up tennis, but you could tell that the tennis racket does not have the same significance for Chua. "Lulu was a beautiful violin player… I knew she could never be as good a tennis player – I mean, you can't start when you're 13!" she said. But for Lulu, the violin had come to symbolize oppression instead of excellence, she explained.
I found it impossible to listen to Chua speak and not think about my own family. Do I resent the way my parents questioned my A minuses and told me to stay after school to earn back the extra points? When I look at my sister and my cousins, I see karate trophies, student body president awards, piano certificates, and Honor Roll plaques. The firestorm about the way Chua pushed her kids made me question whether we were abused as kids. Were our choices unfairly taken away? Are we victims of tiger mothers and fathers?
But on that point, I agree with Chua. Tomorrow, my whole family will gather on the anniversary of my grandfather's death, and we'll gather in love. None of us ever questioned whether our parents loved us. Though they may have pushed us and acted "tough," the message that we were loved was consistent. There will always be discrepancies over parenting best practices, but as long as your kids hear that message, then you're doing alright. Chua realized that her youngest daughter wasn't hearing that message, so she changed.
Youth Radio – Newsroom
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