So I read through Amy Chua’s article, The Battle Hymn of the Tiger-Mother, and feel I have failed as a mum. (This, of course, is the uneasy reaction the sassy book was intended to evoke.)
“Zoe and Irene,” I say dramatically. “I have failed as a tiger-mother.”
Zoe snorts. “You never were a tiger-mother, Mum. Especially now. You spend too much time with imaginary friends on your blog.”
“Zoe, cyber-friends. NOT imaginary friends.”
She, “Whatever.”
Irene nods absently. She is playing a game on her iPod. Thus highlighting my failure as a tiger mother!! I have a strict rule: Only educational games, but, apparently, the word educational has multiple meanings. Who would have thought?
* * *
Amy Chua, however, is not a failure as a tiger mother. Her article at The Wall Street Journal subtly and modestly titled, “Why Chinese Mothers are Superior,” commences as it continues,
“Here are some things my daughters, Sophia and Louisa, were never allowed to do:
• attend a sleepover
• have a playdate
• be in a school play
• complain about not being in a school play
• watch TV or play computer games
• choose their own extracurricular activities
• get any grade less than an A
• not be the No. 1 student in every subject except gym and drama
• play any instrument other than the piano or violin
• not play the piano or violin.”
* * *
Oh dear!
Readers are either impressed or disgusted.
My list would be closer to a Western parents’ than to Chua’s. My kids have certainly done playdates, school plays and sleepovers. They choose their own activities, with input from us, and we don’t require that they be better than other people, which is a wholly unfair requirement, in my opinion.
Irene, my younger one, is chipping away at the strict rules we put in place. We never had TV at home for the first 17 years of Zoe’s life, but watched lots of carefully chosen documentary DVDs, and movies. But since I bought an Ipad last autumn, Irene has started watching what I consider frivolous TV and disapprove of. It’s just hard for me to be constantly vigilant and omnipresent!!
Computer games were banned for Zoe, and reluctantly permitted for Irene, in limited quantities at her persistent insistence. However, her joy in these games equals our joy in our work, and when we retreat into our zones of private joy, she retreats into hers, and plays them more than I approve of.
* * *
I have often felt that there is a saving grace to ambition. I never wanted to waste my life, and so have never taken drugs, never been really drunk, etc. Irene likes to achieve academically, and this year got an A1:5, the highest possible mark in every subject, and the school’s award for achievement, given to those with the highest marks. And this desire to do well at school has helped her cut back on computer games.
Chua says it is selfish, careless parenting to allow your children to waste time on computer games and Facebook. I agree with her on that. We banned Facebook for Irene until she was 13, and then, blessed decision, she decided she didn’t want it. I think it’s a brilliant decision as the Facebooks of 13 year olds cause more unhappiness than joy, I’ve decided from checking up on my older daughter’s FB in her mid-teens.
* * *
Chua’s parenting is incredibly unbalanced, as she knows, no doubt. The goal is success. To work very hard as a child to get a pleasant job as an adult later.
This is a common attitude in Asia, and among Africans, and other immigrants to the West.
There is something to it. The Polgar sisters were pulled out from school and made to practice chess for 8 hours a day, 50 hours a week. All of them became grandmasters, I believe. They say “We worked hard as children and now have more leisure and opportunities and fun as adults. Our friends did not work as children, and now work hard as adults.”
Hard work as a child can give you a pleasant, gratifying job with less grind and drudgery and more interesting opportunities as an adult.
* * *
What annoys readers, and the flaw in Chau’s parenting, is its obvious egocentrism. When she won a second prize at a school assembly, her father was furious. “Never ever disgrace me like that again,” he said.
Sorry, disgrace whom? Chua’s parents came to America as poor immigrants; they attempted to achieve their dreams through their children. She says, “Knowing the sacrifices they made for us makes me want to uphold the family name, to make my parents proud.” Was it impossible for Chua’s parents to do something themselves of which they could be proud? Why burden her with having to bring them honour or disgrace?
Chua has been condemned to a treadmill in which she is a disgrace unless she does something spectacular so her parents can be proud. She condemns her children to the same treadmill–20 practice tests every night if they ever get the second highest grade, three hours of violin practice every evening. She condemns them to a life of having to be the best, compensating for any deficiencies in intelligence by hard work, and more hard work.
And what if they encounter another tiger cub, who is naturally smarter, but works equally hard? Sounds like a recipe for a nervous breakdown to me.
The flaw in her plan is that her children, who are not allowed playdates, sleepovers, gym, drama, TV or computer games, will naturally do better than children with equal intelligence who lead a more balanced life. They will therefore get into a better university and get more prestigious jobs than they would have—alongside with smarter, more naturally gifted children, who have led a balanced life. And then, they’ll have to jog very hard on the relentless treadmill of overwork to keep pace.
It seems a pretty pointless life, dominated by fear, pride and competitiveness.
* * *
All this comes close to the bone with me, as with most mothers who read it.
Roy, my husband, was unusually gifted at math and chess. He was the national high school chess champion in New Zealand where he grew up. Both our daughters are good at both these, as well as being very verbal.
We taught Zoe chess somewhat late, at 8, after she was housebound after breaking her leg in a freak accident. (I believed board games are a waste of time compared to reading, but she was housebound and sad, so we taught her chess.)
Irene at 3 watched us play, played against herself, first, then with us, and emerged as a fairly formidable player by 5. At 6, coaches noticed her talent. She has played at a city, county and national level, and has won prizes in all these, about two shelves of prizes, 50-60 of them. For several years, she was among the top two girl players of her age in the UK, and among the top handful of all players her age.
She loved chess when it was fun, just loved it and lived it. When, however, she reached the stage at which it was estimated to take 1-3 hours a day of practice to be competitive at a national level, and when, 6 or 7 days a week, she was spending her evenings at chess clubs or tournaments, and was away most weekends at tournaments around the country, she began to lose interest. She did not want to practice as much as she needed to.
Chess is brutal. The games were three hours. A momentary flicker of concentration in the end game, and you could lose a game you had so carefully and brilliantly played.
Your opponent can take up to 15 minutes to think–or more–and this is torture for a quick-thinking, mercurial child.
And she loves reading. She has a stable of books she knows almost by heart–the entire Little Women series, the entire Anne of Green Gable series, Harry Potter, Alice, some George Macdonald, Narnia. She has read and re-read them, and listened to them again and again on her iPod. Reading was being compromised for chess. I was sad about that.
We fought epic battles over whether she should continue chess or give it up. I thought she was instinctively preternaturally good at it, judging by her success with very little practice. I thought chess was part of the story God was writing in her life. I did not think an extraordinary talent should be so lightly given up.
We shouted, screamed, cried, both of us. And eventually she won. Because her will was stronger than mine. Because she cried at the thought of day-long tournaments, and said the sight of a chess-board made her feels stressed.
And so with much sadness on my part, and no doubt, some sadness on Irene’s part, we surrendered something which had been part of her identity, life, friendships, self-image for 6 years. And only because that was her desire, I hasten to add, assuaging the last of my tiger-mother guilt.
* * *
So, what’s my conclusion? Chua is partly wrong.
Tiger mothering is not a secure foundation to build your life on. It is psychologically dangerous to live your life through your children, forcing achievement for bragging rights, seeking brilliance from your children so as to impress your peers, and be the envy of mouse-mothers. It makes it harder to let your children go, and to recover your own life and interests once they leave.
The best gift we can give our children is not to be the best at whatever they do. They may meet a more naturally gifted Siberian tiger, who also puts in the necessary hours, and so let competitiveness and jealousy poison their existence.
I honestly believe the best thing we can do for our children as Christian parents is to give them a solid, durable faith foundation beneath their feet, and to introduce them to a personal friendship with God.
Apart from that, the best thing we can do is to help them discover their “shape,” and their sweet spot—the things they are naturally interested in and good at. And this will help them find life-work they love, enjoy and are good at.
And helping them find such work is one of the greatest gifts we can give them. For as the wise King Solomon said, “There is nothing better for a person than to enjoy the work at which he toils at under the son.” (Ecc 3:22).
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Thomas Cromwell, Both a Wily Unscrupulous Politician, and a true Reformer.
“An Autobiography in Five Chapters” and Avoiding Habitual Holes 
A Magical Week in France: Chenonceau, Notre Dame, Sacre Coeur, Villandry, Bois des Moitiers, Parc de Marquenterre, Etretat
What lovely goals, Miss Mollie and Suzie.
Suzie, I too started early with one of my kids, at 3, and would never advise it. Why acquaint kids with a sense of failure and inadequacy so early? Early education, I now think should be child-driven. And, by the way, welcome to my blog!
Praise the Lord, Suzie.
As a “gifted” child with a socioscientist father I was experimented with from the age of three, learning complex math amongst other things. As a result I failed, failed miserably academically, socially and emotionally.
I refuse to live vicariously through my children. One of my children is tested as “gifted”. He is a nightmare to the less-able teachers and he is happy. Happy to go footing turf at the bog, cycle for miles with his chums and loves to work with wood. He'd quite like to be a carpenter when he becomes adult.
He probably won't achieve greatness, I have hopes for him:
1. he finds the joy of the Lord
2. he is content in his work and home life.
I, too, was so diligent about the TV.
Then my oldest daughter came home from college,along with the internet, new TV shows and movies were introduced into my home. Sigh.
My goal has always been that my daughters serve the Lord and live a life honorable to them. Much prayer and wearing out of knees. I don't think the job is ever over.