
I am not a 'Tiger Mother,' but there's a lady at the local CVS whose glare suggests I'm a shrew. Just the other day, on a phone interview for work with the kids off from school, I asked my 4 year old to quiet down when background noise hit an all-time high. My interview subject said "Wow. You've got them well-trained."
But really, I do not. I liken my crew to the comic strip Family Circus. Everyone runs amok, doing their own thing with little to stop them. Games are played, homework is delayed and beds are rarely made. I hear that my older children's "bed time" is eight o'clock - That is either a future goal or a cover. I'm going with a cover. For what, I am not sure. For Granny who would be outraged by my children's real point of turning in? For my child's friend who goes to bed at 7 sharp without fail? To somehow make that friend feel better? That he is not missing out on the wonderful world of Cartoon Network and all that can be found on a kid's station after kid-approved hours?
When my eight year old decided that his two hour, twice weekly soccer class was too boring and long, I agreed to let him drop it. Another mother, who I think may actually be proud to call herself a Tiger Mom, who is strict about her children's daily piano and violin practice, ice skating training, excellence in academics, extracurriculars and bedtime, turned to me: "There's no way I would do what you did."
What I did.
There is much controversy surrounding Amy Chua's Battle Hymn of the Tiger, her coming of age memoir (where the parent comes of age) of uber-strict parenting (no sleepovers, no playdates, no grade less than A, no getting up to pee or have dinner until you've mastered a particular piano piece...). Many saw the book as Chua's attempt to teach her form of - what she calls - the "Chinese approach to parenting" as the style to model. But in a recent interview with the Wall Street Journal, Chua explains that "my actual book is not a how-to guide; it's a memoir, the story of our family's journey in two cultures, and my own eventual transformation as a mother. Much of the book is about my decision to retreat from the strict 'Chinese' approach, after my younger daughter rebelled at 13." In an interview with Jezebel, Chua addresses why readers are up in arms over her book: "We parents, including me, are all so anxious about whether we're doing the right thing. You can never know the results. It's this latent anxiety."
While I never want to be Amy Chua (It's too late, my kids would be 'scarred for life' for changing the game plan on them! They have a finite idea of what a "meanie" is.), being her polar opposite, I envy her a bit - let me stress, just a bit. I wish my children didn't think TV is an option and would pick up a violin instead of the wii remote. I wish I had them so well trained in the notion that I am boss, rather than landlady who weighs in from to time. OK, I have some authority. So I guess I exaggerate a bit. And so must have Amy Chua because her eldest daughter staunchly defended her in an open letter published in the New York Post. She says that she and her sister were not oppressed by an "evil mother". She discusses some of the incidents that have been criticized as harsh, and explains that they were not as bad as they sound out of context. She ends the letter saying, "If I died tomorrow, I would die feeling I've lived my whole life at 110 percent. And for that, Tiger Mom, thank you."
If Amy Chua's daughters are truly happy in life, then she did something right despite, or in spite, of her rigorous approach and should not look back and have regrets.
While Chua is not my model of a perfect parent, she has taught me something about becoming slightly stricter, implementing more rules in my home, and encouraging (but not pushing) my children to achieve what (I reasonably feel) they can achieve. So, I will say that I've taken a little something away from Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, and unlike Chua, I make no apologies.



