Smeared Type

By Jian Ping

My friend Jing lent me her copy of Amy Chua’s book. She was appalled and furious about Chua’s claim of her extreme measures of parenting as “Chinese” and wanted to hear my opinion.

Coincidentally, the day I finished reading Chua’s book, the Chicago Tribune featured stories of local high school students in an article titled “How 3 students succeeded, without ‘Tiger Moms’”.  The Asian mother in the feature, Ms. Leung, said she was reading Chua’s book. “It’s embarrassing me,” she said. Leung’s daughter plays piano and recently earned perfect scores in her ACT and SAT tests. “That lady (Chua) is a little crazy,” Leung said.

I must say Leung’s statements resonate with mine.

When I first heard Jing’s comments, I came to Chua’s defense. I had not read Chua’s book, but I had read the excerpts released in Wall Street Journal. I told Jing that I liked Chua’s writing—concise, simple, and impactful, and despite the serious tone and harsh measure, it has a touch of humor.

“Chua is exaggerating at her own expenses and is being playful in getting her message crossed,” I told Jing.

I held the notion a third of the way reading Chua’s book. Then it started to bother me, although I must say, as a mother, Chua couldn’t be more dedicated and committed—the amount of time she carved out of her schedule to be with children, albeit to drill them in their practices on piano or violin, was admirable.

The more I read the book, however, the more horrified I became—Chua appeared dead serious about her extreme approaches and spared nothing at achieving the goals she set for her children. She raised the question that others, including her children, asked her: “Is she doing it for herself or for her children?” Her action spoke louder than her words, I think.

 When I put down the book at the end, the words “crazy” “control freak” came to my mind. I wonder what her children will become when they are out of school, out of college, to face the reality of life—when success is not defined by scores or rankings, and as a member of society, we should each strive to a be constructive contributor, be balanced and happy. It’s not about constantly struggling to get ahead of others.

Sun Yunxiao, Deputy Director of the China Youth and Children Research Center, called parents not to “blindly follow Chua, whose many thoughts and actions are wrong.”

It is true that many Chinese parents are strict with their children and cherish high expectations for them. But among all the Chinese I know—being a Chinese myself, I know many, including quite a few women friends who are mothers—I haven’t encounter a single one who takes Chua’s extreme parenting methods in raising their children.

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China.  Visit www.mulberrychild.com, or www.moraquest.com for more information. Mulberry Child is being developed into a feature length documentary film by award winning director Susan Morgan Cooper and will be released in 2011.

By Jian Ping

Amy Chua’s recent Wall Street Journal article “Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior” created a lot of controversy. The day it appeared in the paper, I received two emails from my Chinese friends, with one telling me his son called Chua “a monster,” and the other, a mother, saying she was enraged that Chua calling her “extreme disciplines and demands” in bringing up her children the “Chinese way.”

“Where is the feeling of love?” my friend asked.

I was also astonished, despite my understanding to a certain extend. Many Chinese parents are strict with their children and push them hard to realize the parents’ high expectations. I must say I was no exception. However, even I found Chua’s behavior disconcerting.  

There are traditions in different cultures when it comes to educate the young. In the Chinese culture, since our ancient sage Confucius’ time, education has been highly valued and emphasized. But the education was not just academic studies—it has always included the components of self cultivation—including virtues, morals, love, and respect.

“I grew up in China,” my girlfriend Jing said. “My mother never pushed me in my studies when I was young. If anything, she was always worried that too much study would ruin my eye sight. She kept reminding me to take breaks.”

Another Chinese, a father in this case, made the comment to me: “She (Chua) is making a more stereotypical comparison between Chinese and Western parenting. In my opinion, the goal of parenting is not to produce winners—there can only be so many winners, but to nurture individuals who are contributors to society and live a happy life while doing it.”

These are views of Chinese parents, too. More balanced, in my opinion.

Parenting is a complicated task to which there is no preparation. It is a privilege, a blessing, and a challenge. No matter a Westerner or an Asian, we all cherish aspirations for our children. The key is to learn parenting in a way that is loving and nurturing.

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. Visit www.mulberrychild.com, www.moraquest.com for more information. Mulberry Child is being developed into a feature-length documentary film by award-winning director Susan Morgan Cooper and will be released in 2011.

Asian children, especially Chinese, are known in the U.S. as academic high achievers. They come from cultures that value education and consider college degree a ticket to advance in life.

A recent encounter I had with a young man, Ning, the nephew of Mei, a close friend of mine, took me by surprise. Ning grew up in China. Last year, his parents sent him to the U.S. to pursue his college degree. Ning, the only child, showed no interest in study. Reportedly, he had failed every grade school he attended. Each time he reached a dead end, his parents would mobilize their network of connections and transfer him to another school. Knowing he could not get into a reputable college in China, Ning’s mother entrusted him to the hands of Mei.

Ning failed all three courses in his first year at a university.

“Life in the U.S. is too hard,” he lamented and begged to be allowed to go back to China.

His mother insisted that he stay and get a bachelor degree.    

Ning resisted passively. He wouldn’t register for his classes if my friend, his aunt, didn’t take him to do so. He couldn’t take care of himself either—he didn’t feel comfortable to go out to eat on his own and was upset that his aunt set him up in a school dorm instead of letting him stay in her home and taking care of his daily needs, including transportation. Out of compassion and family duty, Mei checked on him frequently. More often than not, she would find him sleeping in his dorm in the middle of the day, skipping his classes.  

“I don’t care if I sweep floors as a janitor in China,” Ning would say.

Ning’s mother, who had never been abroad, would not hear any of that. She begged Mei to help out her only son. Mei coached Ning, hired tutors for him, and even offered to accompany him to study in the library together, all to no avail.

“I’m at my wit’s end,” she said.

I stopped by Ning’s dorm once with my friend. He turned away before I could say hi when Mei introduced me.

“My room is a mess,” he mumbled.

I watched the unmade bed, the littered floor with socks, pants, t-shirts, instant noodles and water bottles. He blocked the sun by lowering the window blinds, and the small dorm was semi-dark and suffocating. I observed him from the doorway. To my surprise, he was tall and handsome. If I could ignore the brief one or two word syllables he uttered in responses to Mei’s questions, I would say he appeared very smart.

The deadline for class registration for the fall had come and gone, but he didn’t do a thing.

My friend gave a deep sigh when we reached her car.

“I’ll call his mother and ask her to send him to the military for some good training,” she said.

“Is this an example of the little “emperor and empress” generation?” “What can parents do if their child has no aspiration for life?” I wondered. “And how much is Ning’s problem resulted from his parents’ over protection and indulgency?” Seeing Mei’s anguish, I didn’t utter a word.

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. www.mulberrychild.com