Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother - Amy Chua [45]
Meanwhile, I was still teaching my courses at Yale and finishing up a second book, this one about history’s greatest empires and the secret to their success. I was also traveling continuously, giving lectures about democratization and ethnic conflict.
One day, when I was in an airport somewhere waiting to fly back to New Haven, I checked my BlackBerry and saw an e-mail from the sponsors of Sophia’s piano competition. For a few minutes I was paralyzed, terrified of bad news. Finally, when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I clicked the button.
Sophia was a first-prize winner. She was going to play at Carnegie Hall! There was just one problem: Sophia’s Carnegie Hall performance was the evening before Lulu’s Juilliard audition.
21
The Debut and the Audition
Sophia at Carnegie Hall, 2007
It was the big day—the day of Sophia’s Carnegie Hall debut. This time I’d really gone wild. I’d spoken to Jed, and we decided to forgo our winter vacation for the year. Sophia’s dress for the event was a charcoal satin floor-length gown from Barneys New York—no David’s Bridal for this one! For the reception afterward, I’d rented out the Fontainebleau Room at the St. Regis New York, where we also took two rooms for two nights. In addition to sushi, crab cakes, dumplings, quesadillas, a raw oyster bar, and iced silver bowls of jumbo shrimp, I ordered a beef tenderloin station, a Peking duck station, and a pasta station (for the kids). At the last minute I had them throw in Gruyère profiteroles, Sicilian rice balls with wild mushrooms, and a giant dessert station. I’d also printed up invitations and sent them to everyone we knew.
Each time a new bill came, Jed’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, there goes our summer vacation too,” he said at one point. My mother, meanwhile, was horrified by my extravagance; growing up, we’d only ever stayed in a Motel 6 or Holiday Inn. But Carnegie Hall was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I was determined to make it unforgettable.
For analytical clarity, I should probably point out that some aspects of my behavior—for example, my tendency to show off and overdo things—are not characteristic of most Chinese mothers. I inherited those flaws, along with my loud voice and my love of big parties and the color red, from my father. Even when I was growing up, my mother, who’s very muted and modest, would shake her head and say, “It’s genetic. Amy’s a clone of the oddball.” The latter referred to my father, whom it’s true I’ve always idolized.
Part of the deal I’d arranged with the St. Regis was that we’d have access to a piano, and the day before the recital Sophia and I practiced on and off throughout the day. Jed worried about me going too far and tiring out Sophia’s fingers; Wei-Yi had told us that Sophia knew her pieces inside out and that being calm and focused was more important than anything. But I had to make sure that Sophia’s performance was flawless, that she didn’t leave out a single brilliant tiny nuance Wei-Yi had taught us. Contrary to everyone’s advice, we practiced until almost 1:00 A.M. the night before. The last thing I said to her was, “You’re going to be great. When you’ve worked as hard as you have, you know you’ve done everything you can, and it doesn’t matter now what happens.”
The next day when the moment came—while I could barely breathe, clutching the armrest of my seat in near rigor mortis—Sophia played brilliantly, jubilantly. I knew every note, every