Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother - Amy Chua [56]
It wasn’t easy on my end either. I’d be having office hours with my students, then suddenly have to excuse myself for a “meeting.” I’d race to Lulu’s school to pick her up, race to Kiwon’s apartment to drop her off, then race back to my office, where there would be a line of students waiting for me. Half an hour later, I’d have to excuse myself again to return Lulu to school, then I’d screech back to my own office for another three hours of meetings. The reason I took Lulu to Kiwon’s rather than supervise her practicing myself was that I didn’t think she’d resist Kiwon, and certainly not fight with her. After all, Kiwon wasn’t family.
One afternoon, just fifteen minutes after I’d dropped Lulu off, I got a call from Kiwon. She sounded flustered and frustrated. “Lulu doesn’t want to play,” she said. “Maybe you’d better come pick her up.” When I got there, I apologized profusely to Kiwon, mumbling something about Lulu being tired because she hadn’t gotten enough sleep. But it turned out that Lulu hadn’t just refused to play. She’d been rude to Kiwon, talking back, challenging her advice. I was mortified and disciplined Lulu severely at home.
But things got worse as time went on. Whenever I arrived at Lulu’s school to pick her up, her face would darken. She’d turn her back on me and say she didn’t want to leave. When I finally got her to Kiwon’s place, she’d sometimes refuse to get out of the car. If somehow I succeeded in getting her up to Kiwon’s apartment—by then there might be only twenty minutes left—she’d either refuse to play or purposely play badly, out of tune or with no emotion. She’d also deliberately provoke Kiwon, slowly infuriating her, then maddeningly asking, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Once, in passing, Kiwon let slip that her boyfriend, Aaron, after witnessing a practice session, had said, “If I had a daughter I’d never allow her to act like that—to be so disrespectful.”
That was a slap. Aaron, who’d always adored Lulu, was as easygoing as they come. He was raised in the most liberal and lenient of Western households, where the kids didn’t get in trouble for skipping school and did pretty much anything they wanted. And yet he was criticizing my parenting, my daughter’s behavior—and he was totally right.
Around the same time, Lulu started talking back to me and openly disobeying me in front of my parents when they visited. This might not sound like a big deal to Westerners, but in our household it was like desecrating a temple. In fact, it was so out of the realm of the acceptable that no one knew what to do. My father pulled me aside and privately urged me to let Lulu give up the violin. My mother, who was close to Lulu (they were e-mail pen pals), told me flat out, “You have to stop being so stubborn, Amy.You’re too strict with Lulu—too extreme.You’re going to regret it.”
“Why are you turning on me now?” I shot back. “This is how you raised me.”
“You can’t do what Daddy and I did,” my mother replied. “Things are different now. Lulu’s not you—and she’s not Sophia. She has a different personality, and you can’t force her.”
“I’m sticking to the Chinese way,” I said. “It works better. I don’t care if nobody supports me.You’ve been brainwashed by your Western friends.”
My mother just shook her head. “I’m telling you, I’m worried about Lulu,” she said. “There’s something wrong in her eyes.” This hurt me more than anything.
Instead of a virtuous circle, we were in a vicious spiral downward. Lulu turned thirteen and grew more alienated and resentful. She wore a constant apathetic look on her face, and every other word out of her mouth was “No” or “I don’t care.” She rejected my vision of a valuable life. “Why can’t I hang out with my friends like everyone else does?” she’d demand. “Why are you so against shopping malls? Why can’t I have sleepovers? Why does every second of my day have to be filled up with work?”
“You