Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother - Amy Chua [72]
I told them that I was struggling to finish a book on just those questions and that I would send them a copy when it was done.
Around the same time as Sophia’s performance for the justices, I picked Lulu up from some godforsaken tennis place in Connecticut about an hour away.
“Guess what, Mommy—I won!”
“Won what?” I asked.
“The tournament,” Lulu said.
“What does that mean?”
“I won three matches, and I beat the top seed in the finals. She was ranked #60 in New England. I can’t believe I beat her!”
This took me aback. I’d played tennis as a teenager myself, but always just for fun with my family or school friends. As an adult, I tried a few tournaments but quickly found that I couldn’t stand the pressure of competition. Mainly so we could have a family activity, Jed and I had made both Sophia and Lulu take tennis lessons, but we’d never had any hopes.
“Are you still playing at the Novice level?” I asked Lulu. “The lowest level?”
“Yes,” she answered amiably. Ever since I’d given her the choice, we’d gotten along much better. My pain seemed to be her gain, and she was more patient and good-humored. “But I’m going to try the next level soon. I’m sure I’ll lose, but I want to try it for fun.”
And then, out of the blue: “I miss orchestra so much,” Lulu said.
Over the next six weeks, Lulu won three more tournaments. At the last two, I went to watch her play. I was struck by what a fireball she was on the court: how fiercely she hit, how concentrated she looked, and how she never gave up.
As Lulu notched herself up, the competition got much tougher. At one tournament, she lost to a girl twice her size. When Lulu came off the court, she was smiling and gracious, but the second she got in the car she said to me, “I’m going to beat her next time. I’m not good enough yet—but soon.” Then she asked me if I could sign her up for extra tennis lessons.
At the next lesson, I watched Lulu drill her backhand with a focus and tenacity I’d never seen in her. Afterward, she asked me if I would feed her more balls so that she could keep practicing, and we went for another hour. On the way home, when I told her how much better her backhand looked, she said, “No, it’s not right yet. It’s still terrible. Can we get a court tomorrow?”
She’s so driven, I thought to myself. So . . . intense.
I talked to Lulu’s tennis instructor. “There’s no way Lulu can ever be really good, right? I mean, she’s thirteen—that’s got to be ten years too late.” I’d heard about the explosion of high-powered tennis academies and four-year-olds with personal trainers. “Also, she’s so short, like me.”
“The important thing is that Lulu loves tennis,” the instructor said, very American-ly. “And she has an unbelievable work ethic—I’ve never seen anyone improve so fast. She’s a great kid. You and your husband have done an amazing job with her. She never settles for less than 110 percent. And she’s always so upbeat and polite.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said. But despite myself, my spirits lifted. Could this be the Chinese virtuous circle in action? Had I perhaps just chosen the wrong activity for Lulu? Tennis was very respectable—it wasn’t like bowling. Michael Chang had played tennis.
I started to gear up. I familiarized myself with the USTA rules and procedures and the national ranking system. I also looked into trainers and started calling