A new memoir of bad-ass parenting, Chinese style, from a self-proclaimed tiger mother has unleashed a ferocious roar.
Fallout was swift for Yale University law professor Amy Chua after she published a stark essay in the Wall Street Journal describing the harsh words and heavy-handed methods she used with her two teen daughters.
Her “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother” shot to No. 6 in the Amazon sales rankings Tuesday, the day it was released, likely fueled by angry buzz over the weekend column and a headline Chua had nothing to do with: “Why Chinese Mothers are Superior.”
Adult offspring of Asian and Asian American immigrants are weighing in on Chua’s provocative description of Eastern-style parenting: No sleepovers or playdates. Grueling rote academics. Hours of piano and violin practice.
Slurs like “lazy” and “garbage,” and threats to burn stuffed animals when things don’t go mom’s way.
Some see truth and a borderline abuser. Others see dangerous stereotype with the potential to feed China haters and xenophobes.
Still others publicly thanked their moms online for similar, though less extreme, methods.
Few had read the book themselves, missing out on more facetious nuances and details on Chua’s journey to a softer approach with Sophia, 18, and Louisa, nicknamed Lulu and about to celebrate her 15th birthday with – gasp – a sleepover party.
“It’s been tough on my kids,” Chua says. “They want to speak out over the thing that has hurt me the most, when people say, ‘Oh, doesn’t that kind of strict parenting produce meek robots?’
“My daughters could not be further from meek robots. They’re confident, funny, kind, generous, with very big personalities, and they’re always calling my bluff.”
Chua, 48, and the daughter of Filipino immigrants of Chinese descent, insists her tone in the book is self-deprecating. It’s a point she considers lost in the blogosphere, including heat from moms employing current Western philosophies she doesn’t consider better or worse, but more lax and undisciplined.
It’s a book of extreme parenting, for sure, a memoir and not a how-to manual, Chua cautions.
Her parenting choices were conscious and reflect her upbringing: No TV, no pets, no computer games, no grades under A, no parts in school plays, no complaints about not having parts in school plays, no choice of extracurricular activities, nothing less than top spots in any school class except gym and drama, no musical instruments except piano or violin.
When Lulu had trouble with a tricky piece of music, Chua denied her bathroom breaks and threatened to ship off her dollhouse to the Salvation Army, piece by piece, until she got it right – which she did with pride, mom at her side.
When she pushed back at age 13, rejecting the violin, mom allowed for tennis instead, keeping a keen eye on her game.
As a young adult, Chua said she rebelled in her own way. She married a white, American Orthodox Jew after hearing from her dad: “‘You’ll marry a non-Chinese over my dead body.’ Now my dad and my husband are the best of friends.”
Chua stands by much of her tiger mom ways: intense attention to academics, for instance.
And she has some clarifications: Her girls have had sleepovers and playdates, but they were few and far between.
Regrets? “I wish I hadn’t lost my temper,” she says. “I wish I hadn’t been harsh. I wish I would have let them have more freedom.”
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