I dug out this piece right befor Thanksgiving break when I was cleaning some old clusters in my house. That was before my son left for college in August 2007.

Rush, rush, rush everyday and make time for this or that. Time is exactly what a busy mom needs most. I have felt strongly all these years, especially when I was crazily busy. A mom is forever busy as long as she has her children in her heart.

“…he cried in despair through his tears, and, clutching her by the shoulder, he began squeezing her with all his force, his arms trembling with the strain.” He had no idea that this would be their last meeting.

The episode reminds me of the moment when my son was two years old and just started his first week at daycare. He was crying most miserably the whole day and the whole week until he got into fever.

I didn’t genuinely hate Alexei Alexandrovich Karenin, Anna’s husband, until this moment. He intends to punish Anna and make Anna miserable by taking her son away from her. What a sad and depressing book!

I have to admit that on some day I seem to have endless words in my mind that are ready to be put on the screen; on some other days, I don’t feel like writing or even doing anything at all. For once I was thinking of posting whenever I feel like it, then let days passed without when I am not in the mood. But I never take that route because I know my readers would rather see it everyday, though not very long. This has since been my principle: short and sweet everyday.

In the end, the actual post producing process is like this. Everytime I have something to say but not feel like writing, I jot it down on a small notepad which I carry with me all the time. When I have time and feel like it, I sit down and start writing. I cross out the note and tear off the page after writing. Sometimes, I write 5 or 6 or more postings at one sitting. Then I schedule them for some future days to come out.

As the years turn, the focus of my attention shifts from children to other stuffs which include health, education, politics, career, economy, and anything that may interest or puzzle me like Obama.

As we approached the library, I told my daughter there must be plenty of people because of the hot weather. She thought my idea was funny. I told her of our life in Ohio when her brother was a baby.

We lived in an apartment without central air conditioning system. Some people bought window air conditioner, but we didn’t because of the appliance and electricity cost. Remember we were students living on scholarship. With weather like this, I often sought shelter from the heat by taking my son to our school or to the library or to stores and came back after the sun had gone to bed. Sometimes, he played there and then took a nap while I was doing my school work.

My daughter said she was lucky she were not there. Still, I would not miss the opportunity to share with her this part of family experience.

The acknowledgement that different people have different way of living implies respect and tolerance of differences, not to be judgmental, that we should live and let live, which is easy said than done.

When we judge people using our own standard, we easily forget that our standard is not an universal one and it is not fair to others when we expect others to live up to our standard as if our standard were the best and other’s were no good.

Later, on the way to her drawing lesson, my daughter commented that anyone on Time’s cover and on Time’s 100 list was rather phenomenal. “Yes, her book made her famous,” I said.

I am sure there are numerous parents who are successful in their own way. But in a way Amy Chua is unique because she has committed to writing so that her unique experience is known to all.

In our office, there is a saying, “If it is not written, it has not happened.” So it is true in our life. The passing of years and decades will dilute and wash away our past experience unless we write them down.

To be sure, writing is a diligent and very rewarding work. It will pay huge dividends in the long run. Just look at the short-term gain of Amy Chua’s magnus opus.

“Her two daughters were not born yet,” said my daughter.
“I mean I wish someone wrote a book like this 20 years ago,” I explained.

“Yes, I wish I had a tiger mom, then my piano skill would be a whole lot better than it is now. I will be a tiger mom when I have children, but definitely not someone like her.” she declared. She wants to be a nice tiger mom.

Next she asked me why I did not insist on her more piano practice when she was five years old. I was a bit surprised over her question. Then I am glad she is mature enough to realize that early discipline will benefit her in the long run.

An acquaintance of mine called Amy Chua abusive and should be sued because of that. Being a Chinese, she often acts more Americanized than Americans. I am not sure if her comment was an attempt to either cover up her sense of guilt for her inadequate parenting or excuse herself of her irresponsibillity.

Some Chinese parents are rather content over their children’s achievements when they compare their youngsters to American kids. This is a short-sighted attitude. Keep in mind, when facing a future of global challenge and competition, their proud cubs are no match to those from China. But here comes this Tiger Mom who has prepared her youngsters for the tough roads ahead in the world.

The more I think about my parenting experience and chua’s, the more I recommend this book on the strength of its parenting philosophy, the more I admire her for the sacrifice that she has done for her children. In fact, my daughter even suggested that we buy a copy.

A psychologist might say the harsh standard would ruin a happy childhood and leave permanent wound in the hearts of the youngsters. Amy Chua challenged this assumption and their erroneous parenting philosophy, and put to shame millions of American parents by pointing out the undesirable consequences, which has yielded one of the lowest education achievement among developed nations.

She also makes people re-think what is good to the next generation and to the nation in the long run — a playful childhood, game and TV followed by a poor and a miserable adulthood or hard-working childhood followed by a rich and happy adulthood.

I accept her philosophy. In fact, I agree with the spirit of the book whole-heartedly, though I cannot go with her method of putting it into practice. Once again, her actions have been the direct consequence of her unique personality. Nothing is more stupid and narrow-minded than assuming that there is a tiger mother like Chua behind the success of every Chinese kid.

“What Chinese parents understand is that nothing is fun until you’re good at it. To get at anything you have to work, and children on their own never want to work, which is why it is crucial to override their preferences. This often requires fortitude on the part of the parents because the child will resist; things are always hardest at the beginning, which is where Western parents tend to give up. But if done properly, the Chinese strategy produces a virtuous circle. Tenacious practice, practice, practice, practice is crucial for excellence; rote repetition is underrated in America. Once a child starts to excel at something–whether its math, piano, pitching, or ballet–he or she gets praise, admiration, and satisfaction. This builds confidence and makes the once not-fun activity fun. This in turn makes easier for the parents to get the child to work even more.” p. 29

Talk about raising a happy child, my daughter agrees with the author that nothing makes her happy until she performs well at school or gets prize at competition or feels she is really good at something. She also knows clearly that only through the bitter hard work can one enjoy the sweet fruits of accomplishments.

Don’t we know this — no pain, no gain. As with anything in life, a carefree childhood can potentially mean a poverty-stricken adulthood, poor in body and mind or lifelong dependence on wellfare. Because of this, the country needs millions of tiger mothers who dare to set high standards for their children and enforce reasonable rules for them to follow.
To be continued…

Honestly, I like the book and have read it, which does not mean I endorse every word of it. I applaud her parenting effort and her sacrifice of large chunks of her time, though I cannot be like her, not because I am any nicer than she is but because we are different in our personality. It takes both a cultural background and a unique character like her to generate her kind of parenting style. I have known many dedicated Chinese parents but have never seen one like her. She is one of a kind.

While some people see the harsh discipline that she employed in raising her children and dish out harsh words against the tiger mother, I see tremendous responsibilities and sacrifice that this Chinese mother has done for her children, which, sadly to say, are not often seen among American parents. I have to admit that I have not been as responsible in parenting as she has been.

American schools would not have yielded so many losers and dropouts if there were more responsible parents like Amy Chua. While she raised her children to a higher level of living, many American parents have kept theirs to the level of bare existence.

Some parents, under the excuse of giving their children a “carefree childhood”, are in reality finding excuse for their irresponsible and careless parenting. Shame on these lazy, irresponsible and selfish parents!
To be continued…

Now I understand why she would not tell her daughter about things that she should. I remember once the daughter said something like this to me. When the daughter was little and needed her mother, the mother was not there for her. The mother spent all her time earning money. Now the little girl has grown into a mid-20 years old woman and the need reverses, that is, it is the mother’s turn to need her grown-up daughter. But the daughter is not going to forget and forgive.

It is a pretty sad case. Yet, by the end of the day, you are the one who determine the type of repercussion from your previous action. Trust me something always comes back to us, like or not.

The 24-year-old daughter was sitting by her mother motionless as if she were talking about someone else. I could see the daughter must have got used to her mother’s complaint and no longer feels anything.

When I told my daughter of this incident, she said the mother should not complain now. “How can you listen to the small child when she doesn’t know what is really good for her? When she is big and wants a sibling, her parents are too old to have one.” Interesting to hear both sides of argument.

This brought me back to my high school days, filled with not so pleasant memories. I remember one boy who often acted like he was above the rest of us. Once he presided over a meeting — too many of these meetings — and I was supposed to listen with all my ears, but somehow, I saw him as nothing but a mouthpiece of the teacher. Why should I listen to him? I did not even care about listening to the teacher. With this, I started writing from memory the poems from the Dream of Red Chamber, not that I like this novel but because I thought anything was better than listening to someone I found hard to respect. Because of this aberration, I was publicly criticized.

My daughter said I was quite of rebel. Not exactly, because I never thought of replacing that boy. A rebel would first observe those who lead, then contemplate how to replace them.

She is right. I have to admit that it is not advisable to dwell upon one’s past when one is near 80 years old and home alone. It can leave one feeling lonely, depressed, and wishing for days that are long gone.

Last Sunday, on the way back home from skating, my daughter asked for a kind of therapeutic oil. Since she just bought one not long ago, I told her if I bought this for her, it would be the last till the end of the year. She agreed with the term, so we went.

Also last Sunday, when I talked to my daughter about the flowers that I gathered for her grandfather, she asked, “Mom, you realize it’s fake,right?” I shared this with a friend of mine. He came back with these words — so true — “tk time for kids to know, there are flowers in our hearts that last longer and smell better than those you can see and touch…”

I told my mom she wrote for us just as I was writing daily for my children. “You would think that they read it, right?” asked my mom.

Of course, I am motivated by the thought that someday my children will come back to these writings. Yet, on a deeper level, I write because I have something to say, because I am writing about my life’s experience and I value whatever I have experienced. It is my life story, my living history. If I don’t value my life, how can I expect my children to do the same?
On 7/1, while at work, a friend of mine called. We talked about writing again. I encourage my dear friends to write any time they feel like. Their memories and experiences are like antiques or any collectibles, gaining value as time goes by. As a matter of fact, they are the best collections for our children.

Remember: write before you forget. Write before we become history.
By the way, happy fourth of July! We have one day off because of this.

Now knowing the “spiritual wealth” that I have tried to pass onto my children could reach to the third generation, I am more than ever motivated to keep it running.

Every time I write something that is meant for my son’s attention, I call him to let him know it.

In summary, I have been and will still be writing for my relatives, friends, my children, and now possibly my grandchildren. Isn’t that wonderful!

(1) Relatives and friends.
We often find time running faster than anything in the world, having no time especially for our dear friends. I miss meeting and chatting with friends far and near, old and young, the farther and older, the dearer. The site is always a portal where they can get an update and where I feel connected in my way.

(2) My children and their children
It may be years or even decades later before they ever come back to these postings. They will catch a glimpse or snapshot of what was going on at the time of the writing. I don’t expect them to understand the writer, though they will surely do years later, possibly. For now, this is one way to tell them how much I love them, now and forever.

I received the following from a friend of mine the day before the great Mother’s Day. This is such a darling expression, without any embellishing. I bet his mom would be super-delighted if she read it.

P.S. When I translated the above writing to my daughter, I realized that a translation is in order. Here it is.

“I notcied many writings on Mother’s Day on the Internet. I am not sure which day it is. I call my mother roughly twice a week, talk over some trifles, dine with her over the weekend. I have never said to her, ‘I love you, mom.’ Deep in my heart, I don’t need any holiday to remind me, I know she is forever the one who loves me most in this world.”

“The mother-child relationship is paradoxical and, in a sense, tragic. It requires the most intense love on the mother’s side, yet this very love must help the child grow away from the mother and to become fully independent.” Erich Fromm
“Mother is the home we come from. She is nature, soil, and ocean.” — Erich Fromm

“A man who has been the indisputable favorite of his mother keeps for life the feeling of a conqueror, that confidence of success that often induces real success.” — Sigmund Freud

“My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it.” — Mark Twain
“The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness.” — Honore de Balzac
“The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.” — William Ross Wallace

I feel so much better now.