I often joke that my much younger brother is the “good Asian” in our family. He was his high school valedictorian. He graduated from a prestigious liberal arts college. He’s currently working toward his Ph.D. and wants to dedicate his life to finding a cure to Alzheimer’s.
Every Asian parent’s dream.
Me, on the other hand, work in social media. I only have a bachelor’s degree from a state university. And I still use my fingers when I do basic addition and subtraction.
My saving grace is that I gave my parents their only grandchildren.
My parents and I immigrated to the United States when I was a toddler, and my parents were very much strict Chinese parents when I was growing up. I was pressured to excel academically. I practiced my violin for one hour every single day. I was not allowed to participate in extracurricular activities (except violin lessons), and I did not go to birthday parties or sleepovers.
Looking back as an adult, I get it. My parents left everything they knew in China to give me a better life. They believed the U.S. was the land of opportunity, where I could achieve anything I dared to dream. My dad immigrated first, shortly after I was born, to earn his Master’s degree from an American university. He only had $20 in his pocket when he arrived in the U.S. in 1983. From there, he worked multiple jobs – from being a teaching assistant to cleaning hotel rooms – to earn money and eventually secure green cards for his family. When my mom and I came, she earned her college degree, then worked at McDonald’s and a copy center before getting a job as an accountant.
My parents worked HARD. So it’s not surprising that they expected the same from me. I don’t blame them for expecting nothing short of excellence – setting expectations and pushing me excessively to exceed them. After all, all of their sacrifices were for me, and eventually my brother, so we could have the futures they wanted for us.
But when I was a child, I hated it. I hated feeling different from my classmates. They didn’t have to do homework in the summer. I hated feeling left out. I wasn’t allowed to go to Janet’s sleepover so now I don’t get any of the inside jokes. I hated feeling uncool. I wasn’t allowed to watch TV or listen to pop music so I had no idea who Brenda and Dylan were and couldn’t sing along to TLC.
I always promised myself that when I had children, I would do things differently. I would let my child participate in gymnastics or soccer or whatever extracurricular they want to. I would make sure they attended every birthday party they were invited to and hang out with friends on weekends. I would buy them cotton candy at the sporting event and a souvenir when we went to the zoo. I would also be affectionate, praise my children when they deserve it, and tell them how much I love them every single day. I would always make them feel like they were enough.
I feel like it’s important to point out that many of these things I promised I would do for my kids require privilege. And my parents did not have the privilege of disposable income when I was growing up. So in many cases, like cotton candy, it was quite literally because they couldn’t – not because they wouldn’t – buy it for me.
Now that I’m a parent, do I do all those things I swore I would? No. I don’t buy my kids a souvenir every time we go to the zoo. I also refused to buy them cotton candy at Disney on Ice recently (Thanks KCMC for the tickets!!). I haven’t let them do sleepovers with friends yet because I’m overly cautious and just don’t trust anyone enough to let them spend the night.
I also struggle to find the right balance between encouraging my kids to always do their best work, and not putting too much pressure on them. I’ve often found myself using the same language that my parents used to use with me. When my son misspells words, reads them incorrectly, or gets math problems wrong, I get really frustrated. And I’m not proud to say that I’ve let my frustrations show and have said things like, “why is this so hard for you to understand?” and forced my son to sit there and continue working until he got it right. For example, my son only wants my husband to be in the room when he practices piano now because I’ve gotten angry at him for not taking it seriously enough. There have been times that the pressures and expectations I grew up with seep into my own parenting – no matter how much I promised I would never Tiger Mom my children.
I want my kids to learn the value of hard work and develop a strong work ethic. I want them to set goals and expectations for themselves, and understand the work it takes to achieve them. But I want the desire to achieve to come from within. I don’t ever want them to feel the pressure from me because I want to live vicariously through them, or believe that their achievements are somehow a reflection of my superior parenting.
Getting there is hard. We are a work in progress.
But I will say that I do give them lots of hugs and kisses. I let them know how much I love them every day, often many times a day, to the point where they roll their eyes and answer “I knooooow, mom!” I give them plenty of praise, especially when I see them make progress or achieve their goals. I encourage them to take pride in themselves and their accomplishments. I let them try activities and listen when they tell me they don’t enjoy something. I let them share their emotions – ALL of them! – and make sure they know that I accept them for the unique, special little people that they are.
I think young me would be proud of the mother that I have become. Even with all my faults and missteps, my children know that they are loved. And for me, most of the time, that is enough.
