Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mommy

This is a story about a mother, two kids, Tom Brokaw, and a trip to the library to figure out how big a wuss I am when it comes to parenting.

In November, I saw NBC anchor Tom Brokaw being interviewed by his daughter at an event at his grandkids' school in San Francisco. Brokaw's daughter asked why he had given her a copy of "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother." Was it a not-so-subtle commentary on her parenting?

Brokaw laughed and said no. He described meeting Tiger Mother author Amy Chua after her controversial memoir came out last January. Her view — that Chinese parents produce so many math whizzes and music prodigies because they push their kids in ways anathema to many Westerners — reminded Brokaw of his trip to South Korea in 1988. There he saw kids crowded in a school courtyard each morning, studying their textbooks by flashlight and waiting for the doors to open at 6:30 a.m.

That, Brokaw says, "is what we're competing against. This is what their standards are."

Which made me wonder: What, exactly, are we competing against? South Koreans? Tiger Mothers? Tiger Mothers from South Korea (and China)? Is this the only way to bring up academic geniuses? Don't kids have to learn generosity and compassion, too?

I hadn't read Chua's book, so I got it from the library. Chua is one tough mother, as evidenced by the tactics, threats and taunts she used to get her two daughters to practice piano and violin for hours on end, her disdain for mediocrity, including hastily-assembled birthday cards, and her expectation of academic perfection. (I find it hard to get past how Chua called one daughter "garbage," and that she had her seven-year-old practice a tricky piece of music — without bathroom breaks — for hours.)

She did get results. Her daughters seem bright and accomplished, and Chua says she has a wonderful relationship with them.

I understand where Chua is coming from. I grew up in a strict Italian Catholic family, with parents who impressed upon us the importance of education. And Chua is right that parents who let their kids decide whether to practice, study or work toward a goal are doing them a disservice. Many kids will give up when the going gets rough; it's the parents' job to stay the course.

But there's got to be a better way. Chua yells and threatens. A lot. She's an authoritarian, making all the decisions and screaming when her kids don't snap to it. It reminds me of a scene in the children's book Matilda, by Roald Dahl, when the horrible Harry Wormwood says to his daughter, "I'm right and you're wrong, I'm big and you're small, and there's nothing you can do about it."

I'm not into yelling, name-calling or threats — those aren't behaviors I want to model for my kids. But I don't think I'm the apathetic or well-intentioned yet ineffectual parent Chua exhorts against either. I take a more democratic view. You can be tough and talk to your kids, giving them some autonomy in the process. There's no need to resort to tear-filled, rage-fueled, china-throwing (no pun intended) scream fests.

How then, do you still get your way? Here's what's worked – so far – for us:

1. Don't yell or threaten. If you feel the need to scream or cancel Christmas, pause. Do you like to be yelled at? Picture a screaming person. It's not pretty. To me, yelling robs Chua of her dignity. And what's the takeaway for her kids: When you get older, yelling and threatening is an acceptable way to deal with subordinates?

While I can't say I never lose my cool, I try to explain the why of things. It could be a simple: "Because we don't want to visit the emergency room today" or "When you're older, you'll be able to hire out your musical talents for weddings and Bar Mitvahs." Reasoning and talking with kids is time consuming, but all good relationships are based on good communication.

2. Create an educational plan and stick to it. When our first child was born, we wrote down all the things we'd wanted her and her future siblings to learn by the time they went to college. Why? Because there's a bunch of stuff my husband and I both wish someone had talked to us about or taught us when we were kids. I'm also very organized and I knew if we didn't write it down, we'd forget and the years would pass.

What was in our plan? Like Chua, we wanted the kids to speak another language and play a musical instrument. We also wanted them to ski and swim. These take time and money, so our family budget going forward had to include money to cover lessons, gear and trips. You see why I like to be organized?

I also had a list of books I wanted them to read, of music they should listen to, of artists they should know. And as an old movie buff, it was important to me that they see some of the films I love -- by Hitchcock, Billy Wilder, Frank Capra, John Ford and John Huston, among others.

My husband, a history major, thought of facts and trivia he thought they should know (Who was the last viceroy of India?) And he insisted they be good at geography — which he reinforced by hanging maps over their beds and quizzing them on state and country capitals.

We tried to make learning fun when we could. Visits to museums included sketchbooks and colored pencils so the kids could sit in the gallery and draw alongside the art students. We had "Word of the Day," where they had to go to the dictionary and pick out a word starting with a letter I'd chosen. Then they had to use it in a sentence by dinner. I learned lots of new words that way, too.

And we told them the educational plan was a living document —they could add to it by learning things that interested them. Which is why my daughter's accomplishments include "plays the harmonica" and my son's, "solves the Rubik's cube in less than a minute."

How did we do? We have a great relationship with our kids and they have enough honors and awards to make their parents —and, more important, themselves — proud. Our walls are covered with their drawings, they're really good at Jeopardy, they have expansive vocabularies and they have seen "Rear Window." They can also tell you Lord Louis Mountbatten was the last viceroy of India.

Still, like any parent, I sometimes worry that I pushed them too hard or maybe even not hard enough. So I went to the ultimate authority: my daughter, now in college. "Am I a tiger mother?" I asked her.

"No," she said. "You're a tiger mommy."

I'll take that. — CG

Tiger puppet image courtesy flickr user orarewedancer

Educational plan image courtesy Connie Guglielmo