Sleepy Sam

Kitty herding is exhausting.

Portrait of a Mao

Beautiful kitty? Or evil trouble-maker?

Either way, her response is: Meh.

Update: Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mom

Now an update to my earlier post, Tiger Mom: Declawed. At the time, I hadn't read the book but wanted to comment on how I felt regarding the whole idea of culture-based parental pressure in general, and how it did or didn't affect my own life. Now, having read the book, I was hoping to find some sort of redemption in this mom's story: whether it was true concern for her children's well being or whether she had somehow discovered the motivation behind her actions, like a need to impress her parents. What I found was a woman who is wholly unapologetic for hijacking her children's early years and who doesn't even see a need to justify it. I've never understood it; although I've seen it time and time again, in my own family as well as in other "ethnic" families, a lack of self-esteem perpetuated through generations. Whether it's cultural or just habit, the parent believes that by putting down the child, it will somehow stimulate them to try harder. I don't believe that the put-down is even fully believed by the adult; it just seems to come naturally to them. A knee-jerk behavior. To Western sensibilities, this seems harsh, but to certain cultures, it's benign and even beneficial to the child. Amy Chua does allude to this but never admits that it could be harmful. She does acknowledge the differences in the two cultures but ultimately commits herself to the belief that a child cannot motivate themselves enough, that it is up to the parent to usher the child to success. That is, success being defined as perfection.  So many times, while reading this book, I wanted to slap this woman...hard. With chopsticks. And not those disposable break-apart balsa wood ones, either.  I don't believe that Ms. Chua's treatment of her children was motivated by her concern for their welfare. I also don't think that her parent's self-made success story inspired her to want her children to exceed their expectations. I think it's far simpler than that. I believe that her motivations are purely selfish: the need to brag and feel superior to others. Whether inherited by culture or by a personal lack of self-esteem, some people simply love to look down their noses at others. Based on what I know of her own accomplishments, Ms. Chua certainly has nothing to be ashamed of. Her resume is stellar and enviable. It's possible her personality prevents her from ever being satisfied which is too bad because her personal lack of fulfillment bleeds onto her children.  My heart goes out to those kids, who don't know any different to comment on whether or not their childhood was short-changed. I told Tristan about this book and some of the things the author said to her kids and he said he could never have lived with a mom like that. I joked with him and told him that by her standards, he was an utter and complete failure. (No, we can talk like that to each other...it's okay, really) He joked back and said, "Not just by HER standards!!" We laughed and I thought to myself that I was glad his self esteem was healthy enough to make fun of himself and that our relationship was strong enough to be able to discuss such a topic. I learned a long time ago that I can't force him to do anything. I still try, but I know I'll only damage what we have. He's not perfect, but I tell you what - he's never stood up in a restaurant and shouted "I HATE YOU!!" like the daughters in this book. There's something wrong with me, as a parent, if my actions would ever incite my child to do something like that. Dear Tiger Mom, take a good look at yourself before it's too late for your kids. Stop trying to disprove your own self doubt through the achievements of your children. I'm a Tiger Mom too...but I'll fight to protect his life, not destroy it.

Happy Valentine's Day!!

Snow In Houston

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Unshelved

Every day...

Children See, Children Do

Seems like these days, our children's behavior is 
becoming less of a problem than our own.

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading Now: Sarah's Key

I was just complaining to my co-workers that I need to stop reading crap (and by this I mean all that fast food, formulaic, co-authored pablum churned out by NY Times bestseller authors) when this book came along.  Sarah's Key by Tatiana De Rosnay is one of those rare, can't-put-down novels that grabs you right from the start and ushers you through the character's journey instead of stringing you along to stretch a weak story. There's nothing weak about the storyline here: In 1942, a Jewish family living in Paris is growing accustomed to having family members abruptly taken in for questioning. To prepare for the inevitable, the father hides in the cellar nightly, telling his wife and two young children to pretend they don't know where he is.  Even if he is taken in, he assures them, it will just be for a night or two. In mid July, French police, complicit with German occupied soldiers, round up thousands of Jews, mostly women and children, and keep them at the Vélodrome d'Hiver, a bicycle stadium outside of Paris. Their final destination: Auschwitz. Vél d'Hiv, as the roundup comes to be known, is a shameful black smear on the city's history and Parisians, then and today, strive to erase the memory. But back in 1942, the young family, thinking this is just one more overnight interrogation, cooperates with French police and go with them, all except for 4-year old Michel, who hides in the children's secret cupboard. Sarah, his 10-year old sister, locks him in, hoping to protect him for the night. She plans to get the key to her father when he comes out of the cellar. When Sarah's father runs out and insists on going with his family, Sarah is faced with the horrifying realization that she may have entombed her little brother in the cupboard, unless she can find a way back to unlock him. The story switches from then to present day, as displaced American writer Julia Jarmond prepares to move into a renovated Parisian apartment once owned by a Jewish family. Julia's research reveals the name of the family and Sarah's sad story but more importantly, an eye-opening account of an event in history that many would like to forget. Julia's obsession with finding out what happened 60 years ago leads her to Sarah's personal story and how her own family is connected to it. I only have one small complaint about the construction of the this novel and that's the end where the author needed to tie up the ends and get out.  Instead, it sort of meanders through another few years then stops. But overall, I found myself staying up until 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning to find out what happens when the cupboard is finally reopened and how Sarah's key unlocks other secrets in Julia's life as well. Despite the setting, I wouldn't categorize this book as holocaust fiction, although without an event as traumatizing as that it's doubtful this story would ever have been plausible. If you're looking to shake off winter boredom but you can't find anything substantial that's not about vampires or millionaire playboy assassins, this is a good start.

Tiger Mom: Declawed

Okay, let's talk about it. First, I have to confess that I haven't read this book, but its highly controversial subject has been all over the news lately. I have read excerpts from the book, however, and believe me, I know how this story goes down. Amy Chua's Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother is as much a self promotion of the methods many Chinese parents utilize in child raising in order to achieve perfection as it is a bitter criticism of the way Western parents...don't. Her exacting and often brutal methods of raising her two daughters is bordering, in my opinion, on child abuse. To not allow children to exercise their right to be children, make mistakes, and enjoy the all-too-brief wonders of childhood is tragic. Ms. Chua tells a story about her daughter presenting her with a homemade birthday card. The childishly scrawled card was summarily rejected with the admonishment: Do this again. You can do better. Forget sentiment, forget the feelings behind the gift. It wasn't perfect. The author rationalizes her actions by saying, "You can't argue with the results."  Maybe I can't, but I'm sure a slew of psychiatrists will able to when these poor kids grow up and try to figure out why they feel so worthless.  Results are not the litmus test for happiness. Success...what is it, really?  How much money you make? The title on your business card?  Now, if you're going to argue that Asian (not just Chinese) students don't surpass other ethnic groups in terms of academic achievement, stop right here. It's a stereotype, a prejudice, a blanket racial epithet....and it's all true. Mostly. Having said that, I personally, never fit into the category. My grades were so-so (maybe exemplary by comparative standards) but certainly didn't live up to what you'd imagine a little Chinese/Japanese girl to produce. I've always been aware of the expectations but my parents were not the overbearing, perfection-demanding type. They never said, "You must be excellent," but it was implied.  Looking back, I'm not sure if the expectation came from them or me.  My sister, however, did fit the model. Perfect grades, perfect student...good citizen of the Model Minority. Maybe she bore the brunt of my parents' hopes, freeing me to pursue a more social life in high school. Nevertheless, if my parents had followed the handbook of the Tiger Mom, I'm certain I would have rebelled, as apparently, did one of the daughters in the book. I think one of the reasons people resent Tiger Mom is that she is unapologetic and downright smug about her methods. She insists that her own immigrant parents expected the same performance standards from her and it was "the best gift they could have given me."  I'm sure they wanted her to be happy, I'm sure they believed, like many immigrants with less opportunities in their own country, that the way to the American dream was via academic success. I agree that the Western emphasis on individual fulfillment can produce spoiled, selfish Me kids. The current trend towards permissive parenting: letting kids run wild everywhere, afraid to correct bad behavior and overcompensating small achievements (clapping for using the potty - good grief!) is producing a generation of kids who don't understand why things aren't handed to them for their meager effort. After all, my parents treated me like a superstar, why doesn't the world? I've said it before: If you give everything to your child; do everything for them, you teach them to TAKE. They never learn how to GIVE.  It's sickening and frightening. But surely there's a place in the middle between the two extremes of Tiger Mom and American Clueless? While we wrestle and argue about the best way to give our kids better than we had, a whole generation of brilliant, capable and self-sufficient kids forget that they have a brain that belongs completely and totally to them, and, if allowed, will find their own way - maybe not what we would choose for ourselves, but wholly their own. And they'll be surprised to find that it's good enough.

Self Discovery

Mao critiques her own blog post. "Meh?"

Peace...FINALLY

Sam and Mao wish you Peace on Earth. 
Or, at least, no more hissing and biting.

Mao-Mao Part II

Did I mention that I am NOT a Cat Person? And yet, I type this with a cat on my lap. What happened? Well, as you recall from the previous post, the library staff managed to capture the two homeless kittens, living behind the building. One went home with a co-worker and the other, Black kitty, went off to a shelter. As fate would have it, the shelter was closed to incoming animals on Thursdays, so back she came. "It's a SIGN!" a co-worker proclaimed. Yeah...right. We stressed, worried and pow-wowed about finding a home for her. I staunchly maintained my position: "No way...Sam would freak out...I know nothing about cats...I am NOT a Cat Person!!" but reluctantly agreed to take her home until a forever home could be found. An e-mail was sent out to other branches, along with cute photos, pleading for a home. We received one "maybe." A co-worker agreed to take her home for the night. We were thrilled but I quickly came to the (horrifying) realization that of all the people currently involved in the care of this small animal, I had the most experience with animals and am the biggest sucker. Crap. I went up to work on my day off armed with gloves, towels and flea shampoo to administer my very first cat bath. I was prepared to bleed...heavily. But as soon as I saw how scared she was, I abandoned the gloves immediately so I could comfort her and so she could feel my hands. She fought at first, but the minute I lowered her into the warm water, she relaxed and let me massage her with shampoo. As the fleas swarmed her head, she closed her huge yellow eyes and seemed to surrender herself to being cared for. I wrapped her in a warm towel and she immediately nestled in my lap and purred. Loudly... seriously, it was like a motorcycle. Then she went to sleep. Crap. I sat on the floor in the library workroom with this soggy, tiny thing in my lap and wondered exactly HOW mad Sam would be if I brought her home. Sam, who is fast enough to chase down cats...who has caught three already, and whose ears prick up at the sound of a meow and the thrill of the hunt? In the end, my trust in Sam and in my ability to control him won over and I agreed to take Kitty home until after Thanksgiving or until the "maybe" person could take her. That was a month ago. The "maybe" reneged and Harley (named for the motorcycle she sounds like when she's happy) has a "cautious" friendship with Sam. Neither one trusts each other; Harley is determined to gnaw on Sam's leg and Sam warns her with a teeth-baring snap when she swipes at him. They've finally started playing together. Sam will walk by, a black arm will shoot out and swipe his tail, she'll shoot off and he'll take off after her. Or she'll jump in a reusable grocery bag - Sam will stick his entire head in (duh, Sam!) and jump back when she swats him. And she thinks she's Asian... hiding in the wrought iron of the coffee table until Sam comes by and then silently dropping down behind him to attack. It is the way of Secret Asian Ninja Cat. I no longer worry that he'll hurt her or she, him. Both are too worried that I'll yell. I think I knew it was okay when I came out of the bathroom and both dog and cat were sitting outside, side by side, waiting for me.  It's my fault that she doesn't respond to her name, Harley. I started calling her Mao-Mao when I called her, "Mao?" and she answered, "Meh?" which is our usual routine now because I don't think she knows how to Meow. I say, "Mao, are you hungry?" and she answers, "Meh? Meeeeh" and I hustle to warm her food. If dogs could roll their eyes, Sam would. So Mao-mao is her nickname. Weird or not, it seems natural. So that's how a Dog Person came to own a cat. My sister says Mao-mao looks and acts like "Toothless" from the movie, "How to Train Your Dragon." It's true. In this case, it didn't take a whole village to rescue her but it did take an entire library staff. I'm told that it only takes one cat to change your mind if don't like them. Mao-mao, I think, is that cat. She certainly has won my heart -- but I'm still not a Cat Person. (Visit Mao's and Sam's blogs by clicking on the Blog icons in the right margin -yes, they have blogs. You don't?)

Mao-Mao Part I

I am a dog person. I've always owned dogs and, if I have it my way, always will. Dogs are whip smart, love you unconditionally, are loyal to a fault, and care whether you live or die. Cats are annoying, sneaky, irreverent, and if you are hanging off the edge of a cliff on the precipice of death, may - just may - wander over to see if you've fallen yet. I don't hate cats, I just prefer dogs. No cats! No, no no. And now, I am a cat owner. *sigh* Okay, here's the deal. Around October, the library staff at work noticed a tail-less gray cat and her two kittens (one fluffy gray and the other deep black, but all with bright gold-yellow eyes) hanging around behind the library, hiding under the shed in the back. We were compelled to do, what all animal lovers do, that is, we ran out and bought cat food and crowded by the window to watch them wander out and eat from chipped workroom dishes. Being the aforementioned "Non Cat Person," I participated in the care of the little family, scolded other staff members for forgetting to put out water and kibbles on my off days, and watched from the window during my lunch hour but tried to remain detached. More involved staff members bought kitty toys, tuna fish and spent their lunch hours sitting outside by the shed hoping to lure the kittens out. Mama Cat glared at us through the window, daring us to make a move toward her babies, who delighted us with kitten play. Our library family was drawn together; united toward the care of this little trio. Unfortunately, our worst fears were realized when Mama Cat disappeared, perhaps struck by a car in the traffic that raced alongside our building. Now our concern for the kittens was magnified and we redoubled our efforts to capture them before the weather got cold. Gray was captured in November and adopted by one of us, which left Black alone under the shed and became the focus of our efforts. Only in Texas can you say, "I need to catch a cat" and have six people step forward and offer traps. Traps...eek. The first few tries ended in disaster, with the capture of a nasty, snarling possum and then a huge black adult cat that I dubbed "Lucifer" due to its evil glare from the cage. Where was Black kitty and was she okay? I, the self-professed non Cat Person, went home worried every night. Finally, with the aid of a co-worker's determined dad, who showed up almost daily with traps, small cups of mystery meat and dressed in camouflage, kitty was captured! But now what? Gray kitty's new owner couldn't take in another and no one else was interested. Finally the decision to take her to a shelter (with dubious hopes that she would be adopted) was made and off she went. The right thing to do, certainly. But after all these weeks of worrying and watching, the emptiness was palpable. The library staff turned away from the window and went back to work. (Part 2 to follow)

Who Let The Cat Out of The Bag?

Meet the newest member of our family: Harley. She's so named because of the deep, rumbling motorcycle sounds she makes when she's purring, which I'm told means she's happy. Her story is kinda sad but has a happy ending because we're happy she's part of our family. Sam...not as thrilled, but he's working on it. Maybe later I'll blog about how Kitty Mao-mao (that's her nickname), the no-tail kitten who doesn't know how to Meow, came to be: Secret Asian Ninja Cat.