The Anthem of the Non-Tiger Mom

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The other morning, while I was deep in work at my office, I received a call from the nurse at my daughter’s school. “She’s not feeling well. You’ll need to come pick her up,” she informed me. While I’ve gotten calls like this before, this was the first time the student in question was old enough to vote.

“I can’t,” I replied. “I’m on a tight deadline. Just have her take a cab.” The school was a mere six minutes away by taxi, but the subway ride from my office would take at least an hour.

“Sorry, but that’s school policy,” the nurse insisted.

“Are you serious? She’s 18!” My daughter had been commuting to school by herself since she was 10. She’s old enough to serve her country and has handled her younger brother for days while I was away on business. It made no sense for me to go fetch my adult child from the nurse’s office, and I had plenty of reasons not to.

I argued tirelessly. The principal was brought in for resolution. I remembered the saying that the principal is supposed to be my ally, but today felt different.

Due to a subway delay from an unspecified “incident,” I ended up shelling out $45.96 for a cab ride from Manhattan to her school in the Bronx. As I watched the fare climb, a wave of frustration washed over me: I’ve had enough.

The way our society, parents, and schools approach education and the care of children is utterly misguided. But let’s attempt to address this issue.

How is it that a school so concerned for my 18-year-old’s health insists on making me come pick her up when she’s sick, yet they’ve assigned eight hours of homework daily for the past four years? If she gets four hours of sleep a night, she’s lucky. Since her freshman year, I’ve spent maybe 20 minutes a day with her during family dinners, which I prepare not out of a sense of duty but to see my children at all. Her school, one of the top public high schools in the nation, has caused her and her peers to become physically ill from stress.

When she received acceptance to both this school and another public school known for its arts program, I urged her to choose the latter. “Imagine being able to do art each morning for two hours before academics!” I exclaimed.

Her response broke my heart: “But the academics aren’t as good, so I won’t get into a good college.”

“I don’t care where you go to college!” I told my then-14-year-old. “I’d prefer you to have a less stressful adolescence. Every teacher I met was fantastic. It’s not just about homework; it’s about the learning experience.” But she had already bought into the societal pressures surrounding education.

Years ago, when my daughter started high school, a controversial book about tiger parenting sparked debates among my friends and family. Some were horrified by the extremes a mother would go to ensure her daughter practiced the piano, while others felt it was a wake-up call: we’ve been too lenient with our children.

Her school is filled with kids from first- and second-generation Asian immigrant families, making up 62% of the student body. These parents have sacrificed and spent money on tutors to prepare their children for the rigorous standardized tests that grant them access to these competitive schools. They proudly flaunt bumper stickers and merchandise bearing the school’s name.

But at what cost?

Critics of the tiger mom often pointed to her daughters’ acceptance into Harvard and Yale, as if that alone validated her methods. Here’s a truth I know: I attended Harvard when it was easier to gain admission, and it was filled with overachievers who were often stressed to the breaking point. Anorexia and bulimia were rampant; it was confusing to those of us with average body shapes. I, too, felt the pressure and ended up restricting my food intake during my sophomore year.

Many of my peers were so meticulously groomed for elite institutions that once they arrived, they struggled to discern their own identities apart from their parents’ aspirations. I had a different path than my family envisioned, yet they eventually accepted that I had grown into a unique individual.

Moreover, having an Ivy League degree can sometimes hinder career opportunities. Sure, it may help in banking, but in many fields, it can lead to being perceived as overqualified or pretentious. After an article of mine gained traction, I was unjustly accused in The New York Times of being elitist for a single mention of Harvard, as if my experiences there didn’t matter.

To clarify, I valued my time at Harvard, with its ups and downs, and I believe I would have thrived just as much elsewhere. I promised myself that if I ever had children, I would empower them to chart their own paths—not just in college but in life.

My teenagers have never had a curfew. They simply needed to check in around midnight to let me know where they were. Wine was never a taboo; they could enjoy a small amount during family dinners starting in their early teens. When my daughter wanted to bring her boyfriend on vacation, I didn’t impose any outdated notions of propriety.

When my son lost interest in soccer, I allowed him to quit and pursue his true passions: acting and music. If he didn’t practice guitar, it was his own internal motivation that drove him—not my nagging. Today, he plays exceptionally well, thanks to his determination.

When my daughter struggled with stage fright after a performance, I let her step back from music lessons. “What’s the point of learning if I can’t perform?” she asked, and it made perfect sense.

After her father and I separated, I took up guitar lessons for solace. She soon expressed interest in joining me. “I’m more advanced,” I joked, but we embarked on the journey together. Just three months later, she was far ahead of me.

Last week, her band performed at Webster Hall in Manhattan. This week, she awaits news from colleges. She’s been anxious about acceptance, but I reassured her: “I don’t care where you end up. There’s always a chance to apply again if you’re not satisfied. You’ll thrive wherever you go.” I know this because I witnessed her, once shy about singing, perform confidently on stage.

As she prepares to leave for college this fall, I’ll still have my youngest to raise. He’s just 8. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if, by the time he turns 18 and faces a similar situation, we’ve evolved as a society to allow our children to find their own way home?

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In summary, parenting in today’s world requires a balanced approach that prioritizes the well-being of our children over societal pressures. By allowing them to explore their own paths and passions, we can cultivate a generation of confident, well-rounded individuals capable of navigating life’s challenges on their own terms.