Just the other morning, I was wrapped up in my work when the school nurse called. “Your daughter is feeling unwell. You’ll need to come pick her up,” she said. Now, I’ve certainly received similar calls before, but this time, the girl in question was not just my daughter; she was an adult—18 years old and able to vote.
“I can’t do that,” I replied. “I’m on a tight deadline. Just let her take a taxi.” After all, our apartment is only a six-minute cab ride away from her school, while I’d face a lengthy trek via subway from my office.
“School policy,” the nurse stated firmly.
“Seriously? She’s 18!” I exclaimed. My daughter has been commuting alone since she was 10. She’s old enough to serve in the military, and last summer, she even took care of her younger brother while I was away on a business trip to Los Angeles. There was no valid reason for me to pick her up, and plenty of reasons why it felt ridiculous.
I put up a fight. Oh, how I argued. Eventually, the principal was brought in to intervene. I remember thinking that the principal should be an ally, but not that day.
With the subway experiencing delays due to some mysterious “incident,” I ended up shelling out nearly $46 for a cab ride from Manhattan’s Flatiron District to her high school in the Bronx. As I watched the fare climb, clarity struck me: I had reached my limit.
This nation’s approach to parenting and education is so misguided it’s hard to know where to even begin addressing it.
Questioning School Policies
How can a school that insists on my presence when my daughter is sick also be the same institution that overwhelms her with eight hours of homework daily? If she gets four hours of sleep, she’s lucky. Since she started high school, I’ve barely seen her—maybe 20 minutes a day at family dinners, which I prepare more out of necessity than maternal instinct. This so-called elite school has actually contributed to her and her friends suffering from stress-related issues.
When she was accepted into two public schools, one of which had a renowned art program, I encouraged her to choose the latter. “Think of the joy of doing art for two hours every morning before academics,” I said.
“But the academics aren’t as good, and I won’t get into a good college,” she replied, which broke my heart.
“I don’t care where you go to college!” I insisted. “Your well-being is what matters. Besides, it’s the teachers that make a difference. Less homework doesn’t equate to lower academic standards; it signifies a more enlightened approach.”
Yet, she had already absorbed the societal norms.
The Tiger Mother Debate
Years ago, a book about a tiger mother sparked outrage among my circles. Some were horrified by the lengths a parent would go to for piano practice, while others felt it was a wake-up call to toughen up American kids. “We need to emulate Asian parenting,” they argued.
My daughter’s school is predominantly filled with children from first- and second-generation Asian immigrant families, who make up 62% of the student body. These parents toil tirelessly, sacrificing and spending on tutors to prepare their kids for standardized tests that grant them access to these intense schools. They proudly display their school merchandise, but at what cost?
Critiques of the tiger mother were often countered with her daughters’ admissions to Harvard and Yale, as if those outcomes justified her methods.
Here’s the truth: I attended Harvard when it was easier to get in, and even then, it was full of stressed-out overachievers. I witnessed the effects of pressure firsthand—friends who dealt with severe anxiety, eating disorders, and more. The intense grooming for success left many of us struggling to understand our own identities apart from our parents’ aspirations.
Despite my family’s hopes for me to attend law school, I ended up serving in Afghanistan after graduation—a path they hadn’t envisioned. In hindsight, they came to accept that I had become my own person.
Interestingly, having an Ivy League degree can sometimes hinder career prospects. While it may help land a banking job, it can also label you as overqualified or aloof in other industries.
After a recent article of mine gained traction online, I faced criticism for supposedly flaunting my Harvard connection. In reality, I simply wanted a job, and I was all too aware of the limitations my degree could impose. Although I cherished my time at Harvard, I recognize that I could have thrived equally well elsewhere.
Empowering Our Children
I made a promise that if I ever had children, I would empower them to carve their own paths in life. This philosophy isn’t the antithesis of tiger motherhood; it’s merely a different mindset. I have no strict rules—just the understanding that children thrive when they’re given the freedom to explore their own ambitions.
My teens have never had a curfew. I expect a simple check-in around midnight. Wine is not forbidden; they can have a sip at family dinners when they want. When my daughter wanted to bring her boyfriend on vacation, I didn’t impose archaic rules.
When my son lost interest in soccer, I allowed him to quit and focus on his true passions: acting and music. I didn’t nag him about practice; his own commitment motivated him. Now, he plays guitar wonderfully.
When my daughter faced paralyzing stage fright after a talent show performance, I let her quit music lessons. “Why study music if I can’t perform?” she asked, which made perfect sense.
Recently, after I started taking guitar lessons post-divorce, she asked to join me. “I’m more advanced than you,” I joked, but we tried it together anyway. Within three months, she had surpassed me.
Last week, her band performed at Webster Hall, and soon she’ll learn where she’s been accepted to college. She’s worried about it, but I reassured her: “I don’t care where you go. You’ll find your place, and if not, we can always reapply next year. You’ll learn and grow wherever you land.”
Seeing her overcome her stage fright and perform proudly is a testament to her journey.
As she prepares to leave for college this fall, I’ll still have my younger son to raise. He’s just 8. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if by the time he turns 18, we’ve evolved as a society to let our children navigate their own paths?
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In summary, the pressures of modern parenting and education can be overwhelming. By allowing our children to navigate their own paths, we can foster their individual growth and happiness.
Keyphrase: Anti-Tiger Motherhood
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