There's been a lot of chatter on the Internet lately about Amy Chua, the Tiger Mother and the virtues (and problems) of ultra-strict parenting. Chua has come under fire for praise-stingy all-work parenting style. In response she has made distinctions between "the Chinese mother" (which in her definition can include moms of Eastern cultures other than China, i.e., India and Korea) and the Western mother (which seems to taken primarily to mean "American" mother).
Now meet Lioness Mother. She is African-American, but by no means a pushover. She bans Nintendo, is stingy with her praises, and expects her children to work hard and achieve big. So I believe it is safe to conclude that the East has no monopoly on this parenting style.
In fact, my mom, who is German by birth, was an extremely strict parent. Homework came first. Lateness was not tolerated. And straight-A report cards were an expectation, a B+ drew questions. Praise was all but absent, and beatings (with palm, fist, and belt) were routine. My dad worked a 50- to 60-hour week and traveled frequently on business, and so mom was my primary parent. And as an only child, I had nobody with whom to compare notes.
For awhile, mom's strict parenting drew the results she wanted: Excellent report cards and fear of authority. But for authority to be respected, it must be esteemable. Without praise, comfort, or love of some kind, authority becomes indistinguishable from cruelty. And once authority becomes synonymous with cruelty, that transition becomes very hard to undo.
So it was in our house. Beatings became random, unpredictable, and valueless. I was as likely to be beaten for spilling a glass of tea as for backtalking. And then there were the ritual abandonments. Those times (from age 5 - 9) when my mom would reach a breaking point and begin to pack a bag. She usually waited until dad was away on business (and before the age of cell phones and email, unreachable). Then she'd throw her clothes and toiletries in a bag, latch it, and head for the door. By this point, you can imagine the reaction of a 5-year-old: screaming, begging, crying, heaving sobs. Mom would typically get as far as the elevator, push the call button, and wait for the doors to open. I was typically around her ankles by this point. Then she'd stand there as the elevator waited for her to board. Then the doors would close, and she'd walk silently back to the apartment.
After a few of these acts played out, one because my glass had left a water ring on the coffeetable, I realized that my mother was insane. And that attempting to please an insane person was useless. So I stopped, gradually at first. I no longer listened to her commands, regardless of the punishment. I began mocking her in public, reducing her to tears. I decided that cruelty begets not respect, but more cruelty.
My father called several family meetings during this time. Mostly he played the "good cop." I'd rather he'd have said to my mom: "Strike the boy again and you're out of my house." But he never did. So I grew up. And one day became too big to hit. Or big enough to hit back. Whichever you prefer.
Then my dad died of a heart attack. Though he'd had a prior attack 7 years earlier, his death was a huge shock. He'd been a hard worker who had never been properly rewarded for his labors. He always told the truth, never claimed credit for anyone else's work, and died at his desk. He was a few months shy of his 47th birthday. I was 17.
So, the conclusion I drew from all this was: Don't try. So I didn't. I barely made it thru college and afterward drifted from job to job. My favorite saying was: "Any day cheated away from the system is a victory." I drank heavily, wrote poems, walked around the city like a ghost, and was thankful for it. (There are those who've stopped reading my blog because of my "contempt" for office work. If they've silently returned, this will no doubt offend them further.) But I've met far better men begging on the street than I have in offices. And that is still true.
I'm not saying people "ought to" be career drunks. I am saying that strict parenting is a choice, and one that has its dark side. I am in large part the product of a system of parenting that holds praise hostage to a child's material achievements. So be aware, while viewing the resumes of Lioness and Tiger children, that for every pianist, there is probably a panhandler.
