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Even Jed gave me credit for that one. Western parents worry a lot about their children’s self-esteem. But as a parent, one ofthe worst things you can do for your child’sself-esteem is to let them give up. On the flipside, there’s nothing better for buildingconfidence than learning you can dosomething you thought you couldn’t.

There are all these new books out thereportraying Asian mothers as scheming, callous, overdriven people indifferent to theirkids’ true interests. For their part, manyChinese secretly believe that they care moreabout their children and are willing to sacrifice much more for them than Westerners, who seem perfectly content to let their children turn out badly. I think it’s a misunderstanding on both sides. All decent parentswant to do what’s best for their children. TheChinese just have a totally different idea ofhow to do that.

Western parents try to respect their children’s individuality, encouraging them topursue their true passions, supporting theirchoices, and providing positive reinforcement and a nurturing contrast, the Chinese believe that the best way toprotect their children is by preparing themfor the future, letting them see what they’recapable of, and arming them with skills, work habits, and inner confidence that noone can ever take away.

12The Cadenza

Lulu sighed. I was driving the girls homefrom school, and I was in a bad mood. Sophia had just reminded me that her sixth grade Medieval Festival was coming up, andthere’s nothing I hate more than all thesefestivals and projects that private schoolsspecialize in. Instead of making kids studyfrom books, private schools are constantlytrying to make learning fun by having parents do all the work.

For Lulu’s Passport-Around-the-Worldproject, I had to prepare an Ecuadoran dish(chicken stewed for four hours in groundachiote, served with fried plantains), bring inEcuadoran artifacts (a carved llama fromBolivia; no one knew the difference), andfind a real Ecuadoran for Lulu to interview (agraduate student I recruited). Lulu’s job wasto make the passport—a piece of paperfolded in quarters and labeled“Passport”—and show up for the international food festival, featuring dishes from a hundred countries, each prepared by a differentparent.

But that was nothing compared to the Medieval Festival, the highlight of the sixth grade year. For that, every student had tohave a homemade medieval costume, whichcould not be secretly rented or look too expensive. Each student had to bring in a medieval dish prepared in an authentic medieval way. Finally, each student had to build amedieval dwelling.

So I was in a cranky mood that day, tryingto figure out which architect to hire—andhow to make sure it wasn’t the parent of another student—when Lulu sighed again, more deeply.

“My friend Maya is so lucky,” she saidwistfully. “She has so many pets. Two parrots, a dog, and a goldfish.”

I didn’t reply. I’d been through this manytimes with Sophia.

“And two guinea pigs.”

“Maybe that’s why she’s only in Book Oneof violin,” I said. “Because she’s too busy taking care of pets.”

“I wish I had a pet.”

“You already have a pet,” I snapped. “Yourviolin is your pet.”

I’ve never been much of an animal personand didn’t have a pet as a child. I haven’tdone a rigorous empirical survey, but I’mguessing that most Chinese immigrant families in the United States don’t have pets. Chinese parents are too busy coming downhard on their kids to raise a pet. Also, they’reusually tight on money—my father wore thesame pair of shoes to work for eightyears—and having a pet is a luxury. Finally, Chinese people have a different attitude toward animals, especially dogs.

Whereas in the West dogs have long beenconsidered loyal companions, in Chinathey’re on the menu. This is so upsetting thatit feels like an ethnic slur, but unfortunatelyit’s true. Dog meat, especially young dogmeat, is considered a delicacy in China, andeven more so in Korea. I would never eat dogmeat myself. I loved Lassie. Caddie Woodlawn’s smart and faithful dog Nero, whofinds his way back from Boston to Wisconsin, is one of my favorite literary characters. But there’s a big difference between eatingdog and owning one, and it never remotelyoccurred to me that we’d have a dog in ourhousehold. I just didn’t see the point.

Meanwhile, my violin practice sessionswith Lulu were getting more and more harrowing. “Stop hovering over me,” she’d say.“You remind me of Lord Voldemort. I can’tplay when you’re standing so close to me.”

Unlike Western parents, reminding mychild of Lord Voldemort didn’t bother me. Ijust tried to stay focused. “Do one smallthing for me, Lulu,” I’d say reasonably. “Onesmall thing: Play the line again, but this timekeep your vibrato perfectly even. And makesure you shift smoothly from first position tothird. And remember to use your whole bow, because it’s fortissimo, with a little more bowspeed at the end. Also, don’t forget to keepyour right thumb bent and your left pinkiecurved. Go ahead—play.”

Lulu would respond by doing none of thethings I asked her to do. When I got exasperated, she’d say, “I’m sorry? What did youwant me to do again?”

Other times when I was giving instructions, Lulu would pluck loudly at her stringsas if she were playing a banjo. Or even worse, she’d start to swing her violin around like alasso until I shouted in horror. When I toldher to straighten her posture and raise herviolin, she’d sometimes crumple to the floorand pretend she was dead with her tonguestuck out. And always the constant refrain:“Are we done yet?”

Yet other times, Lulu would seem to lovethe violin. After practicing with me, she’dsometimes want to play more by herself, andshe’d fill the house with her beautiful tones, forgetting all about the time. She’d ask tobring her violin to school and come homeflushed and pleased after playing for herclass. Or she’d come running up to me whenI was at my computer and say, “Mommy, guess what my favorite part in the Bach is!”I’d try to guess—I actually got it right about70% of the time—and she’d either say “Howdid you know?” or “No, it’s this part—isn’t itpretty?”

If it weren’t for those moments, I probablywould have given up. Or maybe not. In anycase, as with Sophia and the piano, I had thehighest hopes for Lulu and the violin. Iwanted her to win the Greater New HavenConcerto Competition so that she could playas a soloist at Battell Chapel too. I wantedher to become concertmaster of the bestyouth orchestra. I wanted her to be the bestviolinist in the state—and that was forstarters. I knew that was the only way Lulucould be happy. So the more time Luluwasted—quibbling with me, drilling halfheartedly, clowning around—the longer Imade her play. “We’re going to get this pieceright,” I’d say to her, “however long it takes. It’s up to you. We can stay here until midnight if we need to.” And sometimes we did.

“My friend Daniela was amazed at howmuch I practice,” Lulu said one afternoon.“She couldn’t believe it. I told her six hours aday, and she went—” And here Lulu imitatedDaniela with her mouth open.

“You shouldn’t have said six hours, Lulu—she’s going to get the wrong idea. It’sonly six hours when you waste five of them.”

Lulu ignored this. “Daniela felt so sorry forme. She asked when I had time to doanything else. I told her that I don’t reallyhave time for anything fun, because I’mChinese.”

I bit my tongue and said nothing. Lulu wasalways collecting allies, marshaling hertroops. But I didn’t care. In America, everyone was always going to take her side. Iwasn’t going to let peer pressure get to me. The few times I did, I regretted it.

Once, for example, I allowed Sophia to attend a sleepover party. This was an exception. When I was little, my mother used tosay, “Why do you need to sleep at someoneelse’s house? What’s wrong with your ownfamily?” As a parent, I took the same position, but on this occasion Sophia begged andbegged me, and in a moment of uncharacteristic weakness, I finally gave in. The nextmorning, she came back not only exhausted(and unable to practice piano well) butcrabby and miserable. It turns out that sleepovers aren’t fun at all for many kids—theycan be a kind of punishment parents unknowingly inflict on their children throughpermissiveness. After pumping Sophia forinformation, I learned that A, B, and C hadexcluded D; B had gossiped viciously about Ewhen she was in the other room; and F at agetwelve had talked all night about her sexualexploits. Sophia didn’t need to be exposed tothe worst of Western society, and I wasn’tgoing to let platitudes like “Children need toexplore” or “They need to make their ownmistakes” lead me astray.

There are many things the Chinese do differently from Westerners. There’s the question of extra credit, for example. One time, Lulu came home and told me about a mathtest she’d just taken. She said she thought ithad gone extremely well, which is why shedidn’t feel the need to do the extra-creditproblems.

I was speechless for a second, uncomprehending. “Why not?” I asked. “Why didn’tyou do them?”

“I didn’t want to miss recess.”

A fundamental tenet of being Chinese isthat you always do all of the extra credit allof the time.

“Why?” asked Lulu, when I explained thisto her.

For me this was like asking why I shouldbreathe.

“None of my friends do it,” Lulu added.

“That’s not true,” I said. “I’m 100% surethat Amy and Junno did the extra credit.”Amy and Junno were the Asian kids in Lulu’sclass. And I was right about them; Lulu admitted it.

“But Rashad and Ian did the extra credittoo, and they’re not Asian,” she added.

“Aha! So many of your friends did do theextra credit! And I didn’t say only Asians doextra credit. Anyone with good parentsknows you have to do the extra credit. I’m inshock, Lulu. What will the teacher think ofyou? You went to recess instead of doing extra credit?” I was almost in tears. “Extracredit is not extra. It’s just credit. It’s whatseparates the good students from the badstudents.”

“Aww—recess is so fun,” Lulu offered asher final sally. But after that Lulu, likeSophia, always did the extra credit. Sometimes the girls got more points on extra credit than on the test itself—an absurdity thatwould never happen in China. Extra credit isone reason that Asian kids get such notoriously good grades in the United States.

Rote drilling is another. Once, Sophiacame in second on a multiplication speedtest, which her fifth-grade teacher administered every Friday. She lost to a Korean boynamed Yoon-seok. Over the next week, Imade Sophia do twenty practice tests (of 100problems each) every night, with me clockingher with a stopwatch. After that, she came infirst every time. Poor Yoon-seok. He wentback to Korea with his family, but probablynot because of the speed test.

Practicing more than everyone else is alsowhy Asian kids dominate the top music conservatories. That’s how Lulu kept impressingMr. Shugart every Saturday with how fastshe improved. “You catch on so quickly,”he’d frequently say. “You’re going to be agreat violinist.”

In the fall of 2005, when Lulu was nine, Mr. Shugart said, “Lulu, I think you’re readyto play a concerto. What do you say we take abreak from the Suzuki books?” He wantedher to learn Viotti’s Concerto no. 23 in G Major. “If you work really hard, Lulu, I bet youcan have the first movement ready for thewinter recital. The only thing is,” he addedthoughtfully, “there’s a tough cadenza in thepiece.” Mr. Shugart was wily, and he understood Lulu. A cadenza is a special section, usually near the end of a concerto movement, where the soloist plays unaccompanied. “It’s kind of a chance to show off,” saidMr. Shugart, “but it’s really long and difficult. Most kids your age wouldn’t be able toplay it.”

Lulu looked interested. “How long is it?”

“The cadenza?” said Mr. Shugart. “Oh, very long. About a page.”

“I think I can do it,” Lulu said. She had alot of confidence, and, as long as it wasn’t meforcing it on her, she loved a challenge.

We plunged into the Viotti, and the battlesescalated. “Calm down, Mommy,” Luluwould say maddeningly. “You’re starting toget hysterical and breathe all funny again. We still have a month to practice.” All I couldthink of was the work ahead of us. Althoughrelatively simple, the Viotti concerto was abig step up from what Lulu was used to. Thecadenza was filled with rapid string crossingsas well as “double stops” and “triplestops”—notes played simultaneously on twoor three different strings, the equivalent ofchords on the piano—which were difficult toplay in tune.

I wanted the cadenza to be good. It became a kind of obsession for me. The rest ofthe Viotti was okay—parts of it were a bitpedantic—but Mr. Shugart was right: The cadenza made the whole piece worthwhile. Andabout a week before the recital, I realizedthat Lulu’s cadenza had the potential to bespectacular. She made its melodic parts singout exquisitely; somehow that was intuitivefor her. But not nearly so good were the sections that required technical precision—inparticular, a series of double-stop-stringcrossing zingers near the end. During practice, it was always hit or miss with those passages. If Lulu was in a good mood and concentrating, she could nail them. If she was ina bad or distracted mood, the cadenza fellflat. The worst thing was that I had no control over which mood it would be.

Then I had an epiphany. “Lulu,” I said, “Ihave a deal to propose.”

“Oh no, not again,” Lulu groaned.

“This is a good one, Lulu. You’ll like it.”

“What—practice two hours, and I won’thave to set the table? No thanks, Mommy.”

“Lulu, just listen for a second. If you playthe cadenza really well next Saturday—betterthan you’ve ever played it—I’ll give yousomething you won’t believe, something thatI know you will love.”

Lulu looked scornful. “You mean like acookie? Or five minutes on a computergame?”

I shook my head. “Something so amazingeven you won’t be able to resist.”

“A playdate?”

I shook my head.

“Chocolate?”

I shook my head again, and it was my turnto be scornful. “You think that I think youcan’t resist chocolate? I know you a little better than that, Lulu. I have in mind somethingyou’ll never EVER guess.”

And I was right. She never guessed, perhaps because it was so wildly out of therealm of possibility given the available facts.

In the end, I told her. “It’s a pet. A dog. Ifyou give me a great cadenza next Saturday, I’ll get us a dog.”

For the first time in her life, Lulu wasdumbstruck. “A. . . dog?” she repeated. “Alive one?” she added suspiciously.

“Yes. A puppy. You and Sophia can decidewhat kind.”

And that’s how I outsmarted myself, changing our lives forever.

Part Two

Tigers are always tense and like to be ina hurry. They are very confident, perhaps too confident sometimes. They likebeing obeyed and not the other wayaround. Suitable careers for Tigers include advertising agent, office manager, travel agent, actor, writer, pilot, flightattendant, musician, comedian, andchauffeur.

13Coco

Coco is our dog, my first pet ever. She’s notJed’s first pet. He had a mutt called Friskywhen he was a boy. Frisky, who barked a lot, was abducted and put to death by evil neighbors while Jed’s family was on vacation. Atleast that’s what Jed has always suspected. It’s possible that Frisky just got lost, and waspicked up by a loving Washington, D. C.,family.

Technically, Coco was not Sophia andLulu’s first pet either. We had an earlier ordeal that was thankfully short-lived. Whenthe girls were very young, Jed got them apair of pet rabbits named Whiggy and Tory. Idisliked them from the moment I saw themand would have nothing to do with them. They were unintelligent and not at all whatthey claimed to be. The pet-store person toldJed they were dwarf rabbits that would staysmall and cute. That was a lie. Within weeksthey had grown huge and fat. They movedwith the gait of sumo wrestlers—they lookedlike sumo wrestlers—and could barely fit intotheir 2’ x 3’ cage. They also kept trying tomate with each other even though they wereboth males, making things very awkward forJed. “What are they doing, Daddy?” the girlskept asking. Eventually, the rabbits mysteriously escaped.

Coco is a Samoyed, a white, fluffy dogabout the size of a Siberian husky, with darkalmond eyes. Samoyeds are famous for theirsmiling faces and lush tails that curl up overtheir backs. Coco has the Samoyed smile, and the dazzling pure-white Samoyed fur.

For some reason Coco’s tail is a little shortand looks more like a pom-pom than aplume, but she’s still stunningly beautiful. Although it hasn’t been scientifically proven, Samoyeds are said to have descended fromwolves, but in personality they are the opposite of wolves. They are sweet, gentle, friendly, loving animals, and for that reasonvery poor guard dogs. Originally from Siberia, they pulled sleds during the day and atnight kept their owners warm by sleeping ontop of them. During the winter, Coco keepsus warm in the same way. Another nice thingabout Samoyeds is that they don’t have dogodor. Coco smells like clean, fresh straw.

Coco was born on January 26, 2006. Therunt of the litter, she has always been unusually timid. When we picked her up at the ageof three months, she was a quivering whitepuffball. (Baby Samoyeds look like baby polar bears, and there’s nothing cuter.) On thecar ride back, she huddled in the corner ofher crate, shaking. At home, she was tooscared to eat anything. To this day, she isabout 10% smaller than most Samoyeds. Sheis also terrified of thunder, angry voices, cats, and small vicious dogs. She still won’tgo down our narrow back stairs. In otherwords, Coco is the opposite of the leader ofthe pack.

Nevertheless, not knowing a thing aboutraising dogs, my first instinct was to applyChinese parenting to Coco. I had heard ofdogs who can count and do the Heimlichmaneuver, and the breeder told us thatSamoyeds are very intelligent. I had alsoheard of many famous Samoyeds. Kaifas andSuggen were the lead dogs for the explorerFridtjof Nansen’s famous 1895 attempt toreach the North Pole. In 1911, a Samoyednamed Etah was the lead dog for the first expedition to successfully reach the South Pole. Coco was incredibly fast and agile, and Icould tell that she had real potential. Themore Jed gently pointed out that she did nothave an overachieving personality, and thatthe point of a pet is not necessarily to takethem to the highest level, the more I wasconvinced that Coco had hidden talent.

I began to do extensive research. I boughtmany books and especially liked The Art ofRaising a Puppy by the Monks of New Skete. I befriended other dog owners in my neighborhood and got helpful tips about dog parksand dog activities. I found a place thatoffered a Doggy Kindergarten class, a prerequisite for more advanced courses, andsigned us up.

But first, there were the basics, like housebreaking. This proved more difficult than Iexpected. In fact, it took several months. Butwhen we finally achieved success—Cocowould run to the door and signal whenevershe needed to go—it was like a miracle.

Around this time, unbelievably, an exhaustion factor started to set in with the othermembers of my family. Jed, Sophia, andLulu seemed to feel that Coco had hadenough training— even though the only skillshe’d mastered was not going to the bathroom anymore on our rugs. They just wantedto hug and pet Coco, and play around withher in our yard. When I looked flabbergasted, Jed pointed out that Coco could also sitand fetch and that she excelled at Frisbee.

Unfortunately, that was all Coco could do. She didn’t respond to the command “Come.”Worse, unless it came from Jed—who hadearly on demonstrated his dominance as thealpha male in the household—Coco didn’t respond to the command “No,” which meantthat she ate pencils, DVDs, and all my nicestshoes. Whenever we had a dinner party, she’d pretend to be asleep in the kitchen until the appetizers were brought out. Thenshe’d dart to the living room, grab a wholepâté, and gallop around in circles, the pâtéflapping and getting progressively smaller asshe chomped away. Because she was so fast, we couldn’t catch her.

Coco also wouldn’t walk; she only sprintedat top speed. This was a problem for me, because I did all the dog walking, which in ourcase meant being dragged at fifty miles perhour, often straight into a tree trunk (whenshe was chasing a squirrel) or someone else’sgarage (when she was chasing a squirrel). Ipointed all this out to my family, but none ofthem seemed concerned. “I don’t havetime.... I need to practice piano,” Sophiamumbled. “Why does she need to walk?”Lulu asked.