There’s this Journal piece that’s been circulating singing the praises of the “Chinese Mother.” Maybe you’ve seen it. “Chinese” isn’t intended to designate people of Chinese nationality nor descent. It’s intended to designate what the author claims is a culturally typical style of parenting. Namely: hard-assed-ness. An unflinching demand for measurable excellence, forbidding anything else. Typical of but not at all limited to nor ubiquitous in Chinese culture. The article (written by a self-described Chinese mother) makes a point of the fact that mothers of Chinese heritage who are not “Chinese” have almost always been born in the West.

I found the piece, and its subsequent discussion, particularly interesting because I went to a high school more or less dominated by the children of “Chinese Mothers.” I mean this both in the figurative sense: that from my perspective, many of my classmate’s parents were very strict, and the literal: my (public) high school was more than 50 percent Asian (and at least 7 percent Filipino, which was large enough that they got their own category on our website.) The overwhelming majority of my classmates were either first-generation or actually immigrants. Growing up in this environment, as you can imagine, I’ve developed an opinion on the different parenting styles. My biggest goal for this piece is to get my point across without deeply offending anybody I know personally.

The best bit of evidence in support of Chua-the-Chinese-Mother’s thesis was that my high school’s standardized test scores were through the roof, but those of white males (most of whom were pretty well-to-do if they were in my neighborhood) were far below the district average. But I’m more fascinated by the fact that most of my closest friends were not the offspring of “Chinese” Mothers. My parents might’ve tried at some point in time, but after reaching age seven without cable, my little brother cried that they were excluding him from popular culture and we ended up getting satellite. Some of my friends’ parents were hippies. Some of them had too many children to focus too hard on any one. Some of them were just absent or absent-minded. And some of them were just Western. The point is: By the time we reached high school, all of us were pretty much past caring what our parents thought about our grades. Regardless of our culture of origin, we were on our own.

Now, a lot of the traits of “Chinese” parenthood kind of collapse when a habitat becomes saturated with “Chinese” children. If more than 50 percent of students in the class are “not allowed to not be the No. 1 student in any subject but gym and drama,” something’s just got to break. The “Chinese”-ness of my class was mostly expressed in externally motivated, hyper-grade-consciousness. This meant that it was really difficult for a smart kid to feel special through grades alone. To distinguish himself. Mere straight As were common. The homework was boring, and, usually, just wasn’t worth it.

So we were not exceptional students. We got decent grades, but even those of my friends with the best turned in three-inch stacks of busy work at the last minute every term because we just hadn’t been doing it on the weekly or daily basis it was assigned. Why would we, without someone to crack the whip? We made the teachers tsk, but we also kept them engaged. By my sophomore year we’d developed a culture of being interesting. I did my reading so I could argue with Leslie, Max and Karl about it in class while most everyone else watched. We made the best comments with our arms crossed in the back row. We took all the hard classes because we’d be bored otherwise. We ran the extracurriculars with rabid enthusiasm and little discipline. We were ostentatiously in-it-for-the-learning. This was how we stood out. This was how we found each other.

I know that I was not in a typical school. I know that we were not typical kids. But most of my “Chinese” classmates went to UCs. Good schools, good students and they’re on-track to professional careers. It was only my friends who got into Ivies. My theory about “Chinese parenthood” is that it is a conservative strategy. The thing about putting all your energy into measurable excellence is that very little is left for the kind of excellence that’s hard to quantify. Chua’s point is that discipline can be drilled. And I agree. There are other things that can’t. I don’t want to say my classmates were stunted. But it does feel like there was something missing, or maybe just delayed. The fortitude of self that emerges from your pores while you sweat through a supporting role in the school play. The dark stirring in your heart of hearts the first time you watch a Clockwork Orange by accident on TV. The early realization of cultural relativism that comes from your first sleepover. Chua characterizes her exactingness as being born of a belief in her children’s abilities: The reason Western parents don’t push their kids is because they don’t think the kids can make it. But “Chinese” mothers drive their kids like cars. And they don’t seem to have faith that their children will find excellence, or happiness, left to steer their own wheels and cruise the world on their own.

Deeply offended? Personally know [email protected].