Amy Chua and Me
My mother was not a tiger mom like Amy Chua. She left me enough opportunities for explorations, successes and failures so at the end, I had myself to account for all the decisions I made along the way.
I spent hours in the outhouse, reading everything I could get my hands on, to escape household chores and it worked. I sat on the porch with books or a pencil in hand and that also worked. There were no organized sports or music lessons; that was left for the schools. I didn’t need to make all A’s for as long as F’s didn’t appear on my report cards.
There were long periods in my adult life when I sought that self that I wanted to put a name on so I entered and exited many doors. No one told me I had to remain there until I mastered it. My life became one of explorations.
I once walked into a Scientology building and bought books by Ron Hubbard. When the Kennedy’s showed such strength through their Catholicism, I sat down with a Buddhist priest and asked him, “Show me something in Buddhism that is similar to God’s will.” We talked until the sun went down and I didn’t change my religion. Our book shelves included the Bible and The Book of Mormon and I attended churches of different faiths. Sister Katherine ( nun) and I went shopping together.
I once attended a Zen session. We sat on the tatami mat in a circle and I was the only woman. The Zen master walked inside the circle with deliberate steps without making a sound. He held a large wooden paddle over his shoulder. “Empty your mind,” he said. The room was silent except for the occasional creak from the floor under his feet clad in white tabi ( Japanese socks). The silence was broken by a man who bowed and said, “Sensei.” It was a cue for the Master to slowly walk in front of him, raise his paddle and give three heavy whacks on each of his shoulders. The room vibrated with the sound of board against body. The man bowed his head in gratitude.
“Oh my God,” I panicked, “I better empty my mind.” Other thoughts raced through my mind. “ I shouldn’t have come. He’s hitting me next.” I saw his feet in front of me and I shook with fear. “Empty my mind. How do I do that?” I expected his paddle on my shoulders but he walked on. It was the longest and most frightening hour I had ever spent. My mind was frozen like an ice cube. We later sat in the kitchen of the church and were served tea by a young woman.
I didn’t know the rules of the game and over hot tea, asked the Zen Master to explain the whacking. I questioned him further about Zen beliefs and how does one empty one’s mind. I didn’t know that women weren’t allowed to ask questions. The men remained silent.
The Zen master invited me to a separate room and gave me a paint brush so large that I had to use two hands to hold it. He asked me to write a Japanese character so I obeyed. I held the large brush in both hands, dipped it in black ink and stroked the Japanese Kanji character on a large sheet of paper that was spread on the floor. He looked the strokes and said, “What is your favorite flower?”
I trembled and whispered, “Rose.”
“A rose. Of course”, he said. “A rose has thorns. Your strokes tell me you are a strong woman, too strong a woman. You need to become soft like a cherry blossom. I want you to quit your job tomorrow and go to Japan. I will make arrangements for you to join the monks and walk the country with a rice bowl in hand. We must get rid of those thorns. This will soften you and turn you into a true woman. You will destroy any man with all these thorns inside of you.”
That night the quiet woman in the kitchen called me:
“How are you feeling?”
“I feel devastated. I feel the person I am is of no worth.”
“This is why I called you. Don’t let him do this to you. Don’t listen to him.”
She added that I wasn’t supposed to ask questions since I’m a woman, not in the presence of men. She confided that she’s engaged to one of the priests.
“You’re engaged to marry one of those priests? How can you do this?”
“I’m willing to obey him. If he told me to jump in front of a moving train, I will do that.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I love him,” she answered.
During the following weeks I searched for that person that the Zen Master had seen in me and decided she was fine and didn’t need to be reconstructed. I still love roses and I haven’t killed any man yet.
He was a Tiger Master who showed me what intimidation and fear were all about. He was a Tiger Master who froze me into space and left me trembling.
“Karate,” I later decided. “That will help ground me.” I worked myself beyond the white belt and didn’t need to go for the black. I can still kick someone coming at me over a fence. Hah!
I took up guitar lessons, playing and singing, Where Have All The Flowers Gone but I left that career to Joan Baez. When I took up flute lessons, I envisioned myself on top of Diamond Head, playing like Galway and Rampal, sending music down to Waikiki. I played at a shopping mall instead in the back row of a flute choir during Christmas. I bought golf outfits before starting golf lessons and enjoyed many years on the golf course. I never became a Tiger Woods.
I never did master any of those lessons but I was happy. Just an average person, who was allowed to explore life as I saw it. And responsible enough to know I had to have a career of my passion, to be self-supporting, and a credit to my community. I think I still am without having had a Tiger Mom.
Sometimes I wish I could live more than one life. So much to see, do, explore, learn. That’s another reason I like being a writer. I can explore other people’s lives and write about them. Being a therapist is a lot like that, too. I have counseled doctors, lawyers, ministers, other counselors, policemen, firemen, performers, T.V. announcers, prostitutes, molesters, and what I have found is a common thread. We all have the same struggles, fears, loves, and anxieties. We just deal with them in different ways. No one is better than anyone else. We are all basically human with one life to live. It sounds like you are living your life well, my dear friend.
This was AWESOME! Because of your willingness to try different things, you know more about yourself, and life in general, than many people know going into their grave.
What a great, colorful story of character. Almost as good as the red painted nails story, or the peas-in-the-restaurant tale. But still, wonderful in its own right ;^)
Delightfully funny, moving and inspiring. Thank you for sharing.