Written by: Jeanie Chang
Published: KoreAm Journal (July, 2009)
Poul Friis Nybo (1869-1929). Danish Painter
It
was a revelation that stopped time: I had become my mother. A flashback
raced through my head: My mom is standing over me with a wooden spoon
while I’m sitting rigidly on the piano bench. I am 7 years old. This is
the wooden spoon that I feared, the one used to discourage me from
making careless mistakes while practicing on the piano.
But
here I was, 27 years later, standing over my own daughter with a flat,
black rubber stick as she practiced her “Etude in F Major” for the
Young Artists’ competition. Any moment she hesitated or played an
incorrect note due to what I saw as her failure to focus, down I came
with the rubber stick on her hand.
The
nagging feeling telling me that I should stop myself from this
uncontrollable need to control was quickly squelched by the even more
overwhelming feeling that she had to practice more and play better. She
would be excellent. I would expect no less. This is the way it was.
Of
course, I hesitated every once in a while as I noticed the disapproving
glare of my husband who himself was on the edge of losing his temper
with me. He had already warned me numerous times to watch my tone and
maintain self-control. He said I was practically traumatizing our
daughter. He also grew up as a Korean American, but his childhood
upbringing was a bit more mellow than mine.
Every
summer during my childhood we attended a family reunion consisting of
my mother’s brothers and sisters and their children. We would head to
the beach where we could frolic on the sand and ride the waves. But
then there was always a cloud of gloom surrounding the vacation for me.
I knew it was inevitable that the adults would “share” news about their
children, and that usually translated into a list of accomplishments
for that year.
We
would also be expected to “show off” our musical talent in front of the
adults. Every one of us played the piano, as well as the violin and the
cello and the flute. I should also mention the fact that all my uncles
and my father were medical doctors. So there were a few expectations in our family.
I
am the third oldest out of 13 grandchildren on my mother’s side, but
growing up, I felt pretty invisible next to my two older cousins who
were considered the gems. One was labeled a genius and entered Stanford
at age 16. The other was perfect at everything — perfect grades,
perfect piano playing and perfectly well-mannered.
I
was the black sheep because I played the piano only above average and,
while I was a good student, I didn’t get straight A’s. And the truth
is, I didn’t try to be a model example. I had a bit of a rebellious
streak, misbehaved on occasion and did such unspeakable things as say
“no” to my halmeoni (gasp!).
How
ironic that, after years of resenting all this familiar pressure and
competitiveness, I find myself pushing my own children to be as close
to perfect as possible. Within weeks of my daughter’s birth, I had her
on a perfect schedule. She slept, ate and played at the same times
every day. I did the same thing with her three brothers. I had them
sleep-trained by six weeks. Even all of my kids’ ages are spaced out
strategically at 7, 6, 4 and 1.
Of
course now that two of my children are in elementary school, I expect
them to participate in the academically gifted group (which they do),
be in the highest reading group (which they are) and excel wonderfully
at their extracurricular activities. I’m
talking, of course, about carrying on my family tradition (not unusual
in Korean-American families) to learn at least two instruments, play a
sport or two and participate in the creative arts! So
far, so good: my daughter plays the piano and violin and takes
cheerleading classes, my Kindergartener started the piano last year and
plays soccer, basketball and tee ball. As I’m
writing this, I’m planning for a perfectly organized summer filled with
educational and motivational camps such as art camp, science camp,
cooking camp and violin camp. Yes, I admit I do put some pressure on my school-age kids and then there’s the rubber spatula during piano practice. My preschooler and toddler have no idea what is yet in store for them!
Yes, I had become my mother — or so I thought.
My
big moment of truth came unexpectedly last year when I was visiting
friends that I hadn’t seen in a while. We started talking about our
kids’ piano teachers and other activities they were enrolled in. I
actually stayed pretty quiet throughout the conversation. It was like
the past was coming back to haunt me, and I sensed where the
conversation was taking us. One by one, my friends’ children took turns
at the piano showing off the pieces they had been learning.
After
they had played, my daughter was the only one left. I looked at her
and, for a split second, saw myself as a child in utter dread of that
moment. Returning to reality, I asked my daughter if she wanted to
play. She said no.
“Okay, that’s fine,” I replied.
Yes,
I really did say that. I didn’t force her to perform as my parents had
done, even as the overachieving gene inside me was like a volcano ready
to explode.
Fifteen
minutes later, while we were still in the same room, my daughter sat at
the piano and began playing on her own. She played beautifully, and
that was a wonderful moment for me — not because I noticed my friends
nodding their heads in approval, but because my daughter looked proud
of how she had played and even flashed her happy eyes at me.
Now
that I am a mom, I sometimes wonder what my mom thought all those years
ago, when all the cousins were being compared to one another. Who
was the smartest? Who played piano the best? Who grew more that summer?
Who was going to go to Harvard? Did she feel pride when she thought
about my accomplishments?
For
all my faults as a mom who might push her children too much, what I do
differently from my parents is I always tell my kids how much I love
them and how proud they make me. Though I know they felt it, my
immigrant parents weren’t so good at verbalizing these types of
affirmations. As a child, that’s what I really needed to hear.
As
I wrestle with my own childhood baggage now that I’m a mom of four,
I’ve realized that my desire for perfection, and my instinct to raise
that rubber stick, can be controlled because, in the end, I want my
kids to find joy in their childhood and not feel constant pressure. In my parenting, it’s easy to be reminded of the stress I felt that continued to keep me on the ‘edge of my seat.’ But,
I want my children to be on the ‘edge of their seat’ because they’re
happy and excited about the joys they’re experiencing in childhood!
On
my part, it’s just going to take some practice. As they say, practice
makes perfect and the overachiever in me won’t settle for less. Realistically speaking, I may have to settle for ‘pretty good.’
Jeanie
Chang is a former broadcast and radio news reporter and editor, with
previous stints at the Associated Press and WTOP Radio in Washington,
D.C. She is currently a full-time mom to four children and lives with
her husband and children in Raleigh, North Carolina.