Sorry. Herein follows a bit of a rant. But there haven't been any rants for a while, so it's overdue.
At long last American research has revealed that Tiger mothers are dangerous. Not dangerous as in the George Dubyah I'm-a-bit-unhinged-and-none-to-clever-an'-bein'-a-tad-trigger-happy-could-start-world-war-three-at-the-touch-of-a-button type of dangerous, but dangerous as in insidiously damaging like a canker that slowly grows on a tree and gradually throttles it.
Phew! Non-Tiger mums and dads (usually mums) can relax, safe in the knowledge that gentle support, a lot of love, understanding and encouragement is really all that our little darlings need. And we may bask in the reassurance that our darlings will be more inclined to darling rather than devilish behaviour if we treat them this way. Which is after all the way of reason and the sensible, in proportion approach that we have known to be right for years but haven't dared name, lest we were labelled the parents who didn't care.
We've all witnessed the Tiger-burnt child - over-tired, stressed and anxious - who throws a tantrum, erupting with volcanic fury at the prospect of another music lesson, on top of the tutorial and then tennis club session, that followed the end of the school day and the Tiger parent ragged with exhaustion and fretting over their child's lack of ambition who loses their temper and shouts at the little monster. Who will be a little monster - confused on the one hand by spoiling in the form of performance related treats and on the other by proper unforgivable spoiling driven by the belief that they are better than all their peers - of course they are, because that's what Mummy tells them every day.
Far better to have happy children. Ones that know they are loved even when they are not top of the class. But who also know the pleasure of announcing their own small victories - scoring a complete rounder; passing their music exam with a much better score than expected; having their painting put up in the school hall - because they know it will make their parents proud. Because it did the last time. And it will again the next time.
The place the Tiger mother's children ultimately go is bleak. With disappointment at every point of life's compass. They are never good enough at anything; have lost their confidence through its repeated wringing out and don't know how to be happy. Yes, they might through either hard work, or if exceedingly fortunate genes, attain a place at a top university but at what cost? Yes, the Tiger parent will be ecstatic: job done! But what of the child, suddenly cast adrift, who is as lost as the 'lifer' recently released from prison - neither used to making decisions for themselves? And the bond between parent and child - what will remain of that? How often will the child return home? Will it know how to make friends - one's that aren't chosen for it? And will it dare to introduce those friends to the Tiger parent lest the claws of jealousy and competition come out. Again. Do they rebel? I quietly hope that they do. If Aesop were writing today, I reckon the Tiger mother and her offspring would provide good substance for a cautionary fable.
It is far, far better not to be tigers and to live with our children rather than vicariously through them.
So celebrate their victories but enjoy their mistakes too: Littlest is learning the capital cities of Europe - her first attempt at the capital of Portugal produced "Lesbian."
At long last American research has revealed that Tiger mothers are dangerous. Not dangerous as in the George Dubyah I'm-a-bit-unhinged-and-none-to-clever-an'-bein'-a-tad-trigger-happy-could-start-world-war-three-at-the-touch-of-a-button type of dangerous, but dangerous as in insidiously damaging like a canker that slowly grows on a tree and gradually throttles it.
Phew! Non-Tiger mums and dads (usually mums) can relax, safe in the knowledge that gentle support, a lot of love, understanding and encouragement is really all that our little darlings need. And we may bask in the reassurance that our darlings will be more inclined to darling rather than devilish behaviour if we treat them this way. Which is after all the way of reason and the sensible, in proportion approach that we have known to be right for years but haven't dared name, lest we were labelled the parents who didn't care.
We've all witnessed the Tiger-burnt child - over-tired, stressed and anxious - who throws a tantrum, erupting with volcanic fury at the prospect of another music lesson, on top of the tutorial and then tennis club session, that followed the end of the school day and the Tiger parent ragged with exhaustion and fretting over their child's lack of ambition who loses their temper and shouts at the little monster. Who will be a little monster - confused on the one hand by spoiling in the form of performance related treats and on the other by proper unforgivable spoiling driven by the belief that they are better than all their peers - of course they are, because that's what Mummy tells them every day.
Far better to have happy children. Ones that know they are loved even when they are not top of the class. But who also know the pleasure of announcing their own small victories - scoring a complete rounder; passing their music exam with a much better score than expected; having their painting put up in the school hall - because they know it will make their parents proud. Because it did the last time. And it will again the next time.
The place the Tiger mother's children ultimately go is bleak. With disappointment at every point of life's compass. They are never good enough at anything; have lost their confidence through its repeated wringing out and don't know how to be happy. Yes, they might through either hard work, or if exceedingly fortunate genes, attain a place at a top university but at what cost? Yes, the Tiger parent will be ecstatic: job done! But what of the child, suddenly cast adrift, who is as lost as the 'lifer' recently released from prison - neither used to making decisions for themselves? And the bond between parent and child - what will remain of that? How often will the child return home? Will it know how to make friends - one's that aren't chosen for it? And will it dare to introduce those friends to the Tiger parent lest the claws of jealousy and competition come out. Again. Do they rebel? I quietly hope that they do. If Aesop were writing today, I reckon the Tiger mother and her offspring would provide good substance for a cautionary fable.
It is far, far better not to be tigers and to live with our children rather than vicariously through them.
So celebrate their victories but enjoy their mistakes too: Littlest is learning the capital cities of Europe - her first attempt at the capital of Portugal produced "Lesbian."
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