Thursday, January 27, 2011

Irish declare war on France (Cheers Giles)

The French President is sitting in his office when his telephone rings.
>
> 'Hallo, Mr. Sarkozy!' a heavily accented voice said. 'This is Paddy down at the Harp Pub in County Clare , Ireland .. I am ringing to inform you that we are officially declaring war on you.
>
> We voted to reject the Lisbon treaty.'
>
> 'Well, Paddy,' Sarkozy replied, 'This is indeed important news. How big is your army?'
>
> 'Right now,' says Paddy, after a moment's
> calculation, 'there is myself, me Cousin Sean, me next door neighbour Seamus, and the entire darts team from the pub. That makes
> eleven.'
>
> Sarkozy paused. 'I must tell you, paddy, that I have 100,000 men in my army waiting to move on my command.'
>
> 'Begoora!' says Paddy. 'I'll have to ring you back.'
>
> Sure enough, the next day, Paddy calls again. 'Mr. Sarkozy, the war is still on. We have
> managed to get us some infantry equipment!'
>
> 'And what equipment would that be paddy?' Sarkozy asks.
>
> 'Well, we have two combines, a bulldozer, and Murphy's farm tractor..'
>
> Sarkozy sighs amused. 'I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 6,000 tanks and 5,000 armoured
> personnel carriers.
>
> Also, I have increased my army to 150,000 since we last spoke.'
>
> 'Saints preserve us!' says Paddy. I'll have to get back to you.'
>
> Sure enough, Paddy rings again the next day. 'Mr. Sarkozy, the war is still on! We have managed to get ourselves airborne!

> We have modified Jackie McLaughlin's ultra-light with a couple of shotguns in the cockpit, and four boys from the Shamrock Bar have joined us as well!'
>
> Sarkozy was silent for a minute and then cleared his throat. 'I must tell you, Paddy,
> that I have 100 bombers and 200 fighter planes.

> My military bases are surrounded by laser-guided, surface-to-air missile sites..

> And since we last spoke, I have increased my army to 200,000.'
>
> 'Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!' says paddy, 'I will have to ring you back.'
>
> Sure enough, Paddy calls again the next day..
> 'Top o' the mornin', Mr. Sarkozy.
> I am sorry to inform you that we have had to call off the war.'
>
> 'Really? I am sorry to hear that,' says Sarkozy.. 'Why the sudden change of heart?'
>
> 'Well,' says Paddy, 'we had a long chat over a few pints of Guinness and packets of crisps, and we decided there is no way we can feed 200,000 prisoners.'

Monday, January 24, 2011

What’s behind the“Tiger Mother” craze?

http://nyr.kr/fvQPTW
America’s Top Parent
What’s behind the“Tiger Mother” craze?
by Elizabeth Kolbert January 31, 2011


“Call me garbage.”

The other day, I was having dinner with my family when the subject of Amy Chua’s new book, “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother” (Penguin Press; $25.95), came up. My twelve-year-old twins had been read an excerpt from the book by their teacher, a well-known provocateur. He had been sent a link to the excerpt by another teacher, who had received it from her sister, who had been e-mailed it by a friend, and, well, you get the point. The excerpt, which had appeared in the Wall Street Journal under the headline “WHY CHINESE MOTHERS ARE SUPERIOR,” was, and still is, an Internet sensation—as one blogger put it, the “Andromeda Strain of viral memes.” Within days, more than five thousand comments had been posted, and “Tiger Mother” vaulted to No. 4 on Amazon’s list of best-sellers. Chua appeared on NPR’s “All Things Considered” and on NBC’s “Nightly News” and “Today” show. Her book was the topic of two columns in last week’s Sunday Times, and, under the racially neutral headline “IS EXTREME PARENTING EFFECTIVE?,” the subject of a formal debate on the paper’s Web site.

Thanks to this media blitz, the basic outlines of “Tiger Mother” ’s story are by now familiar. Chua, the daughter of Chinese immigrants, is a Yale Law School professor. She is married to another Yale law professor and has two daughters, whom she drives relentlessly. Chua’s rules for the girls include: no sleepovers, no playdates, no grade lower than an A on report cards, no choosing your own extracurricular activities, and no ranking lower than No. 1 in any subject. (An exception to this last directive is made for gym and drama.)

In Chua’s binary world, there are just two kinds of mother. There are “Chinese mothers,” who, she allows, do not necessarily have to be Chinese. “I’m using the term ‘Chinese mothers’ loosely,” she writes. Then, there are “Western” mothers. Western mothers think they are being strict when they insist that their children practice their instruments for half an hour a day. For Chinese mothers, “the first hour is the easy part.” Chua chooses the instruments that her daughters will play—piano for the older one, Sophia; violin for the younger, Lulu—and stands over them as they practice for three, four, sometimes five hours at a stretch. The least the girls are expected to do is make it to Carnegie Hall. Amazingly enough, Sophia does. Chua’s daughters are so successful—once, it’s true, Sophia came in second on a multiplication test (to a Korean boy), but Chua made sure this never happened again—that they confirm her thesis: Western mothers are losers. I’m using the term “losers” loosely.

Chua has said that one of the points of the book is “making fun of myself,” but plainly what she was hoping for was to outrage. Whole chapters of “Tiger Mother”—admittedly, many chapters are only four or five pages long—are given over to incidents like that of the rejected smiley face.

“I don’t want this,” she tells Lulu, throwing back at her a handmade birthday card. “I want a better one.”

In another chapter, Chua threatens to take Lulu’s doll house to the Salvation Army and, when that doesn’t work, to deny her lunch, dinner, and birthday parties for “two, three, four years” because she cannot master a piece called “The Little White Donkey.” The kid is seven years old. In a third chapter, Chua tells Sophia she is “garbage.” Chua’s own father has called her “garbage,” and she finds it a highly effective parenting technique. Chua relates this at a dinner party, and one of the guests supposedly gets so upset that she breaks down in tears. The hostess tries to patch things up by suggesting that Chua is speaking figuratively.

“You didn’t actually call Sophia garbage,” the hostess offers.

“Yes, I did,” Chua says.

When the dinner-party episode was read in class, my sons found it hilarious, which is why they were taunting me. “Call me garbage,” one of the twins said again. “I dare you.”

“O.K.,” I said, trying, for once, to be a good mother. “You’re garbage.”

If Chua’s tale has any significance—and it may not—it is as an allegory. Chua refers to herself as a Tiger because according to the Chinese zodiac she was born in the Year of the Tiger. Tiger people are “powerful, authoritative, and magnetic,” she informs us, just as tigers that walk on four legs inspire “fear and respect.” The “tiger economies” of Asia aren’t mentioned in the book, but they growl menacingly in the background.

It’s just about impossible to pick up a newspaper these days—though who actually picks up a newspaper anymore?—without finding a story about the rise of the East. The headlines are variations on a theme: “SOLAR PANEL MAKER MOVES WORK TO CHINA”; “CHINA DRAWING HIGH-TECH RESEARCH FROM U.S.”; “IBM CUTTING 5,000 SERVICE JOBS; MOVING WORK TO INDIA.” What began as an outflow of manufacturing jobs has spread way beyond car parts and electronics to include information technology, legal advice, even journalism. (This piece could have been written much more cost-effectively by a team in Bangalore and, who knows, maybe next month it will be.)

On our good days, we tell ourselves that our kids will be all right. The new, global economy, we observe, puts a premium on flexibility and creativity. And who is better prepared for such a future than little Abby (or Zachary), downloading her wacky videos onto YouTube while she texts her friends, messes with Photoshop, and listens to her iPod?

“Yes, you can brute-force any kid to learn to play the piano—just precisely like his or her billion neighbors” is how one of the comments on the Wall Street Journal ’s Web site put it. “But you’ll never get a Jimi Hendrix that way.”

On our bad days, we wonder whether this way of thinking is, as Chua might say, garbage. Last month, the results of the most recent Programme for International Student Assessment, or PISA, tests were announced. It was the first time that Chinese students had participated, and children from Shanghai ranked first in every single area. Students from the United States, meanwhile, came in seventeenth in reading, twenty-third in science, and an especially demoralizing thirty-first in math. This last ranking put American kids not just behind the Chinese, the Koreans, and the Singaporeans but also after the French, the Austrians, the Hungarians, the Slovenians, the Estonians, and the Poles.

“I know skeptics will want to argue with the results, but we consider them to be accurate and reliable,” Arne Duncan, the U.S. Secretary of Education, told the Times. “The United States came in twenty-third or twenty-fourth in most subjects. We can quibble, or we can face the brutal truth that we’re being out-educated.”

Why is this? How is it that the richest country in the world can’t teach kids to read or to multiply fractions? Taken as a parable, Chua’s cartoonish narrative about browbeating her daughters acquires a certain disquieting force. Americans have been told always to encourage their kids. This, the theory goes, will improve their self-esteem, and this, in turn, will help them learn.

After a generation or so of applying this theory, we have the results. Just about the only category in which American students outperform the competition is self-regard. Researchers at the Brookings Institution, in one of their frequent studies of education policy, compared students’ assessments of their abilities in math with their scores on a standardized test. Nearly forty per cent of American eighth graders agreed “a lot” with the statement “I usually do well in mathematics,” even though only seven per cent of American students actually got enough correct answers on the test to qualify as advanced. Among Singaporean students, eighteen per cent said they usually did well in math; forty-four per cent qualified as advanced. As the Brookings researchers pointed out, even the least self-confident Singaporean students, on average, outscored the most self-confident Americans. You can say it’s sad that kids in Singapore are so beaten down that they can’t appreciate their own accomplishments. But you’ve got to give them this: at least they get the math right.

Our problems as a country cannot, of course, be reduced to our problems as educators or as parents. Nonetheless, there is an uncomfortable analogy. For some time now, the U.S. has, in effect, been drawing crappy, smiley-face birthday cards and calling them wonderful. It’s made us feel a bit better about ourselves without improving the basic situation. As the cover story on China’s ascent in this month’s Foreign Policy sums things up: “American Decline: This Time It’s Real.”

It’s hard to believe that Chua’s book would be causing quite as much stir without the geopolitical subtext. (Picture the reaction to a similar tale told by a Hungarian or an Austrian über-mom.) At the same time, lots of people have clearly taken “Tiger Mother” personally.

Of the zillions of comments that have been posted on the Web, many of the most passionate are from scandalized “Western” mothers and fathers, or, as one blogger dubbed them, “Manatee dads.” Some have gone as far as to suggest that Chua be arrested for child abuse. At least as emotional are the posts from Asians and Asian-Americans.

“Parents like Amy Chua are the reason why Asian-Americans like me are in therapy,” Betty Ming Liu, who teaches journalism at N.Y.U., wrote on her blog.

“What’s even more damning is her perpetuation of the media stereotypes of Asian-Americans,” Frank Chi, a political consultant, wrote in the Boston Globe’s opinion blog.

“Having lived through a version of the Chinese Parenting Experience, and having been surrounded since birth with hundreds of CPE graduates, I couldn’t not say something,” a contributor to the Web site Shanghaiist wrote after the Wall Street Journal excerpt appeared. “The article actually made me feel physically ill.”

Chua’s response to some of the unkind things said about her—she has reported getting death threats—has been to backpedal. “RETREAT OF THE ‘TIGER MOTHER’ ” was the headline of one Times article. (It, too, quickly jumped to the top of the paper’s “most e-mailed” list.) Chua has said that it was not her plan to write a parenting manual: “My actual book is not a how-to guide.” Somehow or other, her publisher seems to be among those who missed this. The back cover spells out, in black and red type, “How to Be a Tiger Mother.”

According to Chua, her “actual book” is a memoir. Memoir is, or at least is supposed to be, a demanding genre. It requires that the author not just narrate his or her life but reflect on it. By her own description, Chua is not a probing person. Of her years studying at Harvard Law School, she writes:


I didn’t care about the rights of criminals the way others did, and I froze whenever a professor called on me. I also wasn’t naturally skeptical and questioning; I just wanted to write down everything the professor said and memorize it.

“Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother” exhibits much the same lack of interest in critical thinking. It’s breezily written, at times entertaining, and devoid of anything approaching introspection. Imagine your most self-congratulatory friend holding forth for two hours about her kids’ triumphs, and you’ve more or less got the narrative. The only thing that keeps it together is Chua’s cheerful faith that whatever happened to her or her daughters is interesting just because it happened to happen to them. In addition to all the schlepping back and forth to auditions, there are two chapters on Chua’s dogs (Samoyeds named Coco and Pushkin), three pages of practice notes that she left behind for Lulu when she could not be there to berate her in person, and a complete list of the places that she had visited with her kids by the time they were twelve and nine:


London, Paris, Nice, Rome, Venice, Milan, Amsterdam, The Hague, Barcelona, Madrid, Málaga, Liechtenstein, Monaco, Munich, Dublin, Brussels, Bruges, Strasbourg, Beijing, Shanghai, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Manila, Istanbul, Mexico City, Cancún, Buenos Aires, Santiago, Rio de Janeiro, São Paulo, La Paz, Sucre, Cochabamba, Jamaica, Tangier, Fez, Johannesburg, Cape Town, and the Rock of Gibraltar.

Chua’s husband is not Chinese, in either sense of the word. He makes occasional appearances in the book to try—ineffectually, it seems—to shield the girls. Chua has said that she wrote more about their arguments, but her husband didn’t like those passages, so they’ve been cut. Perhaps had more of his voice been included it would have provided some grit and at least the semblance of engagement. As it is, though, it’s just her. “I’m happy to be the one hated,” she tells her husband at one point, and apparently she means it.

Parenting is hard. As anyone who has gone through the process and had enough leisure (and still functioning brain cells) to reflect on it knows, a lot of it is a crapshoot. Things go wrong that you have no control over, and, on occasion, things also go right, and you have no control over those, either. The experience is scary and exhilarating and often humiliating, not because you’re disappointed in your kids, necessarily, but because you’re disappointed in yourself.

Some things do go wrong in Chua’s memoir. Her mother-in-law dies; her younger sister develops leukemia. These events get roughly the same amount of space as Coco and Pushkin, and yet they are, on their own terms, moving. More central to the story line is a screaming fit in a Moscow restaurant during which a glass is thrown. The upshot of the crisis is that Lulu is allowed to take up tennis, which Chua then proceeds to micromanage.

Chua clearly wants to end her book by claiming that she has changed. She knows enough about the conventions of memoir-writing to understand that some kind of transformation is generally required. But she can’t bring herself to do it. And so in the final pages she invokes the Founding Fathers. They, too, she tells her daughters, would not have approved of sleepovers. ♦

Read more http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/books/2011/01/31/110131crbo_books_kolbert?printable=true#ixzz1Bwd7uvYT

Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior

http://on.wsj.com/esA57L


Can a regimen of no playdates, no TV, no computer games and hours of music practice create happy kids? And what happens when they fight back?


By AMY CHUA

A lot of people wonder how Chinese parents raise such stereotypically successful kids. They wonder what these parents do to produce so many math whizzes and music prodigies, what it's like inside the family, and whether they could do it too. Well, I can tell them, because I've done it. Here are some things my daughters, Sophia and Louisa, were never allowed to do:

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CAU cover
Erin Patrice O'Brien for The Wall Street Journal

Amy Chua with her daughters, Louisa and Sophia, at their home in New Haven, Conn.
CAU cover
CAU cover

• attend a sleepover

• have a playdate

• be in a school play

• complain about not being in a school play

• watch TV or play computer games

• choose their own extracurricular activities

• get any grade less than an A

• not be the No. 1 student in every subject except gym and drama

• play any instrument other than the piano or violin

• not play the piano or violin.

I'm using the term "Chinese mother" loosely. I know some Korean, Indian, Jamaican, Irish and Ghanaian parents who qualify too. Conversely, I know some mothers of Chinese heritage, almost always born in the West, who are not Chinese mothers, by choice or otherwise. I'm also using the term "Western parents" loosely. Western parents come in all varieties.
Ideas Market

The Tiger Mother Responds to Readers

Chua's Daughter Sophia Explains What Life is Really With her 'Tiger Mom'

An Asian Father's GIft: Permission to Fail

Ms. Chua answers questions from Journal readers who wrote in to the Ideas Market blog.

All the same, even when Western parents think they're being strict, they usually don't come close to being Chinese mothers. For example, my Western friends who consider themselves strict make their children practice their instruments 30 minutes every day. An hour at most. For a Chinese mother, the first hour is the easy part. It's hours two and three that get tough.

When it comes to parenting, the Chinese seem to produce children who display academic excellence, musical mastery and professional success - or so the stereotype goes. WSJ's Christina Tsuei speaks to two moms raised by Chinese immigrants who share what it was like growing up and how they hope to raise their children.
More Parenting Videos

Teaching Math to Spark Creative Thinking

Can Bilingualism Make Preschoolers Smarter?

Despite our squeamishness about cultural stereotypes, there are tons of studies out there showing marked and quantifiable differences between Chinese and Westerners when it comes to parenting. In one study of 50 Western American mothers and 48 Chinese immigrant mothers, almost 70% of the Western mothers said either that "stressing academic success is not good for children" or that "parents need to foster the idea that learning is fun." By contrast, roughly 0% of the Chinese mothers felt the same way. Instead, the vast majority of the Chinese mothers said that they believe their children can be "the best" students, that "academic achievement reflects successful parenting," and that if children did not excel at school then there was "a problem" and parents "were not doing their job." Other studies indicate that compared to Western parents, Chinese parents spend approximately 10 times as long every day drilling academic activities with their children. By contrast, Western kids are more likely to participate in sports teams.
Journal Community

What Chinese parents understand is that nothing is fun until you're good at it. To get good at anything you have to work, and children on their own never want to work, which is why it is crucial to override their preferences. This often requires fortitude on the part of the parents because the child will resist; things are always hardest at the beginning, which is where Western parents tend to give up. But if done properly, the Chinese strategy produces a virtuous circle. Tenacious practice, practice, practice is crucial for excellence; rote repetition is underrated in America. Once a child starts to excel at something—whether it's math, piano, pitching or ballet—he or she gets praise, admiration and satisfaction. This builds confidence and makes the once not-fun activity fun. This in turn makes it easier for the parent to get the child to work even more.

Chinese parents can get away with things that Western parents can't. Once when I was young—maybe more than once—when I was extremely disrespectful to my mother, my father angrily called me "garbage" in our native Hokkien dialect. It worked really well. I felt terrible and deeply ashamed of what I had done. But it didn't damage my self-esteem or anything like that. I knew exactly how highly he thought of me. I didn't actually think I was worthless or feel like a piece of garbage.

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chau inside
Chua family

From Ms. Chua's album: 'Mean me with Lulu in hotel room... with score taped to TV!'
chau inside
chau inside

As an adult, I once did the same thing to Sophia, calling her garbage in English when she acted extremely disrespectfully toward me. When I mentioned that I had done this at a dinner party, I was immediately ostracized. One guest named Marcy got so upset she broke down in tears and had to leave early. My friend Susan, the host, tried to rehabilitate me with the remaining guests.

The fact is that Chinese parents can do things that would seem unimaginable—even legally actionable—to Westerners. Chinese mothers can say to their daughters, "Hey fatty—lose some weight." By contrast, Western parents have to tiptoe around the issue, talking in terms of "health" and never ever mentioning the f-word, and their kids still end up in therapy for eating disorders and negative self-image. (I also once heard a Western father toast his adult daughter by calling her "beautiful and incredibly competent." She later told me that made her feel like garbage.)

Chinese parents can order their kids to get straight As. Western parents can only ask their kids to try their best. Chinese parents can say, "You're lazy. All your classmates are getting ahead of you." By contrast, Western parents have to struggle with their own conflicted feelings about achievement, and try to persuade themselves that they're not disappointed about how their kids turned out.

I've thought long and hard about how Chinese parents can get away with what they do. I think there are three big differences between the Chinese and Western parental mind-sets.
[chau inside] Chua family

Newborn Amy Chua in her mother's arms, a year after her parents arrived in the U.S.

First, I've noticed that Western parents are extremely anxious about their children's self-esteem. They worry about how their children will feel if they fail at something, and they constantly try to reassure their children about how good they are notwithstanding a mediocre performance on a test or at a recital. In other words, Western parents are concerned about their children's psyches. Chinese parents aren't. They assume strength, not fragility, and as a result they behave very differently.

For example, if a child comes home with an A-minus on a test, a Western parent will most likely praise the child. The Chinese mother will gasp in horror and ask what went wrong. If the child comes home with a B on the test, some Western parents will still praise the child. Other Western parents will sit their child down and express disapproval, but they will be careful not to make their child feel inadequate or insecure, and they will not call their child "stupid," "worthless" or "a disgrace." Privately, the Western parents may worry that their child does not test well or have aptitude in the subject or that there is something wrong with the curriculum and possibly the whole school. If the child's grades do not improve, they may eventually schedule a meeting with the school principal to challenge the way the subject is being taught or to call into question the teacher's credentials.

If a Chinese child gets a B—which would never happen—there would first be a screaming, hair-tearing explosion. The devastated Chinese mother would then get dozens, maybe hundreds of practice tests and work through them with her child for as long as it takes to get the grade up to an A.

Chinese parents demand perfect grades because they believe that their child can get them. If their child doesn't get them, the Chinese parent assumes it's because the child didn't work hard enough. That's why the solution to substandard performance is always to excoriate, punish and shame the child. The Chinese parent believes that their child will be strong enough to take the shaming and to improve from it. (And when Chinese kids do excel, there is plenty of ego-inflating parental praise lavished in the privacy of the home.)

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chau inside
Chua family

Sophia playing at Carnegie Hall in 2007.
chau inside
chau inside

Second, Chinese parents believe that their kids owe them everything. The reason for this is a little unclear, but it's probably a combination of Confucian filial piety and the fact that the parents have sacrificed and done so much for their children. (And it's true that Chinese mothers get in the trenches, putting in long grueling hours personally tutoring, training, interrogating and spying on their kids.) Anyway, the understanding is that Chinese children must spend their lives repaying their parents by obeying them and making them proud.

By contrast, I don't think most Westerners have the same view of children being permanently indebted to their parents. My husband, Jed, actually has the opposite view. "Children don't choose their parents," he once said to me. "They don't even choose to be born. It's parents who foist life on their kids, so it's the parents' responsibility to provide for them. Kids don't owe their parents anything. Their duty will be to their own kids." This strikes me as a terrible deal for the Western parent.

Third, Chinese parents believe that they know what is best for their children and therefore override all of their children's own desires and preferences. That's why Chinese daughters can't have boyfriends in high school and why Chinese kids can't go to sleepaway camp. It's also why no Chinese kid would ever dare say to their mother, "I got a part in the school play! I'm Villager Number Six. I'll have to stay after school for rehearsal every day from 3:00 to 7:00, and I'll also need a ride on weekends." God help any Chinese kid who tried that one.

Don't get me wrong: It's not that Chinese parents don't care about their children. Just the opposite. They would give up anything for their children. It's just an entirely different parenting model.
Read More

* A Cartoonist on Tiger Parenthood
* In China, Not All Practice Tough Love
* The Juggle: Are U.S. Parents Too Soft?

Here's a story in favor of coercion, Chinese-style. Lulu was about 7, still playing two instruments, and working on a piano piece called "The Little White Donkey" by the French composer Jacques Ibert. The piece is really cute—you can just imagine a little donkey ambling along a country road with its master—but it's also incredibly difficult for young players because the two hands have to keep schizophrenically different rhythms.

Lulu couldn't do it. We worked on it nonstop for a week, drilling each of her hands separately, over and over. But whenever we tried putting the hands together, one always morphed into the other, and everything fell apart. Finally, the day before her lesson, Lulu announced in exasperation that she was giving up and stomped off.

"Get back to the piano now," I ordered.

"You can't make me."

"Oh yes, I can."

Back at the piano, Lulu made me pay. She punched, thrashed and kicked. She grabbed the music score and tore it to shreds. I taped the score back together and encased it in a plastic shield so that it could never be destroyed again. Then I hauled Lulu's dollhouse to the car and told her I'd donate it to the Salvation Army piece by piece if she didn't have "The Little White Donkey" perfect by the next day. When Lulu said, "I thought you were going to the Salvation Army, why are you still here?" I threatened her with no lunch, no dinner, no Christmas or Hanukkah presents, no birthday parties for two, three, four years. When she still kept playing it wrong, I told her she was purposely working herself into a frenzy because she was secretly afraid she couldn't do it. I told her to stop being lazy, cowardly, self-indulgent and pathetic.

Jed took me aside. He told me to stop insulting Lulu—which I wasn't even doing, I was just motivating her—and that he didn't think threatening Lulu was helpful. Also, he said, maybe Lulu really just couldn't do the technique—perhaps she didn't have the coordination yet—had I considered that possibility?

"You just don't believe in her," I accused.

"That's ridiculous," Jed said scornfully. "Of course I do."

"Sophia could play the piece when she was this age."

"But Lulu and Sophia are different people," Jed pointed out.

"Oh no, not this," I said, rolling my eyes. "Everyone is special in their special own way," I mimicked sarcastically. "Even losers are special in their own special way. Well don't worry, you don't have to lift a finger. I'm willing to put in as long as it takes, and I'm happy to be the one hated. And you can be the one they adore because you make them pancakes and take them to Yankees games."

I rolled up my sleeves and went back to Lulu. I used every weapon and tactic I could think of. We worked right through dinner into the night, and I wouldn't let Lulu get up, not for water, not even to go to the bathroom. The house became a war zone, and I lost my voice yelling, but still there seemed to be only negative progress, and even I began to have doubts.

Then, out of the blue, Lulu did it. Her hands suddenly came together—her right and left hands each doing their own imperturbable thing—just like that.

Lulu realized it the same time I did. I held my breath. She tried it tentatively again. Then she played it more confidently and faster, and still the rhythm held. A moment later, she was beaming.

"Mommy, look—it's easy!" After that, she wanted to play the piece over and over and wouldn't leave the piano. That night, she came to sleep in my bed, and we snuggled and hugged, cracking each other up. When she performed "The Little White Donkey" at a recital a few weeks later, parents came up to me and said, "What a perfect piece for Lulu—it's so spunky and so her."
Journal Community

* discuss

“ I am in disbelief after reading this article. ”

—James Post

Even Jed gave me credit for that one. Western parents worry a lot about their children's self-esteem. But as a parent, one of the worst things you can do for your child's self-esteem is to let them give up. On the flip side, there's nothing better for building confidence than learning you can do something you thought you couldn't.

There are all these new books out there portraying Asian mothers as scheming, callous, overdriven people indifferent to their kids' true interests. For their part, many Chinese secretly believe that they care more about 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 parents want to do what's best for their children. The Chinese just have a totally different idea of how to do that.

Western parents try to respect their children's individuality, encouraging them to pursue their true passions, supporting their choices, and providing positive reinforcement and a nurturing environment. By contrast, the Chinese believe that the best way to protect their children is by preparing them for the future, letting them see what they're capable of, and arming them with skills, work habits and inner confidence that no one can ever take away.
—Amy Chua is a professor at Yale Law School and author of "Day of Empire" and "World on Fire: How Exporting Free Market Democracy Breeds Ethnic Hatred and Global Instability." This essay is excerpted from "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother" by Amy Chua, to be published Tuesday by the Penguin Press, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Copyright © 2011 by Amy Chua.

Cee Lo Green -



AND THE SANITISED GLEE VERSION.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Hank Moody's letter

I'm writing you a letter. That's right a good old fashioned letter. It's a lost art, really. Shit.
I have a confession to make, I didn't like you very much at first.
You were just this annoying little blob. You smelled nice, most of the time, but you didn't seem to have much interest in me, which I of course found vaguely insulting.
It was just you and your mom against the world. Funny how some things never change.
So I cruised along doing my thing, acting the fool, not really understanding how being a parent changes you.
And I don't remember the exact moment everything changed. I just know that it did.
One minute I was impenetrable. Nothing could touch me. The next, my heart was somehow beating outside my chest, exposed to the elements.
Loving you has been the most profound, intense, painful experience of my life. In fact it's been almost too much to bare.
As your father, I made a silent vow to protect you from the world. Never realizing I was the one who'd end up hurting you the most.
When I flash forward my heart breaks, mostly because I can't imagine you speaking of me with any sort of pride, how could you?
Your father is a child in a man's body, he cares for nothing and everything at the same time.
Noble in thought, weak in action. Something has to change, something has to give.
It's getting dark, too dark to see.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Nonsense

Classifeeds
NICE HORSE available. Unwanted gift, just don't look in the face. Collection only

Top Tips
COMMUTERS. Turn your boring train journey into a madcap crime caper by not buying a valid ticket.


Top Tips
SUPERMARKETS. Add a personal touch to self-checkout machines by assigning a member of staff to assist.


DCALTWIT-My dyslexic girlfriend loves Dildo Baggins

wikiballs The Ancient Olympics featured a "Speed Penis Cleaning" competition which was cancelled due to the amount of wankers it attracted.

DCALTWIT -WOW! Just got a scary text from g/f - "I've got something difficult to tell you and I don't know how to say it - Ken Dodds dads dog's died"


DCALTWIT My mate's dating twins and has difficulty telling them apart - I don't know why, Julie is the blonde and Trevor is the one with a cock


Classifeeds
Single M 49 seeks attractive F 23-27 to come round and finish the ironing. And a cup of tea would be nice while you're up.

Classifeeds
MEN avoid the embarrassment of premature ejaculation by falling asleep before sex.

Classifeeds
THINKING of travelling abroad to "find yourself"? Let me save you three years: you're a cunt.

Classifeeds
NICE HORSE available. Unwanted gift, just don't look in the face. Collection only

Classifeeds
MONOPOLY: 2011 Edition. Almost impossible to buy a house; the money stays with the bank, and the jail is full.

Classifeeds
Lost, one dog with no legs, but good swimmer. Answers to the name of 'Clever Dick'
Classifeeds
FOR SALE: Bonnie Tyler's car. It runs ok but every now and then it falls apart.

Classifeeds
DOG KENNEL, Approx 80' long x 40' tall. Suit medium sized dog. £60. 01907 338 4999, if dog answers, hang up.


Classifeeds
RACIST? But racist in a nice way? We meet every week at the Village Hall in Bannock, Bannock Nice Nazis Guild. Almost all welcome


Classifeeds M - 37, looking for pussy. Her name is Tibbles, have you seen her? If so, please get in touch.

Classifeeds LOST. Copy of this morning's 'Metro' newspaper. Left it on the tube at about 8.30 am. £25 reward. Tel: 07941 309 0999.

Top Tips
FACEBOOK USERS. Negate the privacy risks by posting only drivel and toss. /via

Classifeeds
REQUIRED IMMEDIATELY someone skilled at opening bags of peanut.. Oh bollocks!.. someone skilled at hoovering.

Classifeeds
AVAILABLE FOR HIRE. Sign Language expert. Felt my input in last job was falling on deaf ears. Call, er, text me.

Classifeeds
WANTED; managerial job at a Premiership club that aren't sh*t or run by porn barrons. Contact M.O'Neill

Classifeeds
PET LOVER Friendly F, 37, recently widowed, seeks fit, lively alert M, 35-45 with no fear of commitment or lions.

Classifeeds
For sale, one car with a full tank of petrol, will swap for detached house in Chelsea or kensington.

Classifeeds
FOR SALE 5,000 copies of Guess Who? The Burkha Edition. I got them from a contact in France where it was banned

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Sunday, January 09, 2011