A High School Drop-Out's Guide to Tiger Parenting

Do Everything Given

Summers before consisted of either prep schools for the following year or of water parks. Prep schools were expensive and, frankly, lonely. Half of the college students that overlooked us elementary kids did not even bat an eye when we face planted after falling off our chairs, and the other half were friendly (and also on a power trip). During lunch time, they made sure their favorite kids (usually the loudest and the most energetic) got the extras of what I called the "rich people's lunch." This "rich people's lunch" consisted of whatever snacks and foods appealed to children—often hotdogs wrapped in a single slice of finely processed white bread or a cup of instant noodles. Now, for why they were called "rich people's lunch": their parents had to pay extra. Us "poor" kids were stuck with that day's lunch that everyone would receive—my favorite were the rare chicken tender salads, a delicacy never to be found on the table of an Asian family's dinner. The "rich" kids got the "poor" kids' lunch along with the extra snack or meal their parents paid extra for. I found out I was a part of the "poor kids" congregation when I asked one of the college students for the extra snack of the day, only for them to check a clipboard and tell me that it wasn't for me, and that my parents had to pay for the extra snack. So, I begged the few kids I befriended that belonged to the "rich" clique for a bite of their snack. If I was successful, I would get a bite of that day's special snack, walk back to my seat, and wallow in frustration as I savored the taste of unhealthy, packaged foods. An absurd thing to be annoyed about, I know, but as a child, you can't get enough of what you rarely get—especially foods designed to be chemically appealing to children's taste buds.

When I returned back home in a shady white van filled with screaming, laughing children, none of it mattered as I savored the taste of my dad's homemade cooking. My previously crossed arms opened wide, welcoming all the dishes that lay before me on the table. My previously furrowed eyebrows unfurrowed, instead raising in amazement at the smells of spices and comforting garlic. My dad sure knew how to remind me that what we had at home was best. But the next day when I returned back and saw the salty "rich" kid snacks, I was back to cursing my dad for not paying for the special snacks (and the elevated status).

It was a vicious cycle, I tell you.

What was also a vicious cycle was me confronting my fears by going to water parks. It was a family favorite, attended most often by my parents with my brother and their friends. However, it was not my favorite, no matter how many times I went. Exposure did not mean favoritism in this scenario.

I have a fear of the idea of drowning, which translates to a fear of large bodies of water. Even the sight of a pool with a depth of 10 feet had me red nosed, lips quivering and eyes glazed over with tears. However, weakness was never an option for the daughter of an Asian immigrant, so it was a tiger's bright idea to bring me to a water park, where bodies of water came nowhere close to the size of a pool—in the increasing direction. The water park was a world where every turn meant a chance of death: being washed away by massive artificial waves, collapsing from gallons of water crashing down from cartoonishly big wooden basins, and getting lost, suppressed, and forgotten under bright pink donut floaties and hairy adult bodies.

But, the water park was fun, if I ignored the lingering thought of water shooting up my nose and leaving me with a sharp, burning sensation of a waterlogged nasal cavity. It was also fun if I ignored the many instances in which I was under feets of water, without help and without the ability to swim.

Both the water park and prep schools were fun and uncomfortable, but productive nonetheless. They served their purpose for my parents, who needed my childish, boundless energy to be knocked off its pedestal as I spent my strength fighting monstrous waves and the urge to rip my paper of math questions to shreds. Most importantly, I safely returned to my family at the end of day, my time not wasted with an aspect of their company, food or safety.