Asian Parents Be Like Thrifty Tigers

What’s it like having Asian parents? Think of a controlling boss who demands all the respect, asks for unsustainable output and pays like a cheapskate.

Growing up with stereotypical Asian parents, I thought certain behaviours and mannerisms were normal.

For example, going to the Sunday market meant haggling with the vendors until you got a discount, even if it took 30 minutes to save 50 cents. A win was a win!

And going to the butcher or fishmonger meant a lot of elbowing and dodging like a pro-NFL player. There were no silly notions of polite queuing. If you wanted to make it to the front of the pack and get served, you had to risk a bruised rib or two.

Let’s not forget there was only one acceptable speaking volume: obnoxiously loud. If you weren’t yelling, you weren’t heard. And if you didn’t speak over each other, you weren’t actively participating in the conversation.

Parental love was in the form of criticisms, mainly in terms of academics and appearances. “Oh yah, you need to eat less. Just look at your butt! It’s so big, just like your Aunt Blah. She had a big butt too, like a B-52 Bomber!”

God forbid if I came home from school with anything less than an A. The guilt would pile on like a pancake sh@tstack. “I left my home country to come here and work hard so you can have a better life. Why you not get an A? You want to wash dishes like me?!”

My parents were the typical run-of-the-mill Asian parents who worked hard to give their kids a better life. And like so many others, I felt compelled to study hard to make my parents proud. This inevitably led them bragging to every Tam, Duc and Hung about my achievements, further spurring me to try even harder. Twas a vicious cycle.

Obviously, other Asian parents would counter with their own bragging rights. It would always end in verbal fisticuffs of whose-kid-is-the-best-contest. If my dad had to concede defeat to his siblings, I’d hear him complain about my supposed failings for weeks, “Ai ya, why you not get triple A+ score like Uncle Blah’s son? Why you not smart like your cousin?”

I chalked it up to them just having social norms and expectations that differed from, say, a typical Western family.

This was proven true once I met and married my white husband. Initially, we struggled to find common ground due to our vastly opposing politeness and cultural systems.

Where he would wait for everyone’s food to be served before eating, our family would chow down the minute food hit the table. Who wants cold food?

Where I ask for a discount for basically anything, he would opt to pay full price rather than bother others. What chump pays full price?!

While he preferred meat and three veggies, I needed rice and three side dishes. I don’t particularly relish the meaty taste of bleeding and barely dead animals.

Our social norms were oh-so-different. It was like we had stepped into alternative universes despite speaking a common language, English.

Our childhoods played a big part in this. I grew up thinking bowl haircuts and stinky tofu on rice for school lunches were socially acceptable. I mean, it’s no worse than parmesan, right? Smelly feet vs rotten garbage… eh, same same.

My husband went to school with Plain Jane ham cheese sandwiches and sported the I’m-too-cool-for-school undercuts. Man, my mother would have declared it a rude hairstyle and lopped it off in my sleep.

Where I grew up being drilled into me that academic excellence equated to success, and worked my butt off in school, my husband didn’t even take any books home to study and bludged his way through university. Ironically, he now earns almost triple my salary.

Anyway, the point is I grew up Asian. Like really Asian. My parents have left such an indelible mark on my psyche that when I look at my kids now, I’m like, “Don’t you have some homework to do?”

I simply can’t let my kids be idle. If they’re free, I’m hounding them to do something productive. Instead of being on the idiot box or cell, how about you find some maths equations to do or read a book to feed your brain?

How else are they going to succeed and make me proud?! (Joking!)

Of course, my husband is the polar opposite of me and believes in letting the kids be. He doesn’t subscribe to my rigid schedule of homework and music practice every day.

So it begs the question, have I become a stereotypical Asian Tiger mum? Am I my mother? Something I swore never to be.

’Cos it terrifies me to think one day I’ll forget how annoying it was that my parents lived vicariously through me. Their existence was linked to my academic and professional successes.

What if I start gaslighting my kids about how cheap knock-offs are basically the same as the proper brands? And they go to school with “Adidas” trackies with two stripes and get relentlessly teased? You were wrong, Mum! The school kids did notice the missing stripe.

Can you imagine being that out of touch and stubborn?

Anyway, today I tried convincing my daughter that Chenzu’s permanent markers were basically the same as Sharpies, just cheaper. Who cares if people know they’re knock-offs? You’re saving money, and they do the same job! It’s called being thrifty…

I am a creative writer and storytelling enthusiast sharing snippets of my journey through parenting and life. I aim to empower, inspire and ignite laughter by sharing my experiences.

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider supporting me by signing up to become a Medium member and sharing the below link with your family and friends.

Click here to signup and support Kathy from KN J Tales and Snippets!