Taming of a Tiger Mom

My hands were tucked neatly into my lap, my chin raised with pride as I absorbed every note of the pleasant melody. My head bobbed with approval as each key was hit with timed precision. I glanced around, noting the entire audience were captivated by the performance on-stage. I recalled the hours of diligent practise sessions at home, all of the tantrums and tears, and how it had all been worth it. But then, I gritted my teeth while recognising a mistimed note, and I twisted the strap of my handbag as my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Perfection is what I demanded, and once again, the mark had been missed.

I'd known from the moment she was conceived that Melody was going to be a musician, and I'd set her on that path from the youngest age. I mean, that's why I'd given her such a name, after all, pushing her towards her destiny before she was able to walk or talk. Even as a toddler, I had her undertaking piano lessons multiple times a week, as well as ensuring she suitably practised for hours every day. It was my intention for her to be a leading practitioner in the field and failure was simply not acceptable. As far as I was concerned, repetition was a necessity in her tutelage and I spent countless hours standing in the doorway, arms folded sternly across my chest while I observed and scrutinised her development. She didn't head off to sleep after reading a bedroom story, but instead, she memorised sheet music at my direction.

From the moment I first touched the piano keys as a child, I knew it was my destiny and the destiny of the Sun family to achieve greatness and build a musical legacy. Back then, the way my fingers had danced across the ivory, clumsy at first but growing more confident with each passing day, had felt like a revelation. Even after my parents emigrated to USA, and I was raised through the private, American schooling system, I still maintained that drive to achieve Asian excellence. Sadly, my parents had directed me towards academia, wanting a PhD-qualified doctor in the ranks of the family. Therefore, I'd never been given the opportunity to truly pursue my talent, and my parents had been too busy with their own integrational and adaptation struggles to fully invest in my interests. They hadn't committed to my talents in the way I had poured everything into my own daughter.

As I was sitting in the velvet-cushioned seat, the applause swelling around me like a tidal wave, and I was truly beaming with what my perseverance had achieved. Melody bowed deeply, her face flushed with triumph, and the audience erupted into a standing ovation. I clapped mechanically, my hands moving in rhythm with everyone else's, but my thoughts were far away. I thought of the years of effort and sacrifice it had taken to get to this moment. How I had invested in the best teachers and the finest instruments. I thought of Melody's room, cluttered with sheet music and metronomes, and the hours I'd spent standing beside her, meticulously watching her every move to ensure she practised the appropriate amount. Some days I'd keep her there until midnight, playing the same piece over and over until she'd finally mastered it. She'd whine, she'd cry, she'd plead that her fingers and back hurt, but I was resolute in my determination, knowing that true perfection could only be achieved with the correct level of dedication.

Of course, she complained, but as her mother, I've always known what is best for her. The afternoons spent indoors while other children played outside. The excursions she'd missed because of rehearsals. The friendships that had withered away, under my stern direction, because she was always too busy honing her craft. The way her shoulders ached from hours hunched over the piano, her wrists stiff and sore while I pressed a stick against her back and demanded she maintain the exact posture. The endless cycle of my astute criticism and correction, my frustration at her never quite being good enough, and infuriatingly, never quite perfect. It was most definitely an enduring process for myself, but I always had the goal in my sights: my daughter on the stage, my legacy making me proud while all of the other mother's looked on jealously. Perhaps if they'd raised their own children with similar scrutiny and expectations, then they too could have achieved wonders.

With the recital concluded, and once the applause died down, I shuffled along the row and headed backstage. Melody was clutching a bouquet of flowers as she politely acknowledged the host and sponsors. The red roses fit well with the dress and shoes I'd selected for her, and I was thankful I'd had the time to comb her hair in a suitable style of my choosing that exuded class. I stood by, trying to interrupt and insert myself, but not quite finding the right moment as the main sponsor barely stopped for a breath.

"You're so talented," he said. "How did you develop such skill?"

I cupped my hands to my navel and awaited my moment, but Melody simply blushed and shyly remarked, "Just a lot of hard work, Sir."

I tutted, looking at her in surprise, but she hadn't even noticed I was there. I was about to step forth and speak of my commitment as her mother, when the host directed the group to another of the performers, and I huffed as the sponsors departed, seeing it as a missed opportunity.

With her alone, I stepped up and seized her elbow before pulling her aside. I chewed my lip, somewhat irritated by her lack of gratitude directed to where it mattered. Why hadn't she introduced me? "Do you have anything to say?" I asked while crossing my arms.

She stared at me blankly, and her joyful expression dropped. "Did I make a mistake?" Her brow furrowed as she was likely second-guessing her performance.

"The biggest mistake. You forgot to thank me," I said, my tone rather aggrieved. All those years of raising her, keeping a roof over her head and pushing her in the correct direction. The only reason she was on that stage in the first place was because of my drive and work ethic, and yet, she didn't even think to show me any appreciation. She hadn't even mentioned to the host or sponsors about how everything was thanks to me. Such a performance simply wouldn't have been possible if she was the daughter of someone else. I pouted, wrinkling my nose with distaste while feeling completely taken for granted.

Melody appeared momentarily panicked, her eyes widening before they dropped. "I'm sorry, Mother," she said in a low, nervous tone. "I was just so focused on the recital that I forgot. Please forgive me."

I grimaced, before shifting my shoulders slightly. "It is no bother," I said all magnanimously. "Just pay more attention in future." I snatched the bouquet from her, and plucked away a petal that was already beginning to discolour. "These will look wonderful in my office."

"I am so sorry," she said without emotion. "Did I do well?"

"Adequate," I said. "But there is always room for improvement. We both know you mistimed that note, don't we?"

Melody averted her eyes and glumly nodded her head.

"I'm just thankful your father wasn't able to attend, as I wouldn't want him to witness such mediocracy. You know how stressful his job is, and your lack of care and attention to detail may have put him in the hospital." I reached over and adjusted her hairband. "You know as the youngest generation of the Sun family we expect the highest standards from you. You have been given such great opportunities, and all you do is squander them."

Melody frowned somewhat. "Yes, Mother, I understand," she said quietly. "I will try to improve and not make the same mistake again."

"It hurts me so much when you make mistakes like that. It as if you don't care about how important this is."

"Of course I care, Mother," she said. "I was just nervous."

"Don't you realise I love you to the point of exhaustion?" I continued. "Everything I do is for your benefit, and it is only when I'm gone that you'll truly appreciate the sacrifices I have made for you."

Melody took a deep breath, her chest heaving a number of times, though she kept her eyes lowered.

"Anyway," I said while glancing at my watch. "We should be getting home. We still have a couple of hours for you to put in some extra work at the piano. You need to perfect this piece and eradicate that error. I do not wish to see a reoccurrence." I tutted. "It should never have happened in the first place. Obviously, your mind was elsewhere other than where it was supposed to be." I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "Whatever could you have been thinking about?"

Melody immediately darted her head up. "But, Mother, everyone is going for food and drinks to celebrate. I've been invited."

I huffed, before sneering down my nose. "Excellency does not thrive through socialising with those of lesser ambition."

"Mother, please," she whined, and she held up a shaky hand; her fingers blistered and swollen. "I've been practising so much. My body aches all over. Please, I need just one night to unwind and enjoy myself. It's normal for me to celebrate with friends, even Father--"

"Achieving brilliance is a painful road," I said without any sympathy, and then I wiggled my fingers at her dismissively. "I will not hear of these complaints. Do you think my parents complained when they left China with nothing? During their discomfort on the boat and starting from scratch here? If they had complained, then our family would not have a single cent to our name." I pointed at her sternly. "You would be nothing. It is only hard work and practice that will get you where you want to be."

"Where

you

want me to be," Melody snapped back, and then she immediately clamped a hand over her mouth.

I froze, the weight of her words hanging in the air like another discordant note, shattering the harmony of my authority. My gaze sharpened, piercing through her as if trying to uncover the rebellion I feared was simmering beneath her surface. I would simply not stand for such attitude.

Melody shifted awkwardly, clearly understanding the magnitude of her mistake. "Mother, I'm sorry," she muttered hurriedly. "It slipped out. I didn't mean it."

"Didn't mean it?" I repeated, my voice low and measured. "Or did you mean it more than anything you've done tonight? Do you care more for upsetting your mother than actually performing to an acceptable standard?" I pointed at her. "Let me be clear, my ungrateful daughter, this life, this opportunity, this future I have provided for you, it is not a debate. It is not a negotiation. You will practise tonight, and you will do so without complaint." I raised an eyebrow, challenging her to maintain such defiance. "Is that understood?"

Her eyes welled with tears, but I refused to let them sway me. Softness had no place in the pursuit of greatness. She sniffled quietly, wiping at her face with the back of her hand as she nodded in reluctant submission.

"Good," I said, turning on my heel and striding toward the exit. "Come along. We're wasting time. There is perfection still to be achieved."

She followed silently, her footsteps barely audible behind mine. The car ride home was suffocating in its silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. I could feel her resentment radiating from the backseat, but I kept my focus on the road ahead. She would thank me one day, when she was the recipient of awards and bathing in applause. When she was living a life she could only dream of now, she would understand then that every sacrifice, and every moment of pain: it had all been worth it, and I'd known what was best for her. She would never reach such heights if it wasn't for me.

When we arrived home, I gestured toward the piano without a word. She hesitated for a moment, glancing towards the stairs, but then her shoulders slumped as if carrying the weight of the world.

"There's no need to be so dramatic," I said with a tut. "Such theatrics will get you nowhere." I pointed towards the piano another time. "The only theatre I'm expecting of you is the musical kind, so you'd do better to adjust your attitude and work on improving yourself."

Melody settled onto the bench and she cracked her fingers. She adjusted her shoulders momentarily, working out the kinks in her back, before she held firm in the expected posture. Her hands hovered over the keys, trembling slightly. She closed her eyes, taking in a couple of deep breaths while she gained her focus.

"Begin," I commanded, already feeling like too much time had been wasted. Her fingers danced, and the first notes were tentative, uneven. I frowned, crossing my arms. "Stop, and start again."

She started over, her fingers moving more deliberately the second time. But still, something was off, a hesitation, a lack of conviction.

"Stop," I snapped. "Do you think this is acceptable? Do you think such mediocrity will get you anywhere?" I stamped my heel against the carpet. "Again. Focus."

Her jaw tightened as she clenched her teeth, but she obeyed, as expected of a loving daughter. The music filled the room once more, stronger, but still lacking that spark of brilliance I demanded. I leaned against the wall, watching her closely. I tutted. I rolled my eyes. I pounded my fist against my thigh.

"Faster," I instructed. "This is not the correct tempo and you're destroying this beautiful symphony."

She sped up, but her fingers stumbled over a complex passage.

"You're going too fast," I interjected with a scoff. "Slow it down and concentrate."

She dithered, and then completely lost track of the pace, dragging out a few notes and sabotaging the exquisiteness of the piece.

"Again," I barked, but then I flinched as her hands slammed down on the keys in frustration.

She turned to face me, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I can't do it!" she shouted, her voice breaking. "I'm trying so hard, but it's never enough for you. I'm so tired, Mother. I did well today, and you don't even care. Why can't you just let me breathe for once?"

I rolled my eyes at such a display of weakness and stepped forward. My expression hardened. "Because breathing won't make you great," I said coldly. "Breathing won't set you apart from everyone else who settles for less." I unfolded my arms and gestured towards the front door. "The Zhang boy has already been accepted into the Reginald School of Music. Are you happy being outperformed by a boy with his inferior talent?" I tutted. "Do you know how infuriating it was listening to his mother boast about his achievements, all while looking down her nose and judging your failures?" I pointed at her; my finger resolute with accusation. "Those aren't just your failures, they're mine too. Your subpar performances reflect on me, and I will not allow you to waste everything I've worked so hard for. I will not permit you to shame the Sun name."

She stared at me for a long moment before dropping her head into her hands and sobbing quietly. For a fleeting second, something inside me wavered, a flicker of doubt, perhaps even guilt as I watched my only child ball her eyes out. But I pushed such wasteful emotions aside quickly. "Again," I said while stepping closer and clutching her wrist. I placed her fingers back onto the piano keys. "Stop with your tears and focus on the task at hand. You will not be given permission to retire to your room until you have performed this piece without mistake. The sooner you do it, the sooner you can rest."

Melody caught her breath, before wiping away the final few tears. Gradually, her sniffles died down, and then she sat up straight before resting her fingertips against the keys. She squinted at the music.

"Begin," I said, while resting a hand on her shoulder.

The next few hours continued in the same vein. Melody's fingers trembled slightly as they danced across the keys, the notes growing softer as her exhaustion became evident. The piece was demanding, a relentless cascade of arpeggios and staccatos that left no room for error. I stood over her, a silent sentry, my gaze focused and unyielding as I demanded she repeat the piece over and over. Every missed note, every hesitant pause, all grated against my nerves like nails on a chalkboard, and I tutted and rolled my eyes each time she failed to deliver the expected quality.

"Stop," I snapped after the third mistake in the same passage. She froze, her hands hovering above the keys, her breath shallow. "Do you think this patchiness will get you anywhere? Do you think the judges will care that you're tired? That you're upset?" My voice was a relentless knife, and I effortlessly cut through her guilt-ridden silence with deft precision. "They won't. They'll only see your failure. You

will

be accepted into this school at the first attempt. You are a Sun, and you have not been raised to fall at the first hurdle. We don't do resits. We pass with flying colours. We top the class. We win accolades."

She didn't look at me, her eyes fixed on the sheet music as if it held some secret escape away from my rightful scrutiny. Her lips moved faintly, murmuring the rhythm under her breath. I could see the tension in her shoulders, and the way her jaw clenched as she fought to keep herself together communicated I was getting under her skin. That was the whole point. She needed to understand how serious it all was. How much was on the line.

"Again," I commanded. "We will do this over and over. I will keep you here until the sun rises if necessary."

After a resigned sigh, she played with more determination, her fingers moving with a meticulousness born of desperation. The notes flowed smoother, but gradually, there were still cracks, and my cheeks twitched as the tiny imperfections gnawed at my patience. Perhaps those of a lesser standard would consider such things to be trivial, but I knew it would cost her dearly in a competition. I could feel my frustration mounting, hot and suffocating. "Marginally better," I said grudgingly when she finished. "But not good enough." I stepped up and flipped the music back to the first page. "Again. Start from the beginning."

"Could I at least have a glass of water?" she asked.

"You're thirsty?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. "Good. Use that need as motivation. You can have something to drink when you finally get this right."

Melody exhaled slowly, her hands dropping to her lap. She looked up at me, her eyes red-rimmed but steady. "Why do you hate me so much?" Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it carried the weight of years of unspoken emotion. "I didn't ask to be born, Mother." She dropped her head. "I didn't ask for any of this."

The question caught me off guard, and for a moment, I hesitated. Hate? I didn't hate her. How could she even think that? She was my only child. My cherished and beloved daughter. Everything I did, every demand, and every criticism, it was all for her own good. To shape her into someone worthy of admiration, of success. "I don't hate you," I said finally, my tone softer than I intended. "I just know what you're capable of. And if I don't push you, who will? Brilliance doesn't come easy. You'll always be my baby, and I'll make sure you achieve what you're destined for."

"I'm eighteen," she said. "When am I finally going to be allowed to live my own life and make my own decisions? I graduated top of the class. I was valedictorian, just like you wanted. You didn't even say 'well done'. You didn't even tell me you were proud."

"Achievement is its own reward." I rolled my eyes at her immaturity. "Perhaps when you have your own children, you'll finally understand and appreciate what I'm doing for you." I nodded back towards the sheet music. "Go on," I said impatiently. "Continue."

She didn't respond immediately, instead turning back to the piano with a resigned sigh. Her hands found the keys once more, and she began to play again, with a quiet intensity that surprised me. The music filled the room, each note ringing with a clarity and emotion that had been absent before. I nodded along with approval, waiting for a mistake with each passing note, but finding myself satisfied the further she proceeded. As the final few notes resonated through the room, Melody relaxed her posture on the bench, breathing heavily but refusing to look at me.