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I am, actually, grateful to the author, and for the insights she gave me. Reading her essay definitely put some Chinese iron into my Western spine, and though I eventually apologized to my daughter for failing to acknowledge, right off the bat, all those tough classes last semester in which she had done phenomenally well, and for expressing my disappointment at the others too vigorously, I have also vowed that she will clamp down on those three subjects in which she is \

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But Chinese methods, I think, do still need some scrutiny. My daughter Rosie is mildly dyslexic, a learning difficulty that means she automatically reads words backward. By the time the psychiatrist diagnosed her, in second grade, she was lagging far behind her classmates. For years I forced her to spell words in the bathtub with foam letters, to do worksheets, to subdivide words into sounds and take practice tests. My criticism and forced rehearsing was redundant, it turns out - inside, she was all ready to punish herself, and I was only prolonging her misery and shattering her confidence. Eventually, and totally out of character, she even stopped loving school. She lost her sparkle. She started to suffer from constant stomachaches and broke down in tears almost every day. At last we heard about a reading program where students spent four hours every day in a small room under a supervisor with a specialization in dyslexia, drilling in letters and sight words. It sounded awful, but Rosie insisted on it. She loved books and stories. She wanted to read.

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Every day when we picked her up, her face would be red with tears, her eyes hollow and exhausted. Every day we asked her if she wanted to quit. Neither her father nor I wanted to make a unilateral decision when she was the one who suffered, so we asked her. But every day she returned to the trenches, her little shoulders bent under the weight of her struggle. Rosie has a process she follows when she's scared - \know where she learned it. Maybe from one of those television shows I shouldn't let her watch.

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At the end of a grim and brutal month, Rosie learned to read. Not because we sat like watchdogs and forced her to drill and practice and repeat, not because we dragged her kicking

and screaming, or denied her food, or kept her from using the bathroom, but because she forced herself. Because of this, she emerged with a conception of herself as a powerful, versatile person.

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I have a feeling when Chinese children are underdeveloped or suffer from learning disabilities like Rosie's, their parents channel their admirable passion into finding a solution that works. They are just as dogged and determined, but in an entirely different way. In some scenarios roaring like a tiger turns children into pianists who debut at Carnegie Hall, but in others it only limits, constricts, and reins them in. Positive enthusiasm gives some the excuse to fail and others the chance to succeed. Wherever we reside on our big green, blue planet, Chinese mothers and I both understand that our job as mothers is to be the type of tigress that each of our different children needs.

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