I know I have since long abandoned the blog, but a few things happen to me recently, and writing is always the best way to express my thoughts.
I started my first teaching job in 2005 as an assistant. Oh, I really miss the time when teaching meant conversation between two rational adults—a teacher and the student. Negotiations and disagreement certainly existed, but they could always be resolved with thorough discussion and understanding. I miss the time badly, when there was wonderful trust between the imparter and the impartee of knowledge; "parents" never hovered into this relationship at that time.
When the media started talking about "monster parents," I didn't think it would be a threat to the college education, perhaps no sooner than when I retire. But it came very fast when one morning, while grading a pile of final reports, I received a call that broke my sweet illusion. "I was wondering whether my son would fail this course. To be honest, he could be kicked out of school if this should happen," a polite yet worried voice came from a woman probably in her forties. "No, he will pass," I remember I replied with all that earnesty to calm a panicked, helpless mom, "but I am obliged to let you know that if this continues, he might not survive another semester." I knew it because her sweet son skipped way too many classes, snored in the classroom and woke up to my furious reproach, remained unprepared for most quizzes that were announced at least one week beforehand, and left all the group project to his teammates. That was NOT the first time student upset me with a slack-off attitude. I have seen worse, you bet. But the typical solution had been a sincere apology and a make-up exam that demanded a painstaking whole week's study. Most important of all, everything was between a forgiving professor and a repenting student, never a MOTHER, never.
Bad enough, I have heard worse stories from my colleagues: a yelling daddy demanding an A+ instead of A, influential parents who asked a legislator to "magic" credits for their daughter for a course that was only meant to be a sit-in, upset mom and dad who received a withdrawal notification blaming the school for not telling them their son had been absent. For god's sake, we are talking about 18-year-olds, not kids who fight on the playgrounds! According to our national law, they are eligible to wed and have children of their own. Should I give Pokemon stickers to college students who attend all my classes and draw three smiley faces on their well-written term papers?
This is not the worst yet. Most college students, I have to say, are mature and sensible, but sometimes their "helicopter parents" simply won't let go of them. Even if their sons and daughters have taken a part-time job, planned their own foreign trips, got summer vacation internships, and volunteered for international service in Cambodia, these parents still cradle the kids in their arms, text them incessantly to learn their whereabouts, and keep reminding the professors that their lovely babies are too young to write a research paper on the "birds and bees." Students occasionally talk with me about their annoyance; most of them have devised ways to delude or please their parents, but a few of them have been tortured by an immense mental pressure that only can be alleviated by medication. Do their parents know their children have been torn apart by love and independence? "It's time to let go," I remember I told the wearied mother, "If he has no interest in the study, there are other ways to learn, such as work." But my advice is perhaps no more effective than a cold-calling. Even if parents know their love turns into a burden, in a small corner in their hearts, to let go means being irresponsible. The job of parents, as has been taught by our social norms, is to secure the best and most resources for their children, even though that means distrust with their children and humiliation with themselves.
I truly admire their high commitment, but my job as a professor makes me side with the students. "Parenting" as a social education can be found in most bookstores on the best-selling shelves, but it is weird that the noun "child" or "children" has never evolved into a verb such as "childing" or "childrening." In fact, no one tells the children what they can do to rid themselves of the hovering parents. It is so sad that independence should be fought for through constant conflicts, quarrels, angry faces, and heartbreaking words. Since college, I have used my wits to delude my parents, only to make them free from worries, but not without a strong sense of guilt. It was before the time of cell phones and networking websites, so my little tricks usually worked. I began to sympathize with today's college students when technologies make it impossible to deceive the "parent radar." Yes, childing is a skill to be learned, but who is going to teach it?
This morning, I drove my son to the school and watched him walking into the gate, alone. I suddenly realized that I forgot to check his school bag and could not remember whether he had packed his toothbrush. It doesn't matter. Without the toothbrush, my son can figure out a way. I wish I could be as relaxed and trusting as a mom when he gets older. If I happen to become a helicopter mom, I hope he can find a way out, as he always does.