Gross-Loh Christine - Parenting without borders : surprising lessons parents around the world can teach us

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Copyright 2013 by Christine Gross-Loh

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Published simultaneously in Canada

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Gross-Loh, Christine.

Parenting without borders: surprising lessons parents around the world can teach us / Christine Gross-Loh.

p. cm

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978-1-101-60906-4

1. ParentingCross-cultural studies. 2. Parenting. I. Title.

HQ755.8.G756 2013 2013003704

649'.1dc23

While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers, Internet addresses, and other contact information at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Penguin is committed to publishing works of quality and integrity. In that spirit, we are proud to offer this book to our readers; however, the story, the experiences, and the words are the authors alone. Some names and identifying characteristics have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals involved.

W e all want the best for our children, but what does that mean? , determined that parents around the world universally share three goals in raising their children. The first goal is survival and health: Parents want their children to stay alive. For those who live in societies where they can be reasonably sure of being able to meet childrens most basic survival needs past infancy, though, the second universal goal is to raise children who will have the basic skills theyll need to sustain themselves economically once they grow up. And finally, theres the goal of self-maximizationof raising a socially competent child who possesses the cultural values that are considered important, and who will succeed in that society: a child who will thrive.

I didnt know if I would ever have a child. Pregnancy didnt come easily to me, and my husband, David, and I experienced the heartache of infertility before conceiving our first baby. But I always loved children and longed for the day I might become a mother. When I finally became pregnant, survival was a question: I hemorrhaged so severely in my seventh month that doctors told us the pregnancy was in danger. It wasnt until tiny Benjamin was born and safely in my arms, when I looked at his face with his wide brown eyes, mop of black hair, and the puzzled expression that elicited such fierce protectiveness inside me, that I started to think about what kind of parent I would be and how I could best raise a child who would not only survive but also thrive.

My parents immigrated to the United States from South Korea shortly before I was born in 1968. Growing up in the 1970s in small-town Pennsylvania, I straddled two cultures every day of my childhood. In some ways my parents were very Korean in how they raised us: We used chopsticks at the dinner table; kimchi, seaweed, and rice were staples in our home; I was taught not to call adults by their first names and to behave respectfully toward older relatives. Education was highly valued in our house and we were expected to complete our homework on time and get good grades. Sometimes this felt like a lot of pressure. At the same time, my parents had a broad perspective and were enthusiastic and relaxed about the things my brothers and I wanted to do, whether it was make our own Halloween costumes, pretend to pan for gold in a creek, watch movies for hours with our friends, or eat or read whatever we wanted. When I look back on my childhood, I am actually astounded by how little my parents questioned the things we were doing with our time and where our lives were going, especially since our American small-town childhood was so different from their own.

They had their worries, as many immigrant families who strongly want their children to thrive in their new society often do. I remember hushed conversations between my mom and dad about whether we were really getting a good education, and get-togethers with other Korean immigrant families where parents exchanged questions about the schools their children were attending as they tried to navigate an alien school system. Sometimes our differences really compounded my self-consciousness about being one of the few Asian-American students in school. But like many American parents of my generation, I find myself looking back with amazement at a degree of freedom and acceptance that seems virtually lost today. Even though my parents always conveyed the value of holding high expectations, they gave us so much time and space to experiment, play, and just be. They were always trying to do their best for us. They believed in our potential to flourish. But they werent always trying to mold and change us.

During my twenties I lived in Japan several times, first to study Japanese and then to do research for a doctorate in East Asian history. In a remote village nestled in the mountainous countryside, I met David, who, like me, was a student who had come to Japan to learn the language. When David and I returned to the United States and decided to get married, we also knew that we might eventually be going back to Japan one day and maybe even raising children there. No matter where our children would grow up, though, I knew I loved America. And I knew there were many things from my own Korean-American upbringing and my Jewish-American husbands that would shape our familys life.

Now that we have four children, it seems incredible to me that I once wondered whether I would ever have the chance to be a mother. But having children has also humbled me, opened my eyes to how many decisions there are for parents to make, to how hard parenting can sometimes be, and to how uncertain I sometimes feel about whether Im making the right choices and doing right by my kids.