She Is a Great Mother
by Huina Zheng
part 1
In my son Ming’s perception, his friend Jun has a crazy mother. According to him, after Jun ranked below 400th in the midterm exams, his mother forced him to climb to the 19th floor, the highest level of their building. Jun is Ming’s only friend, though how they became friends is unknown to me. Jun is a skinny boy, much shorter than his fellow eighth-graders and addicted to computer games. He and Ming are deskmates.
While pitting cherries, I suddenly realize that I forgot to set the timer to indicate whether these cherries have soaked in salt water for over ten minutes. I wonder if reducing the soaking time by one or two minutes will result in any residual pesticides remaining.
“Here, your favorite cherry juice,” I say as I pour the pressed cherry juice into a glass and add a straw. I set on the dining table in front of Ming. He picks up the straw and drinks nearly half the glass in one sip.
“I’m serious,” he insists. “His mom dragged him to the edge of the rooftop and said if he didn’t start studying harder, they would jump together.”
I pick up a napkin box from our last visit to Tai Er Pickled Fish, pull out a tissue, and wipe the red juice dribbling from his mouth. “Do you think his mom might really push him off the building?”
My acquaintance with Jun’s mom is limited to nods and brief chats on WeChat. I keep my distance because I don’t want Ming to remain always close friends with her son, considering Jun’s poor academic performance.
Ming aspires to be a judge, and I constantly remind him of the importance of hard work. His primary goal is to get into a top local high school, the first step toward a prestigious university. He assures me that he is ranked among the top ten in his grade, so I shouldn’t worry about his academics.
“His mom was very emotional that day because Jun used to be first in his class in elementary school, and she can’t accept his mediocre performance now.”
“Is it because he has relaxed his attitude towards studying since starting middle school that his grades are dropping?” I ask while walking to the kitchen. I wash the fruit knife and juicer that I just used and toss the cherry stems and pits into the small bin designated for kitchen waste beside the sink. In Guangzhou, a household waste-sorting policy was implemented six years ago, and improper disposal of trash can result in fines.
“His mother thinks so,” Ming replies. “She employs manipulative tactics on him, emphasizing repeatedly that his declining grades are due to not trying hard enough. She expects him to devote a hundred percent of his energy to his studies, yet he barely manages eighty percent.”
Ming speaks with a maturity uncommon for an 11-year old, something I’ve grown accustomed to. He was precocious from an early age. When he was in second grade, I encouraged him to self-study the math curriculum through sixth grade, which led him to skip two grades. Now, in eighth grade, he is two years younger than his classmates.
I once asked Ming whether he wanted to visit Chimelong Paradise or Shanghai Disneyland during the summer holiday, but I soon discovered he preferred taking online programming courses on Tencent Classroom, thus sparing me the cost of expensive programming classes.
I never discuss the hardships of earning money or the high cost of his tutoring fees in front of him. And he never inquires. I select the best tutoring centers and private tutors for him, and he attends classes without complaints, whether it was tackling eighth-grade physics in fifth grade or memorizing vocabulary required for high school during his elementary years.
I chat with him for twenty minutes daily; any longer would infringe on his study time, and any shorter would prevent me from engaging meaningfully with his thoughts, though I often find myself wanting to reduce our time even further before his exams to give him more time to focus on studying.
“Is it wrong for parents to desire their children to study hard and secure a better future?” I ask.
“It’s not a matter of right or wrong. The key is motivating children appropriately, understanding them, and empathizing more. One ought not to force learning through oppression.” Ming enjoys lecturing, though he doesn’t realize how theoretical he sounds; otherwise, he’d understand that despite how teachers might promote their educational philosophies, they often dismiss struggling students. He dislikes how they expect students to love studying as passionately as cats love fish and to dream about their subjects at night. I appreciate his “preaching”; it brings us closer.
I manage a smile. “Have you reviewed for tomorrow’s Chinese exam?” I can’t help but inquire about his studies; it’s what a responsible parent does.
Ming nods, finishing the last of the cherry juice with a loud slurp. “Jun’s mom says that foods rich in Vitamin C enhance overall brain health and positively impact learning and memory.”
“That’s excellent.” I smile, pleased to realize that cherries are a good source of Vitamin C.
“Yeah,” Ming says and, in that moment, we find ourselves in agreement.
* * *
That night, while Ming studies in his room, I engage in a conversation with Jun’s mother on WeChat. Given Ming’s close friendship and concern for Jun, I feel it is essential to cultivate a good relationship with his mother to truly understand if she is indeed a good parent.
After a period of discussion, it becomes clear that Jun’s mother genuinely cares for her son, always putting his interests first. Both she and her husband are engineers, and she has been consistently present throughout each stage of Jun’s development. Outside of her professional life, she leads a mostly private life, dedicating all her time to support and accompany Jun. From his kindergarten years, she tutored him every night, and during his primary school years, Jun never went to bed before 10 pm. During this time, Jun excelled notably, not only repeatedly winning national speech competitions but also securing multiple awards in mathematics Olympiads.
However, Jun’s mother regrets her decision to let him board at school during his first year of middle school. She believes that decision caused Jun to become negligent and led him into a gaming addiction through the influence of his roommates. Upon recognizing the issue, she rented a house near the school the following semester to supervise Jun’s studies nightly, but Jun found it challenging to return to his previous performance levels.
Rubbing my tired eyes, I face a dilemma: Should I use the app on my phone to check the camera in Ming’s room to ensure he remains focused on his studies, or should I stay seated here, attempting to soothe Jun’s anxious mother and collaborate on strategies to “rescue” her son?
On Sunday afternoon, Jun visits our home to play with Ming as usual. Their play involves a friendly “sports competition” on the living room floor, an area spacious enough for them to carry out some basic exercises for their middle-school physical education tests.
“Ready?” Jun asks, positioning himself for push-ups.
“Let’s see who tires out first,” Ming retorts, both exchanging smiles before commencing their push-ups.
As they continue, beads of sweat appear on their foreheads, yet neither shows any signs of stopping. Only after completing the set number of push-ups do they stand up and high-five each other. Next is the sit-and-reach exercise. They sit against the wall with legs outstretched, striving to stretch forward enough to touch their toes with their fingertips. Although a simple action, this exercise requires considerable flexibility and forms part of the physical fitness test for middle school.
From the kitchen, they appear as sensible, energetic children. Watching closely, I can see Ming’s brow furrow as he strains to touch his toes with his fingers, fully aware of the importance of physical education for the upcoming middle-school tests. He knows that proper exercise is not just crucial for the exams but also an effective way to alleviate academic stress.
They stand up, ready to head to his room. I invite them to sit at the dining table for some snacks. I serve two bowls of warm snow fungus, lotus seed, and lily bulb sweet soup, renowned for its lung-nourishing, mind-calming, and relaxing benefits. The sweet aroma and comforting warmth of the dessert fill the air. Jun’s eyes light up, and he takes a spoonful, splashing a few drops on the table. Ming pulls out some tissues to wipe the splashes off the table and hands one to Jun to clean his hands.
“Tastes good?” I ask.
“It’s good,” Ming replies, nonchalantly.
Turning to Jun, who is intently eating his sweet soup, I ask, “Do you realize how much your mom has sacrificed for you?”
Jun pauses, his gaze fixed on his bowl, giving neither a nod nor a shake of his head.
Ming frowns. “Why would you say that?”
“I’m just trying to ease his tension with his mother,” I explain. “She really is a great mother.”
“What kind of mother she is isn’t for us to judge. We don’t understand all the details,” Ming says, seemingly trying to comfort Jun while also attempting to ease the tension in the room.
“Alright,” I concede.
Jun finishes his first bowl of sweet soup. I ponder whether Jun understands all that his mother has done out of love for him. Can these children truly empathize with their mother’s sacrifices? Are they mature enough to grasp that “a parent’s love for a child involves long-term planning” and to understand that all the rigorous educational measures are truly for their benefit? I believe Ming understands; he never complains about the study tasks I arrange for him. Hoping to help Jun see this, too, I think it best that they motivate each other to excel academically.
As Jun begins his second bowl, Ming pauses while serving his own second helping, then unexpectedly scoops a bowl for me and places it in front of me. I smile at him. “Such a good kid.”
* * *
Copyright © 2024 by Huina Zheng
