Just Like Other Daughters Read Online Free Page B

more common than not with Asian Americans, this drive to see their children succeed at almost any cost to the child’s psyche. Her child rearing techniques had been a constant bone of contention between her and Abby.
    Jin insisted Huan (conceived by in vitro fertilization from a Chinese American sperm donor) begin violin lessons at the age of four. Abby wanted him to play T-ball. He still takes violin lessons and practices regularly, even though he’s living away from home. Jin limited his extracurricular activities so he could concentrate on his music and academics. And she has always expected her only child to excel in every class he takes, beginning in nursery school. He graduated from the local public high school as valedictorian, and I have no doubt he’ll graduate from Brown summa cum laude. Of course, the fact that Jin ever allowed her son to even have friends in high school is proof that if she is a Tiger Mom, she isn’t a good one. And never once, as long as I’ve known her, has she belittled or tried to intimidate or shame her son into doing what she wants him to do. That’s not to say she wasn’t or still isn’t above manipulation.
    “Miss Minnie’s!” Chloe declares excitedly.
    I eye Miss Minnie’s red front door from where I’ve parked on the street in front of her contemporary single-story house. Miss Minnie, with the help of two part-time employees, runs a private daycare for mentally and physically handicapped young adults. The men and women who attend Miss Minnie’s are between the ages of twenty-one and thirty-five, or so. There are three who attend every day from nine to five, then another five who, like Chloe, attend a certain number of hours each week. Minnie Wellston is a registered nurse who, when she recognized the need for such a care facility for her Down syndrome son and couldn’t find one, opened one herself. Her Adam died of leukemia eight years ago. I hadn’t known her then, but Minnie had apparently decided that even though her son was gone, this was still her calling.
    Minnie had been a lifesaver when Chloe aged out of the public school system at twenty-one. Randall and I had decided not to apply for Social Security for Chloe and kept her out of the state system. By not accepting Social Security’s financial support, we felt we had better control of our daughter’s life. Fortunately, we could afford it. But that had meant finding something to do with Chloe while I taught and held office hours. There had never been any discussion of Randall caring for Chloe. He was busy with his career and his wife, and he did, after all, see Chloe every Tuesday night for dinner.
    I tried leaving Chloe home alone one day, just after she “graduated” from high school. Looking back, I wonder what I was thinking. I was going to be away just long enough to get a haircut and a touch-up on the color. I was born a redhead; I’m determined to die one, even if possibly toxic chemicals are necessary.
    I think I left Chloe partly because of the pressure I felt from the outside world. Randall, our family therapist, even the girl who checks us out at the grocery store, all thought I was being overprotective. Chloe seems so independent to other people. So capable. And she is capable. She can do so much more than I thought she would ever be able to. More than I could have imagined when those original blood tests came back all those years ago and her genetic disorder was confirmed. Chloe was twenty-one years old, for heaven’s sake. She could certainly be left home alone for two hours.
    That morning I gave her tons of instructions: do not go outside, do not answer the phone, do not take a bath, do not use the stove. Instruction piled on instruction, more than she’d ever been able to handle. My fault again, but I was so nervous and excited. I so wanted it to work out. I kept thinking that if she could just stay at home alone for three or four hours a day, I could figure out how to continue to teach my