美国华人社区中流传着很多“圈内笑话”(Inside jokes)，但其中一个与育儿有关，在某种程度上，苦涩而滑稽。“要想成为一个完美的美籍华裔的孩子” -- 笑话说: “你的SAT必须是2,400分，申请并被27所大学录取，它们全部在一年一度的‘美国新闻与世界报道’排行榜上名列前茅，并获得足够的奖学金支付学费。有三个爱好：数学，钢琴，更多的数学，爱好古典音乐和讨厌泡电话。最后，以饱满的热情接受父母‘不幸’的时尚选择”。

The joke reflects the fact that lofty aspirations have become a standard expectation, and of course, it reinforces the stereotype of the corkscrew glasses wearing, eternally studying, and no social life-ing Chinese American dork, who, to the dismay of his former tormentors, ends up becoming an Internet billionaire by the age of 25. It’s a rather uglifying stereotype, except for the billionaire part. But as the saying goes, a stereotype isn’t a stereotype if it’s not at least partially true.

It was back in the 1980’s, when Chinese Americans first began entering elite institutions like Harvard, Princeton and Stanford in mammoth numbers that the mainstream USA realized the scope of their academic excellence. In other words, they noticed that “Hey, Chinese are really smart”. Everyone from talk-show hosts to “Popular Mechanics Magazine” was fascinated by the supposedly new phenomenon. They tried to pinpoint its origins, bottle it, harness it, find that magical elixir that seemed to take every fresh off the boat Chinese immigrant and stuff his mailbox with big fat acceptance envelopes. It seemed like every family with a last name of Wong had three sons who were top of their class at Harvard, or three model daughters with perfect moon-pie faces and GPA’s in the 5.0 range.

Piano competitions became a wide swath of Asian territory, dominated by little musical prodigies with black hair and cheeky barrettes. California MATHCOUNTS state top-10 finales were inevitably dominated by 7th and 8th grade Chinese boys in bowl cuts and corduroys, scribbling answers to impossible math problems, their proud parents answering congratulations with the usual Chinese humility, “No, no, he’s lazy, doesn’t like to study at all, always wants to watch television, play with his friends.”

Of course, watching T.V. and hanging out with your buddies are two entirely unacceptable pastimes in the Chinese American culture, except under certain circumstances when you’re watching a documentary about Napoleon on the History Channel, or studying for the Academic Decathlon. 

And then there’s the unavoidable competition. The science test results are always succeeded by an interrogation regarding the scores of the top students in the class. Course grades are eagerly compared among anxious Chinese parents. “What about this girl,” they ask, “how did she do?” Chinese American kids are expected to maintain up-to date records on everyone’s SAT I, SAT II, and Advanced Placement grades.

An awful lot of articles have been written about the “infamous” Chinese American overachievers. An awful lot of words have been spent denying it. You can debate endlessly about whether these seemingly impossible expectations actually help or hurt these Chinese kids. It’s probably both.

The pressure and the competition and the stereotypes are unavoidable as a Chinese American kid. It comes with the territory. I, for one, have learned to embrace it. No other parents are as supportive and dedicated when it comes to education as Chinese parents. No other culture gives more chances for inside jokes and hysterical anecdotes. And when you look at people like Jerry Yang, the founder of Yahoo, Steve Chu, the Nobel Prize winner, and Steve Chen, the founder of YouTube, or the legions of lawyers, scientist, doctors, and musicians, who made it alive through the gauntlet process, and who are living extraordinarily happy and successful lives, it’s hard not to be convinced that maybe, just maybe, there’s something right in Chinese American parenting styles.