As I reflect now, regret rises and solidifies in my throat. I had been living my entrepreneurial dreams vicariously through my 9 year old daughter.
Crafts, building forts, giggling, and exploring the backyard, my daughter played with her best friend Zoey twice a week for years. When they grew tall enough to lift baked goods out of the oven, they discovered a passion: perfecting meringues.
Meringues are irrational. Humidity makes the crisp sticky, overwhipping turns the outside dry, and the wrong oven temperature can betray you with a deceptively dense puck, or worse, burnt on the outside and undercooked on the inside.
Yet, with each failed batch, the girls’ curiosity spurred them to experiment – beat the eggs more? Or less. Use a hotter oven or a cooler one? Sprinkle in the sugar, pour it, or find a middle ground? Their meticulous tracking of adjusting each variable was a testament to their inquisitive nature. It reminded me of my mom’s kitchen experiments with a dozen variations of her famous ‘mandu’, Korean dumplings. Curiosity and persistence must run in the family.
Neighbours raved about their perfectly peaky meringues, impossibly light with a pearlescent crispy shell that dissolved into a subtly sweet memory. Elated, the pair launched their cookie company, designed their own logo and even recorded a catchy jingle. Grinning, my heart welled up with pride. My little girl was an entrepreneur in its purest form.
At the playground, the best friends hit it big. Selling a whopping $147 in cookies — my meringue moguls were taking off!
Losing grip on perspective, I began taking orders. A realtor friend locked in a monthly cookie subscription. As I plunged into researching manufacturers and food handling regulations, dreaming of widespread distribution and storefronts for their cookie empire…
“Mommy,” my daughter said to me tentatively,
"I don't want to bake cookies anymore. I just want to play with Zoey.”
This wasn’t the only time the tiger mom in me roared loudly. I once hired the previous year’s Scripps Spelling Bee winner to coach my son. Instead of deepening his love for words, he began to despise spelling altogether.
Similarly, when my children took up music, my overzealous remarks overshadowed their initial enthusiasm. Persistently pointing out missed notes quashed their joy. My precious little ones’ music practices, instead of harmonious melodies, became a chorus of my critiques.
In many ways, I became my mother. But, despite her intense tiger mom tendencies, she had an inquisitive, explorative side that deeply influenced me. She celebrated following her curiosity and often spoke highly of entrepreneurs in the Korean community even if their businesses failed. Her happiest moments? When she was experimenting, elated, her 5’ frame on tiptoes, exclaiming in heavily accented English, “I’m making my own idea!”
If I could go back, I wouldn’t attempt to orchestrate every note of their journeys. Instead, I’d simply say, 'I love hearing you play.’’
Meringues rise and fall and so do life’s lessons – and sometimes, the sweetest ones come from the batches we least expect.
Grateful to these fine writers for suggestions and helping me grow:
Hi Miche! The fact that you share so openly tells me what a cool mom you must be. I too have a Korean mother but yet to be one myself — I will gobble up your insights in this arena!
Love this piece so much, Miche. Such beautiful reflections, such a necessary reminder. I feel this after my kids' soccer games, things I want to say with the intention of helping... but really the most helpful thing for them to hear is, "I love watching you play."