Posted: December 20th, 2021

Why chinese parent are superior/A coordination problem (a term of art in economics and management)

Alot of people wonder how Chinese parents
raise such stereotypically successful kids.
They wonder what these parents do to produce so
many math whizzes and music prodigies, what it’s
like inside the family, and whether they could do it
too. Well, I can tell them, because I’ve done it. Here
are some things my daughters, Sophia and Louisa,
were never allowed to do:
attend a sleepover
have a play date
be in a school play
complain about not being in a school play
watch TV or play computer games
choose their own extracurricular activities
get any grade less than an A
not be the No. 1 student in every subject except
gym and drama
play any instrument other than the piano or violin
not play the piano or violin.
I’m using the term “Chinese mother” loosely. I
know some Korean, Indian, Jamaican, Irish and
Ghanaian parents who qualify too. Conversely, I
know some mothers of Chinese heritage, almost
always born in the West, who are not Chinese
mothers, by choice or otherwise. I’m also using the
term “Western parents” loosely. Western parents
come in all varieties.
All the same, even when Western parents think
they’re being strict, they usually don’t come close to
being Chinese mothers. For example, my Western
friends who consider themselves strict make their
children practice their instruments 30 minutes every
day. An hour at most. For a Chinese mother, the
first hour is the easy part. It’s hours two and three
that get tough.
Despite our squeamishness about cultural stereotypes,
there are tons of studies out there showing
marked and quantifiable differences between Chinese
and Westerners when it comes to parenting. In
one study of 50 Western American mothers and 48
Chinese immigrant mothers, almost 70% of the
Western mothers said either that “stressing academic
success is not good for children” or that
“parents need to foster the idea that learning is fun.”
By contrast, roughly 0% of the Chinese mothers felt
the same way. Instead, the vast majority of the Chinese
mothers said that they believe their children
can be “the best” students, that “academic achievement
reflects successful parenting,” and that if children
did not excel at school then there was “a problem”
and parents “were not doing their job.” Other
studies indicate that compared to Western parents,
Chinese parents spend approximately 10 times as
long every day drilling academic activities with
their children. By contrast, Western kids are more
likely to participate in sports teams.
What Chinese parents understand is that nothing
is fun until you’re good at it. To get good at anyWhy
Chinese Mothers Are Superior
By AMY CHUA
Erin Patrice O’Brien
The Wall Street Journal
January 8, 2011
Amy Chua with her daughters, Louisa and Sophia, at
their home in New Haven, Conn.
Chua Chinese Mothers Are Superior
2
thing you have to work, and children on their own
never want to work, which is why it is crucial to
override their preferences. This often requires fortitude
on the part of the parents because the child will
resist; things are always hardest at the beginning,
which is where Western parents tend to give up. But
if done properly, the Chinese strategy produces a
virtuous circle. Tenacious practice, practice, practice
is crucial for excellence; rote repetition is underrated
in America. Once a child starts to excel at
something – whether it’s math, piano, pitching or
ballet – he or she gets praise, admiration and satisfaction.
This builds confidence and makes the once
not-fun activity fun. This in turn makes it easier for
the parent to get the child to work even more.
Chinese parents can get away with things that
Western parents can’t. Once when I was young –
maybe more than once – when I was extremely disrespectful
to my mother, my father angrily called
me “garbage” in our native Hokkien dialect. It
worked really well. I felt terrible and deeply
ashamed of what I had done. But it didn’t damage
my self-esteem or anything like that. I knew exactly
how highly he thought of me. I didn’t actually think
I was worthless or feel like a piece of garbage.
As an adult, I once did the same thing to Sophia,
calling her garbage in English when she acted extremely
disrespectfully toward me. When I mentioned
that I had done this at a dinner party, I was
immediately ostracized. One guest named Marcy
got so upset she broke down in tears and had to
leave early. My friend Susan, the host, tried to rehabilitate
me with the remaining guests.
The fact is that Chinese parents can do things that
would seem unimaginable – even legally actionable
– to Westerners. Chinese mothers can say to
their daughters, “Hey fatty – lose some weight.” By
contrast, Western parents have to tiptoe around the
issue, talking in terms of “health” and never ever
mentioning the f-word, and their kids still end up in
therapy for eating disorders and negative selfimage.
(I also once heard a Western father toast his
adult daughter by calling her “beautiful and incredibly
competent.” She later told me that made her feel
like garbage.)
Chinese parents can order their kids to get
straight As. Western parents can only ask their kids
to try their best. Chinese parents can say, “You’re
lazy. All your classmates are getting ahead of you.”
By contrast, Western parents have to struggle with
their own conflicted feelings about achievement,
and try to persuade themselves that they’re not disappointed
about how their kids turned out.
I’ve thought long and hard about how Chinese
parents can get away with what they do. I think
there are three big differences between the Chinese
and Western parental mind-sets.
First, I’ve noticed that Western parents are extremely
anxious about their children’s self-esteem.
They worry about how their children will feel if
they fail at something, and they constantly try to
reassure their children about how good they are
notwithstanding a mediocre performance on a test
or at a recital. In other words, Western parents are
concerned about their children’s psyches. Chinese
parents aren’t. They assume strength, not fragility,
and as a result they behave very differently.
For example, if a child comes home with an Aminus
on a test, a Western parent will most likely
praise the child. The Chinese mother will gasp in
horror and ask what went wrong. If the child comes
home with a B on the test, some Western parents
will still praise the child. Other Western parents
will sit their child down and express disapproval,
but they will be careful not to make their child feel
inadequate or insecure, and they will not call their
child “stupid,” “worthless” or “a disgrace.” Privately,
the Western parents may worry that their
child does not test well or have aptitude in the subject
or that there is something wrong with the curriculum
and possibly the whole school. If the
child’s grades do not improve, they may eventually
schedule a meeting with the school principal to
challenge the way the subject is being taught or to
call into question the teacher’s credentials.
If a Chinese child gets a B – which would never
happen – here would first be a screaming, hairtearing
explosion. The devastated Chinese mother
would then get dozens, maybe hundreds of practice
tests and work through them with her child for as
long as it takes to get the grade up to an A.
Chinese parents demand perfect grades because
they believe that their child can get them. If their
child doesn’t get them, the Chinese parent assumes
it’s because the child didn’t work hard enough.
That’s why the solution to substandard performance
is always to excoriate, punish and shame the child.
The Chinese parent believes that their child will be
strong enough to take the shaming and to improve
from it. (And when Chinese kids do excel, there is
plenty of ego-inflating parental praise lavished in
the privacy of the home.)
Second, Chinese parents believe that their kids
Chua Chinese Mothers Are Superior
3
owe them everything. The reason for this is a little
unclear, but it’s probably a combination of Confucian
filial piety and the fact that the parents have
sacrificed and done so much for their children. (And
it’s true that Chinese mothers get in the trenches,
putting in long grueling hours personally tutoring,
training, interrogating and spying on their kids.)
Anyway, the understanding is that Chinese children
must spend their lives repaying their parents by
obeying them and making them proud.
By contrast, I don’t think most Westerners have
the same view of children being permanently indebted
to their parents. My husband, Jed, actually
has the opposite view. “Children don’t choose their
parents,” he once said to me. “They don’t even
choose to be born. It’s parents who foist life on their
kids, so it’s the parents’ responsibility to provide for
them. Kids don’t owe their parents anything. Their
duty will be to their own kids.” This strikes me as a
terrible deal for the Western parent.
Third, Chinese parents believe that they know
what is best for their children and therefore override
all of their children’s own desires and preferences.
That’s why Chinese daughters can’t have boyfriends
in high school and why Chinese kids can’t go to
sleep away camp. It’s also why no Chinese kid
would ever dare say to their mother, “I got a part in
the school play! I’m Villager Number Six. I’ll have
to stay after school for rehearsal every day from
3:00 to 7:00, and I’ll also need a ride on weekends.”
God help any Chinese kid who tried that one.
Don’t get me wrong: It’s not that Chinese parents
don’t care about their children. Just the opposite.
They would give up anything for their children. It’s
just an entirely different parenting model.
Here’s a story in favor of coercion, Chinese-style.
Lulu was about 7, still playing two instruments, and
working on a piano piece called “The Little White
Donkey” by the French composer Jacques Ibert.
The piece is really cute – you can just imagine a little
donkey ambling along a country road with its
master – but it’s also incredibly difficult for young
players because the two hands have to keep schizophrenically
different rhythms.
Lulu couldn’t do it. We worked on it nonstop for a
week, drilling each of her hands separately, over
and over. But whenever we tried putting the hands
together, one always morphed into the other, and
everything fell apart. Finally, the day before her
lesson, Lulu announced in exasperation that she was
giving up and stomped off.
“Get back to the piano now,” I ordered.
“You can’t make me.”
“Oh yes, I can.”
Back at the piano, Lulu made me pay. She
punched, thrashed and kicked. She grabbed the music
score and tore it to shreds. I taped the score back
together and encased it in a plastic shield so that it
could never be destroyed again. Then I hauled
Lulu’s dollhouse to the car and told her I’d donate it
to the Salvation Army piece by piece if she didn’t
have “The Little White Donkey” perfect by the next
day. When Lulu said, “I thought you were going to
the Salvation Army, why are you still here” I
threatened her with no lunch, no dinner, no Christmas
or Hanukkah presents, no birthday parties for
two, three, four years. When she still kept playing it
wrong, I told her she was purposely working herself
into a frenzy because she was secretly afraid she
couldn’t do it. I told her to stop being lazy, cowardly,
self-indulgent and pathetic.
Jed took me aside. He told me to stop insulting
Lulu – which I wasn’t even doing, I was just motivating
her – and that he didn’t think threatening
Lulu was helpful. Also, he said, maybe Lulu really
just couldn’t do the technique – perhaps she didn’t
have the coordination yet – had I considered that
possibility
“You just don’t believe in her,” I accused.
“That’s ridiculous,” Jed said scornfully. “Of
course I do.”
“Sophia could play the piece when she was this age.”
“But Lulu and Sophia are different people,” Jed
pointed out.
From Ms. Chua’s album: ‘Mean me with Lulu in hotel
room… with score taped to TV!’
Chua Chinese Mothers Are Superior
4
“Oh no, not this,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Everyone is special in their special own way,” I
mimicked sarcastically. “Even losers are special in
their own special way. Well don’t worry, you don’t
have to lift a finger. I’m willing to put in as long as
it takes, and I’m happy to be the one hated. And you
can be the one they adore because you make them
pancakes and take them to Yankees games.”
I rolled up my sleeves and went back to Lulu. I
used every weapon and tactic I could think of. We
worked right through dinner into the night, and I
wouldn’t let Lulu get up, not for water, not even to
go to the bathroom. The house became a war zone,
and I lost my voice yelling, but still there seemed to
be only negative progress, and even I began to have
doubts.
Then, out of the blue, Lulu did it. Her hands suddenly
came together – her right and left hands each
doing their own imperturbable thing – just like that.
Lulu realized it the same time I did. I held my
breath. She tried it tentatively again. Then she
played it more confidently and faster, and still the
rhythm held. A moment later, she was beaming.
“Mommy, look – it’s easy!” After that, she wanted
to play the piece over and over and wouldn’t leave
the piano. That night, she came to sleep in my bed,
and we snuggled and hugged, cracking each other
up. When she performed “The Little White Donkey”
at a recital a few weeks later, parents came up
to me and said, “What a perfect piece for Luluit’s
so spunky and so her.”
Even Jed gave me credit for that one. Western
parents worry a lot about their children’s selfesteem.
But as a parent, one of the worst things you
can do for your child’s self-esteem is to let them
give up. On the flip side, there’s nothing better for
building confidence than learning you can do something
you thought you couldn’t.
There are all these new books out there portraying
Asian mothers as scheming, callous, overdriven
people indifferent to their kids’ true interests. For
their part, many Chinese secretly believe that they
care more about their children and are willing to
sacrifice much more for them than Westerners, who
seem perfectly content to let their children turn out
badly. I think it’s a misunderstanding on both sides.
All decent parents want to do what’s best for their
children. The Chinese just have a totally different
idea of how to do that.
Western parents try to respect their children’s individuality,
encouraging them to pursue their true
passions, supporting their choices, and providing
positive reinforcement and a nurturing environment.
By contrast, the Chinese believe that the best
way to protect their children is by preparing them
for the future, letting them see what they’re capable
of, and arming them with skills, work habits and
inner confidence that no one can ever take away.
Amy Chua is a professor at Yale Law School
This essay is excerpted from “Battle Hymn of the
Tiger Mother” by Amy Chua, Penguin Press, 2011.

Follow Up Essay
In China, Not All
Practice Tough Love
by Victoria Ruan
Some parents want their children to be creative,
independent and less obsessed with test scores
Parenting advice in China has long stressed
discipline and authority. Those lessons are
reinforced in best-selling books like “Harvard Girl
Liu Yiting,” a how-to manual published in 2000 by
the parents of a student who won a coveted spot at
the Ivy League school. Among the characterbuilding
exercises to which they subjected their
daughter was having her hold ice cubes in her
hands for long stretches.
Chua family. Sophia playing at Carnegie Hall in
2007.
Chua Chinese Mothers Are Superior
5
In recent years, however, books that encourage
parents to nurture their children’s independence and
confidence, as opposed to focusing exclusively on
high academic achievement, have grown increasingly
popular. They reflect a quiet shift in the parenting
style of middle-class families, especially in
China’s growing cities.
The current best-selling parenting book, “A Good
Mom Is Better Than a Good Teacher,” by former
Beijing public school teacher Yin Jianli, has sold
more than two million copies since it was published
in January 2009. Ms. Yin advocates listening to
kids and developing their potential without forcing
them to obey authority.
Chinese parents rarely question the decisions of
teachers, but Ms. Yin sometimes offered to do
homework for her daughter. In one case, a teacher
had asked the girl to copy the same words over a
dozen times one night as punishment for failing to
memorize them. Ms. Yin believes that such tasks
hurt children’s interest in studying.
Another best-seller, “Catching Children’s Sensitive
Periods” by Sun Ruixue, follows a similar approach.
Ms. Sun writes that she “aims to help more
parents understand their kids and let every kid grow
up healthily in love and freedom.” It is a sequel to
her 2000 book “Love and Freedom,” which focused
on the idea of discovering a child’s “true nature,” as
developed by the Italian physician and education
reformer Maria Montessori.
In “My Kid Is a Medium-Ranking Student,” author
Fang Gang stresses that children don’t necessarily
need the highest test scores to enjoy a happy
and successful life. “Our society, to some extent,
remains a society full of ranking-related prejudice,”
he writes. But among the students with the top test
scores, he asks, “how many have kept independent
thinking, creativity and their unique characteristics”

Many readers of these booksparents in their
30s and 40swere born during the Cultural Revolution
that took place in China from 1966 to 1976.
After the turmoil of that difficult period, traditional
thinking about education persisted. At schools,
teachers continued to evaluate students on the basis
of test scores and how closely they followed instructions.
As China has gradually opened up to the
world, however, Western ideas about education
have spread, and many parents have started to question
the traditional approach.
Now, most of the best-selling parenting books
listed on Dangdang.com, China’s largest online
book retailer, are written by authors from outside of
mainland China, including South Korea, the U.S.,
Taiwan, Japan, Germany and the U.K. American
imports on the list include John Gray’s “Children
Are From Heaven: Positive Parenting Skills for
Raising Cooperative, Confident and Compassionate
Children,” and “How To Talk So Kids Will Listen
& Listen So Kids Will Talk,” by Adele Faber and
Elaine Mazlish.
Another best seller, “One Must Not Fail in the
Enterprise of Being a Father,” is co-written by Alex
Xu, an American businessman who was born in
China’s countryside and later received his master’s
degree in the U.S., and his daughter Ashley Xu,
who was born and educated in the U.S. Mr. Xu,
who runs a hotel chain in China and heads several
other multinational companies, urges parents to
ease the burden of their children’s studies and to
choose supplementary after-school activities based
on their children’s interests rather than on their own
ambitions for them.
Mr. Xu encouraged his daughter Ashley to be “as
confident as a foreign kid,” resisting the traditional
Chinese emphasis on quiet deference to authority.
Children shouldn’t be arrogant, he says, but they
also shouldn’t be “overly modest.”

Follow Up Essay
Are US Parents Too Soft
By John J. Edwards III and Erin Patrice OBrien
How do we motivate our children to succeed
in school, and in life Its a fundamental
question that animates every parents juggle, and
there are as many answers as there are families.
Amy Chua, author of the new book Battle Hymn
of the Tiger Mother, shares her own forceful, unyielding
answer in an excerpt published in Saturdays
Review section.
Near the beginning, Ms. Chua writes, Here are
some things my daughters, Sophia and Louisa,
were never allowed to do:
attend a sleepover
have a playdate
be in a school play
complain about not being in a school play
watch TV or play computer games
Chua Chinese Mothers Are Superior
6
choose their own extracurricular activities
get any grade less than an A
not be the No. 1 student in every subject except
gym and drama
play any instrument other than the piano or
violin
not play the piano or violin.
Ms. Chua says that being a Chinese mother
doesnt require being Chinese, but it does require
ignoring most of what parenting has come to mean
in upper-middle-class Western societies. Where
Western parents obsess over a childs self-esteem
and couch criticism in only the most oblique and
supportive terms, Chinese parents assume
strength, not fragility, and thus deploy insults and
pressure with abandon.
Chinese mothers can say to their daughters,
Hey fattylose some weight, Ms. Chua writes.
By contrast, Western parents have to tiptoe around
the issue, talking in terms of health and never
ever mentioning the f-word, and their kids still end
up in therapy for eating disorders and negative selfimage.
(Interestingly, in China, books that encourage
parents to nurture their childrens independence
and confidence, as opposed to focusing exclusively
on high academic achievement, have grown increasingly
popular, as weve posted about before.)
A centerpiece of Ms. Chuas excerpt is her tale of
teaching her daughter Louisa, known as Lulu, to
play a difficult piano piece at age 7. Lulu struggles
with the different rhythms required for each hand in
the piece, finally tearing up the sheet music in frustration;
Ms. Chua tapes it together, laminates it and
forces Lulu back to the keyboard. As the battle
rages, she eventually tells Lulu to stop being lazy,
cowardly, self-indulgent and pathetic, which
draws a gentle rebuke from the Western parent in
her own household, her husband, Jed. Ms. Chua,
undeterred, goes back to work on Lulu, through
dinner and into the night, with no water or bathroom
breaks. Finally, Lulu succeeds, leading to a
joyful, snuggly night at home and, weeks later, a
brilliant recital performance.
In sharp contrast to Ms. Chuas philosophy is the
cult hit documentary Race to Nowhere, made by
a parent, Vicki Abeles, who was prompted to shoot
the film after her daughter started having stressrelated
stomachaches. The book features boys who
take leaves from high school because of the intense
pressures, girls who suffer stress-induced insomnia
and other maladies, and rampant cheating, as students
struggle to keep up, according to a New
York Times feature about the film. When success
is defined by high grades, test scores, trophies, a
child psychologist says in the film, we know that
we end up with unprepared, disengaged, exhausted
and ultimately unhealthy kids.
My wifes and my own experience with our 9-
year-old daughter and 6-year-old son is between
the extremes, for now. We encourage academic
achievement (and I chafe at the current pedagogical
practice of not correcting our first-graders
spelling), but were hardly taskmasters for perfection.
And when our son, who has showed early
promise at tennis, got tired of formal lessons, we
let him drop them rather than, say, call him lazy,
cowardly, self-indulgent and pathetic.

Review of Amy Chuas
Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother
WSJ January 11, 2011
Home Truths, Marching On
No play dates, no TV. Then a 13-year-old rebels.
By CLARE MCHUGH
T here’s nothing like parenting for uncovering
our most deeply held beliefs. In general conversation
with friends, plenty of us exercise a certain
liberal-mindedness, a flexibility of perspective
that eases social intercourse. Why alienate pals by
lecturing them on the need to be more detailoriented,
or frugal, or neat At work it’s rarely
smart to tell colleagues that their thinking is sloppy
or dull, even if it is.
But this self-restraint goes out the window when
we are confronted with our own teenage offspring.
With them we do not hesitate to pontificate on everyday
virtues, every day. We extol the benefits of
doing homework and studying for tests. We pass on
our hard-won nuggets of wisdom to the people we
most love in the world. And how do these people
react They roll their eyes.
Asian parents are renowned not only for attempting
to steer their children in the right direction but
also for exerting such impressive control over them
that young Asians excel in almost every area of
worthwhile endeavor. Can we all learn from this
example Can we move from merely spouting off
to shaping prodigies Can we get our children to
Chua Chinese Mothers Are Superior
7
achieve more, misbehave less and revere us all the
way to a sunny graduation day in Harvard Yard
Amy Chua addresses such questions in “Battle
Hymn of the Tiger Mother,” an account of her attempt
to bring up her two daughters, now teenagers,
in the Asian way. Ms. Chua is herself a highachieving
Chinese-Americanshe is a Yale law
professorbut her child-rearing campaign is not
easy. “Chinese parenting is incredibly lonelyat
least if you’re trying to do it in the West, where
you’re on your own,” she writes. “You have to go
up against an entire value systemrooted in the
Enlightenment, individual autonomy, child development
theory and the Universal Declaration of Human
Rights.”
Such grand pronouncements are characteristic of
the driven, passionate and insightful Ms. Chua. Her
sweeping statements do begin to pall after a while,
but what saves “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother,”
and makes Ms. Chua ultimately an endearing presence,
is her ability to be candid about her excesses
and poke fun at herself.
After her first daughter, Sophia, was born in
1993, and then Louisa three years later, Ms. Chua
decided to set the bar high: They’re not allowed to
go on play dates or to sleep over at friends’ houses.
The TV is off-limits, as are videogames. She requires
her daughters to be fluent in Mandarin, although
she herself learned the Hokkien dialect at
home. She expects them to be straight-A students,
advising them to check test answers three times and
look up every word they didn’t know and memorize
its exact meaning.
She also fears that her children will be pampered
and decadent, growing up in America’s prosperity.
So she insists that they do physical labor. As often
as possible she tries “to make them carry heavy objectsoverflowing
laundry baskets up and down
stairs, garbage out on Sundays, suitcases when we
traveled.” She brooks no disrespect. When Sophia
acts out on one occasion, her mother tells her that
she’s “garbage.”
Ms. Chua considers most extra-curricular activities
a waste of time, except one: playing a musical
instrument. And it is in this realm that her fanaticism
reaches full flower. She selects the piano for
Sophia and starts her with lessons at age 3. She
chooses the violin for Louisa. Both girls turn out to
be talented musicians, and Ms. Chua is a determined
taskmaster. “My Western friends who consider
themselves strict make their children practice
their instruments thirty minutes every day. An hour
at most,” she writes. “For a Chinese mother, the
first hour is the easy part. It’s hours two and three
that can get tough.”
The descriptions of Ms. Chua’s interactions with
her children during practice sessions are hairraising
in their intensity and belie any notion that
Chinese kids are naturally more compliant than
children in the West. For hours she bullies the girls
and cajoles them to do more, hovering over them to
criticize their fingering and rhythm. Because she
attends their lessons, she has notes on the teacher’s
comments and cites them incessantly. When Ms.
Chua has to miss a daily practice, she leaves
memos covering what her daughters should do. One
point among dozens in a typical missive: “Page 8,
[measure] 40: This chord is way too heavy! bow
pressure and high violin! Articulate short notes.”
One marvels at Ms. Chua’s energy and focus
she has a demanding full-time job on top of all this
musical monitoringbut one feels for the children.
Only in her dealings with the family’s two dogs
does the author seem, well, normal. “I don’t make
any demands of them . . . or their future,” she writes
of the big cuddly Samoyeds. “For the most part, I
trust them to make the right choices for themselves.
I always look forward on seeing them, and I love
just watching them sleep. What a great relationship.”

In the end it’s not the dogs but Louisa who persuades
Ms. Chua that she needs to modify her approach.
Always the more defiant of the two daughters,
Louisa finally cracks, on a family trip, when
her mother insists that she try caviar in a restaurant
near Moscow’s Red Square. Somehow that demand
triggers in the 13-year-old girl a true Americanstyle
teenage outburst featuring thrown glasses and
I-hate-you’s ricocheting around the room. After this
shocking display of disobedience, Ms. Chua concludes
that she needs to relax her hold and grant the
girls a modicum of independence. Louisa promptly
dials back her violin-practicing to a mere 30 minutes
a day and bans her mother from kibitzing.
So where does that leave Ms. Chua Pretty much
where millions of other parents are, standing on the
sidelines of our children’s lives, proud, anxious observers
trying to offer useful advice. Meanwhile,
Ms. Chua is thinking about getting another dog.

A coordination problem (a term of art in economics and management) occurs when you have a task to perform, the task has multiple and shifting components, the time for completion is limited, and your performance is affected by the order and sequence of the actions you take. The trick is to manage it so that the components dont bump into each other in ways that produce confusion, frustration and inefficiency.

You will face a coordination problem if you are a general deploying troops, tanks, helicopters, food, tents and medical supplies, or if you are the C.E.O. of a large company juggling the demands of design, personnel, inventory and production.

And these days, you will face a coordination problem if you want to get a cup of coffee.
It used to be that when you wanted a cup of coffee you went into a nondescript place fitted out largely in linoleum, Formica and neon, sat down at a counter, and, in response to a brisk Whatll you have, dear said, Coffee and a cheese Danish. Twenty seconds later, tops, they arrived, just as you were settling into the sports page.

Now its all wood or concrete floors, lots of earth tones, soft, high-style lighting, open barrels of coffee beans, folk-rock and indie music, photographs of urban landscapes, and copies of The Onion. As you walk in, everything is saying, This is very sophisticated, and youd better be up to it.

It turns out to be hard. First you have to get in line, and you may have one or two people in front of you who are ordering a drink with more parts than an internal combustion engine, something about double shot, skinny, breve, grande, au lait and a lot of other words that never pass my lips. If you are patient and stay in line (no bathroom breaks), you get to put in your order, but then you have to find a place to stand while you wait for it. There is no such place. So you shift your body, first here and then there, trying not to get in the way of those you cant help get in the way of.
Finally, the coffee arrives.
But then your real problems begin when you turn, holding your prize, and make your way to where the accessories things you put in, on and around your coffee are to be found. There is a staggering array of them, and the order of their placement seems random in relation to the order of your needs. There is no right place to start, so you lunge after one thing and then after another with awkward reaches.

Unfortunately, two or three other people are doing the same thing, and each is doing it in a different sequence. So there is an endless round of excuse me, no, excuse me, as if you were in an old Steve Martin routine.

But no amount of politeness and care is enough. After all, there are so many items to reach for lids, cup jackets, straws, napkins, stirrers, milk, half and half, water, sugar, Splenda, the wastepaper basket, spoons. You and your companions may strive for a ballet of courtesy, but what you end up performing is more like bumper cars. Its just a question of what will happen first getting what you want or spilling the coffee you are trying to balance in one hand on the guy reaching over you.
I wont even talk about the problem of finding a seat.
And two things add to your pain and trouble. First, it costs a lot, $3 and up. And worst of all, what youre paying for is the privilege of doing the work that should be done by those who take your money. The coffee shop experience is just one instance of the growing practice of shifting the burden of labor to the consumer gas stations, grocery and drug stores, bagel shops (why should I put on my own cream cheese), airline check-ins, parking lots. Its insert this, swipe that, choose credit or debit, enter your PIN, push the red button, error, start again. At least when you go on a vacation that involves working on a ranch, the work is something youve chosen. But none of us has chosen to take over the jobs of those we pay to serve us.

Well, its Sunday morning, and youre probably reading this with a cup of coffee. I hope it was easy to get.

Please discuss which readings your preferred this term and which you did not. Offer reflection and specifics.

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