Strangled by Ivy

When I told my mom about my admission to a doctoral program at an elite university in the United States, she was busy playing majiang. For her, it was not good news, since her son would be away for six years or more. She stayed silent and focused on winning money. She was calm. She was indifferent. I tried to explain that it was an excellent school.

In spite of their lack of education, my parents have continuously supported my pursuit of a Ph.D. At the same time, they don't care which university I go to; in fact, they still don't know the college and grad school I went to in Beijing. For them, rankings and names are meaningless, which makes them more rational than lots of Ivy-maniac parents. However, there is one thing they do care about: that I receive a good education. For them, it's not about the school brand or job preparation – well, my major was English literature – but rather, about my being able to choose what I really like to study, and feeling happy in school.