Play Better. Play More.
There’s no question I’m more competitive than the average person. I’ve been known to challenge my husband to foot races after midnight, and I once nearly drowned trying to out-flip a worthy opponent in a shallow pool. So when I signed The Oliver Boys up for soccer at age three, I was not prepared for the crying on the sidelines, or the hugs for the barely-skinned knees, or the trophies for the losers.
At first, I tried to talk myself out of my natural instinct to rant and rave and insist that my children try harder, compete harder, be harder. I watched the other parents after a loss, and felt almost guilty that my poor children were hanging their heads in defeat while their teammates were eating goldfish, sipping a juice box, and planning a playdate for later that day. I wondered if I put too much pressure on my kids, and if I was teaching them all the wrong lessons about life and work ethic and success.
Now, five years later, I still don’t know that I am doing the right thing, but I know one thing for sure—neither is anyone else. What are we teaching our kids?
I have three boys. They play football, basketball and baseball. One of them also runs track. Like many of you, I spend almost every weekend at a ball field, and at least four out of five weekdays are spent at one practice or another. Both cars have gym bags full of practice cleats, extra mouthpieces, half-empty Gatorade bottles, and string cheese wrappers. One entire room in my house is dedicated to the storage of foul-smelling sports equipment and dirty gym socks. In short, my life revolves around sports.
I’ve been a part of great teams; I’ve been a part of terrible teams; and I’ve seen just about everything that lies in between. Despite that varied experience, the single most irritating common theme is that everyone is a winner. Everyone.
We can’t cheer too loudly for our teams. We aren’t allowed to criticize our children when they perform badly. We shouldn’t point out how they could have done better. And we never ever complain when we lose.
Quite the contrary, we’ve all signed a pact that the single most important purpose of sports is fun.
We.Just.Want.The.Kids.To.Have.Fun.
Like you, I’d love to be able to protect my children from the harsh realities of life. But like you, I’m all grown up, and I know as a matter of fact that everyone is not a winner at everything all of the time, no matter how much fun they’re having. Teaching my kids otherwise is not helpful. It is not preparing them for the real world. And it is fundamentally unfair to them.
Life is not fair. Life does not have a limited number of innings. Life does not have a mercy rule. Life does not let you press in the fourth quarter if you’re down. Life does not prevent the defense from rushing. Life does not let you take a time out to tie your shoe. Life does not pat you on the back after you drop the winning catch. Life does not offer you the job just because you’re alive. Life does not feed you apple juice and goldfish after a tough experience. And life certainly does not care if you are having a great time.
Sports present kids with tremendous opportunities to learn important life lessons, among them, sportsmanship, teamwork, discipline, and work ethic. But at the end of the day, sports are really about winning and losing. If we take the emphasis off of losing because we don’t want to hurt our kids’ feelings, then we haven’t just lost the opportunity to teach a lesson about sports. We’ve also lost the ability to prepare our kids for the real world.
When I am not the best person for the job, I am not hired. When I am not performing to my potential, I cannot keep my job. And sometimes, even when I am the best person for the job performing to my upmost potential, life will make a call that doesn’t go my way.
When I was eight years old, we played kickball at recess. The teachers picked the best two athletes, and the rest of us lined up, shoulder to shoulder. We then stood there waiting, as the captains picked us one-by-one for the teams. No secret ballots. No rules. No mystery. If you were good, you got picked early. If you were not, you stood there, facing your shame and awaiting your destiny. It never felt good. But if you didn’t want to be last, you played harder. You played better. You sure as hell didn’t cry about it.
Maybe we’re a softer, kinder world now, but is that what we want our kids to experience? A world where everyone gets picked no matter how hard you try or how good you are?
Of my children, one of them is immensely competitive, one of them is immensely talented, and one of them is immensely disinterested. When one of them is sitting on the sidelines feeling dejected, I’ve always responded with the same exact words: “Play better. Play more.” Sometimes it inspires him to try harder. Sometimes it hurts his feelings. Sometimes it causes him to roll his eyes and stomp off the field. Every single time, it sends to him the message that he controls his own destiny. Not me, not the coach, not the other kids.
Winning is always fun. Winning because you earned it is better. I, for one, want my kids to earn it.
The Perils of Pauline 