We live in a world right now with a have-to-win-everything attitude. No one wants to see their kid defeated. No one wants to see their kid cry. Everyone is embarrassed if they have the kid with the slow swing or the knock-knees or the funny run. Can’t we just allow these to be how it is? You get beat sometimes. The normal reaction is to be upset, to be angry, and to never want that defeat to happen again. So sometimes we cry. If you teach them it’s wrong to have emotions, they will inevitably make fun of the other kid who cries the next time instead of showing him or her compassion and saying, “that stinks but I know you can do better next time.” If you make fun of your kid or pull them from the team because they aren’t the best, what does that teach him or her? Quit anytime you’re not the best? We often are not the best.
I’m going to use myself as an example to prove a couple points. First, I have never been the best at anything. I run on the trail and I sometimes get lapped. How, you wonder, do you get lapped when the laps are three miles around. Well, it happens. Oh well. At least I’m out there doing something. Going back a little farther, I was introduced to the game of volleyball in 6th grade. In seventh grade, I didn’t make the team. Even worse than that, they sat us on the gym floor while they announced the numbers of the girls who DID make the team and they asked them to move to the other side of the gym. Always good for the 13-year-old ego. He got to the end of the list, explained that we (the group still sitting there dejected) would be contacted if they had any more openings. The director then stopped in front of me, asked me my number, looked at the list again, and then said “nope, not on here” and proceeded with his loser speech. I still know this man and he swears he never did this but I still know where I was sitting on the gym floor when he stopped in front of me. Instead of doing volleyball that spring, I did Tae Kwon Do (which worked on my balance and coordination), I ran track (even though I’m now very slow), I played basketball (yes, people did more than one sport back then), and I tried out for cheerleading (which worked on my confidence). It turned out to be a blessing that I didn’t make a team. It didn’t mean I had to give up on volleyball. And I’m glad I didn’t.
Finally, the only reason I was awarded a scholarship to play volleyball at a major Division I school was that I never made a top team in club volleyball until my senior year. Let me say that again so you can understand that. I NEVER was on the top team for my club volleyball team (Austin Juniors) until after volleyball recruiting was already over. The advantage was that I never sat on the bench. I got way more practice and playing time than I would have on a higher level team. The best way to get better at anything is to practice more. So I got more practice by being on the teams that didn’t have all the pressure and all the show-boaters.
So treat every turn in your kid’s very curvy athletic journey as a learning tool, not a chance to give up. Look at the kid who runs knocked-kneed and either help him along or admire how he makes it up and down the court despite his awkwardness. Watch the kid with the slow swing and see how he or she could improve instead of laughing at the speed. Embrace the third team as a learning experience, not an insult. The third team is a chance to get better, get more touches, get more swings, get more attempts, and in the end perform better than someone else who is paying more money to sit on the bench of the top team.
