Failure Deprived
When I was an elementary school kid back in northwest Iowa many years ago, I discovered the joy of playing basketball. It quickly became an obsession. No parents, no leagues. Just neighborhood basketball every day. No matter how hot, or cold. Even thru the winter, we’d be out there shoveling off the court, finding those “balloon basketballs” that would still bounce outside in the icy cold Iowa winters. I started out as the youngest playing. There were not enough kids so consumed with basketball that everyone was allowed to play. I was schooled by the older kids, day after day, improving a little with each passing week. Then I was holding my own. Later I was no longer the youngest, and the cycle continued.
As a high school senior, I was in the gymnasium stands, watching the junior varsity game, waiting to go into the locker room to get dressed for our varsity contest. There were two freshmen on the court. Two kids completely dominating the game. I was so proud, they were two of our kids from the neighborhood. Pushed around and schooled by us for years. They would never have been so advanced, on the verge of potential greatness if they hadn’t been with us.
Fast forward many years later, to South Carolina on the baseball fields where I coached a team that included one of my young sons. At the end of each regular season, all-star teams were formed, and each week during the summer these teams would enter tournaments in neighboring towns. Our particular league was very young. When the all-star team was formed, we looked around for tournaments to enter. There were none in our age group. So we entered tournaments for kids 2 years older. After the third tournament, we had not won a game. But all the games were competitive. Our kids were losing one and two run games. We were so proud. Our kids were so happy. They were competing well with kids much bigger and stronger.
Then the parents came up to us. Ok, to be accurate, but not politically correct… the moms came up to us. They suggested we no longer enter additional tournaments. They were concerned for the “terrible impact of losing on the psyches of the kids”. As coaches, we were stunned. Had they not seen how well the team had been playing? Almost winning. So very close. And playing their best baseball of their young lives? That didn’t matter… all they saw was their precious ones failing.
After the moms walked off, one of the coaches proclaimed, “Given enough time and effort, parent can and will ruin everything”.
They were bound and determined to raise Failure Deprived kids.
What does that have to do with quitting my job and moving to Michigan to be a writer? I know I will fail. At least at first. And that is perfectly fine. Good even.