A Piece of the Puzzle

In college I worked at an after-school daycare program at Immanuel Baptist Church in Shawnee, Oklahoma. It was ideal; I worked 3 hours per weekday afternoon and never had to work weekends. I had my own class of 5-6 year olds and essentially got paid to play games and take them to recess. I am a freakishly competitive person, and sometimes I could not stifle that fire in me even among kindergardeners. While all the other teachers sat perched on the cement benches surrounding the playground, I worked up a sweat organizing, coaching and playing soccer games with the kiddos. There was one little boy who was dribbling the soccer ball down the courtyard. When he was within two feet of the goal he stopped running, bent over and picked up the ball and threw it into the goal. In the heat of the moment I shouted, "that's BULL CRAP!!" It was one of those record-scratching moments when all the teachers ceased conversation and the kids looked at me wide-eyed and mouths agape. I knelt down to eye level with the little guy and attempted to fashion a "teachable moment" out of my horrifyingly inappropriate outburst.

Since birth I have had to manage a strange dichotomy: I am over-the-top competitive, but I seldom compete. I am fearful of coming off as ill-equipped or incompetent. I talk a BIG talk and, honestly, I am capable of walking a BIG walk. But my trepidation sidelines me.  I was the girl who loved swim team practice and impressed the coaches by working hard to surpass personal records. But on the days of swim meets, you would find me vomiting in the locker room, soggy toilet paper clinging to the bottoms of me feet. My parents were abundantly supportive; they never pressured me to be "the best" or to "go out there and make us proud!" They simply encouraged me to try. And if I failed, no biggie.

My 7-year old niece Lexi just wrapped up 1st grade. In recent visits she has filled me in on end-of-the-year picnics and field trips. Her face lit up when she talked about Field Day! I had flashbacks of my own 1st grade field day: wobbly three-legged races and waiting in line to do the standing jump. I remember chewing on my lower lip as the selected Team Captains scrutinized who the next addition to their Tug-of-War team would be. My insides screamed "PICK ME! PICK ME!" Nobody wanted to be the last man standing, the odd man out. I wanted those ribbons. They were embossed with gold lettering and, in my case, they said Whitt Elementary School Field Day. The 1st place ribbons were blue; 2nd place were red and 3rd place were white. Even in First Grade there was that one boy and one girl who dominated all events. They accumulated a stack of blue ribbons and fanned them out for all to see. I was the girl who had mostly whites, a couple reds and one blue (for chin-ups! I couldn't do a chin-up today if there was a million dollars at stake). There were many events where I didn't even place, and all I received was a hearty shoulder squeeze and a "nice try!" from the gym teacher.  I gripped my ribbons in my sweaty hand and heaved huge sighs of relief that Field Day was over. When I got home, i pinned my badges of honor to my bulletin board. I made sure my one blue ribbon was the most visible.

I asked Lexi, "did you earn any ribbons!!??" She stared at me blankly. "Momo, we don't get ribbons." Oh. I have asked other kids recently, "who won your [insert any sport] game this morning?" And they say, "I don't know. We don't keep score." These days, you don't receive trophies for winning. You receive them for participating. I have spoken to teachers who have been  burdened with this unbelievable mandate that they aren't allowed to fail their students. We are so focused on equality and tolerance that we dumb down superiority in efforts of leveling the playing field. Everyone succeeds. Everyone gets an "atta boy." Somehow we think that we are boosting esteem when we eliminate the possibility of failure. It is quite the contrary.

In light of this recent national trend of killing people, it makes me think hard about OUR nation. We aren't the only nation with access to guns. Is it possible that a privileged Santa Barbara kid makes YouTube videos plotting his revenge on girls who rejected him (and carries out this revenge by shooting them) because he was never taught to fail? Was he given Cs when he deserved Fs and does he have a shelf in his room displaying unearned trophies? There is a common denominator of disgruntled, entitled youth who barge into school rooms and massacre innocent peers. If a motive is uncovered, oftentimes it includes the inability for Said Gunman to problem solve (as was the case of the Arapahoe High School shooting in Littleton, Colorado this Spring. It was disclosed that he set out to kill a certain teacher because he didn't make the Debate Team).

Perhaps the most vital skill we can teach our children is the ability to recover from failure. It needs to be taught; it is not inherent. I needed my parents to wipe tears from my cheek after I botched my recital piece. I needed my parents to enroll me in opportunities to compete. Furthermore, I needed there to be a Darwinian system of Survival of the Fittest in place in order for me to measure myself against it.  Isn't true "success" oftentimes borne from deficiency? As a Nation, of course we need to review security and gun law reform. But perhaps we need to spend more time dwelling in the space that exists after you fall off the horse, and before you get back in the saddle.