Confessions of a Nasty Sports Mom
I nagged. I yelled. I even heckled the kids on the other team. And then I realized I had to shut up — and get out there myself.
By Sandy Hingston, Prevention
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My opponent was talented, a star. I knew that as she ran toward me. She'd scored three times already; she had to be stopped. So: "You're not as good as you think you are!" I bellowed.
Startled, she froze, her concentration broken. Mission accomplished! Then the referee blasted her whistle and strode over to the bleachers. "I'm going to ask all of you to refrain from making personal comments," she said curtly. I knew she meant me. And I didn't care, even though my "opponent" was only 13 years old and playing field hockey against my daughter's team.
That's right. I was an Ugly Sports Mom.
My kids were ashamed of me. "Could you please not scream at the officials?" my daughter would plead. My son, braver, shouted back at me from the basketball court: "I am hustling! Leave me alone!" I couldn't. I just couldn't. They were the ones playing, but I was the one caring.
I've read the same news stories you have, about the T-ball coach who paid a player to bean a subpar teammate, the parents who have done even worse. I clucked my tongue along with you. I abhor the emphasis America places on winning. I know what matters isn't the score but how you play the game. And yet there's a fire that flares up in me when opponents square off. It doesn't matter what they're playing, or at what level competition makes me come alive. ("My wife will watch any sport with me on television," my husband once told an envious colleague. "Even soccer.") I don't know how I got this way. I only know that games mean more to me than they ever have to my kids. "I like to practice," says my daughter, a three-sport athlete in high school, "but I don't like the games." Practice? Who cares about practice? The game is everything.
I played lots of games when I was younger: softball, basketball, volleyball, field hockey. And whether it was a varsity match or pickup at a picnic, I played whole hog. I did it for the rush I got when I stopped a shot on goal or served up an ace. No academic honor, no professional prize, would ever feel that good.
Once my kids came along, though, I stepped aside. It was their turn. And oh, the hopes I had for them! I coached them, rooted for their teams, and waited anxiously to see them blossom into stars. They didn't. They tried hard, and they had moments of glory. But, you know, they never wanted to watch soccer on TV. And it slowly dawned on me that athletic competition meant something to me that it didn't to them. In my mind, sports were life's proving ground the whole Chariots of Fire shtick. To my kids, sports were "That Thing That Makes Mom Go Berserk."
As happens so often, I came to this realization too late for it to make a difference. If only I could have stayed in my lawn chair like the other mothers instead of pacing the sidelines, maybe the kids and I would be sitting down together to watch the World Cup. Maybe they'd link sports with joy like I do, instead of with self-consciousness and a sense of expectations unmet. If I could have done that, though, I wouldn't be who I am. Competitiveness isn't something you clear from your psyche when you clean out your locker. At my kids' matches, I could smell the mown grass, scuff the chalk lines on the field.
I couldn't bear to just watch. I wanted to play. When I raged at the refs, I was raging at the fact that I was stuck on the sidelines.
Then, a few years ago, while dropping my son off for basketball at the Y, I ran into the mom of a kid in his Scout troop. She was there, she told me, for the Wednesday night volleyball game.
"I love volleyball," I said.
She must have heard something in my voice. "Why don't you come along?"
"Oh, I haven't played in years," I said. "My ankles... my shoulder..."
She shrugged and remarked, "Everybody's got something."
That's how I got my game back. The regulars who show up on Wednesdays range from early 30s to mid-60s, and from whippet-lean to, well, not. We're stay-at-home moms, workers at Wal-Mart, engineers, teachers, a preacher, and one writer. What we have in common is this: We need our fix, the chance to prove ourselves and shine. "I'm gonna be a hero!" Dominick crows as he serves up a point. Maybe he will. Or maybe he'll be a goat instead. We revel in that edge of uncertainty, the bright lure of glory heightened by the chance of failing ignominiously.
I am more myself in the company I keep on Wednesday nights than I am at work or even with my family. My fellow players are kindred souls, our games a release for the competitive drives we assumed that age and time would put an end to... but haven't. We are both embarrassed by and proud of our intensity.
Recently, there was a mix-up when we arrived; an employee had borrowed the net — our net — for a beach party. We roiled in the lobby like a lynch mob. The poor desk clerk was cowed enough to get on the phone and find that net now. We paced the sidewalk outside, grumbling, until the truck rolled up with it. We took possession as if we were jonesing.
Then we started in, and all our discontent and ill will dissipated. For 2 hours, life boiled down to this: Sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose.
And you can't do either if you don't play the game.
YOU TELL US: Have you ever taken things too far while supporting your kids?
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Be Your Child’s Cheerleader
• Identify skills early on. If your child wants to participate in sports, be realistic about his ability. If he is just within the age requirement, make sure that he is able to physically handle himself.
• Allow her to follow her own interests. Don't discourage your child if she is more interested in playing soccer than practicing the piano. Making her own choices helps her forge her identity.
• Don't blame yourself for your child's choices, talents, or failures. Disappointment may stem from your own youthful dreams or your sense of personal responsibility. Remember, you are not the direct cause of your child's missed goal or failed audition. Encourage him to try his best and support him when even that isn't good enough. Sometimes the only way to do that is by lending a sympathetic ear. Later, offer to help him practice his skills.
• Discourage activity-hopping. Does your child want to quit the school band or swim team after only a few weeks? Set a "wait and see" period before allowing her to give it up. Help her determine why she wants to leave the activity. Is it too challenging? Too boring? Too time-consuming? Maybe she doesn't click with the other kids or the coach. Once you know, you can work to remedy the situation - or move on.
• Prevent burnout. If basketball practice starts to get in the way of schoolwork, then it may be time for your child to scale back or take a break. Ask your child if he's too tired or if the coach is working him too hard. Discuss your concerns with the coach, and help your child set priorities.
• Stay positive. Don't be hard on your child if she loses a game or flubs a recital performance. She's bound to have her bad days, no matter how often she practices. Focus on her efforts, not the final outcome.
• Set a good example. Good sportsmanship starts with you. If your child spots you kicking and screaming on the sidelines, he learns that it's acceptable for him to do so too.
• Let kids be kids. Your child needs time to socialize. Unstructured activities with her peers give her time to recuperate from the pressures of extracurricular activities and school.
From Parent & Child magazine