Submitted by mwilliam on November 29, 2007 - 4:48pm.
By Bill Pruden
Early this fall, I witnessed something that reminded me anew of just how much things have changed in the worlds of sports and parenting. Having rushed to get my daughter to her soccer practice, I was just settling into my portable chair when I looked up and was startled to see that the girls, a bunch of pony-tailed second graders, were playing among themselves. With no coach, and their parents deep in their own conversations or books, the girls had organized themselves into a kicking, passing, laughing group of soccer players--just as we had done in my day. Of course the coach soon arrived, formal practice began, and my reverie was interrupted, but the memory has lingered, leaving me wondering when it all changed—and whether our children have been cheated as a result.
Now in my mid 50s, I know better than to regale my kids with stories about the times I walked 10 miles--uphill both ways--to get to a field. Indeed, my concern is the exact opposite, for it is the ease with which my friends and I were able to play--and play we did for hours at a time--that I wish for my children. In a time now far, far away, we would start our day with an early announcement of where we were going and a query as to when we needed to be home. Then, armed with a full collection of balls and an equally large determination to pack as much of the game of the season into our day as we possibly could, we set off to join a bunch of friends who had begun their day in the same fashion. It was all about the game and we would play for hours, fueled only by a passion for sport, and the joy and camaraderie that came from sharing it.
Nostalgia is wonderful and hindsight is always 20/20, but when I was young obesity wasn’t a national concern and leadership was something that was exercised not taught. We didn’t wait for our parents to organize our games. We did it. Admittedly there were scraped elbows and knees along the way but we healed faster then. We also learned leadership, organization, and mediation skills along the way. There were a few bruised egos among the kids who were picked last, but more than a little character was revealed when someone determined that he was not satisfied with that fate and worked--tirelessly--to change it. We played to play, not to impress a crowd. My parents came to lots of my youth league and high school games, but they were not there for the countless ones that really mattered, the impromptu, pick-up contests I played simply because I loved the game, loved to compete, and loved the companionship that went with it. Yet make no mistake, I knew my parents supported me, but I also knew that their self-esteem didn’t rise or fall on my performance.
Yes, our society has changed over my lifetime, and there are legitimate explanations why the carefree afternoons I remember have vanished, but crime and predators are not new, and so I wonder if it has to be this way, or whether such concerns are simply used to obscure the fact that we as parents want more control given the tremendous investment that our children represent. We need to remember that in the end it is not about us. The “Glory Days” of which Bruce Springsteen sang are long past, and probably not as glorious as we remember them, but they are ours and our children need the chance to pursue their own. Indeed, all of us need to remember that even in these more restrictive times, our children need real play and the chance to learn and grow from it. After all, in the end they are just games.
Let Them Play
By Bill Pruden
Early this fall, I witnessed something that reminded me anew of just how much things have changed in the worlds of sports and parenting. Having rushed to get my daughter to her soccer practice, I was just settling into my portable chair when I looked up and was startled to see that the girls, a bunch of pony-tailed second graders, were playing among themselves. With no coach, and their parents deep in their own conversations or books, the girls had organized themselves into a kicking, passing, laughing group of soccer players--just as we had done in my day. Of course the coach soon arrived, formal practice began, and my reverie was interrupted, but the memory has lingered, leaving me wondering when it all changed—and whether our children have been cheated as a result.
Now in my mid 50s, I know better than to regale my kids with stories about the times I walked 10 miles--uphill both ways--to get to a field. Indeed, my concern is the exact opposite, for it is the ease with which my friends and I were able to play--and play we did for hours at a time--that I wish for my children. In a time now far, far away, we would start our day with an early announcement of where we were going and a query as to when we needed to be home. Then, armed with a full collection of balls and an equally large determination to pack as much of the game of the season into our day as we possibly could, we set off to join a bunch of friends who had begun their day in the same fashion. It was all about the game and we would play for hours, fueled only by a passion for sport, and the joy and camaraderie that came from sharing it.
Nostalgia is wonderful and hindsight is always 20/20, but when I was young obesity wasn’t a national concern and leadership was something that was exercised not taught. We didn’t wait for our parents to organize our games. We did it. Admittedly there were scraped elbows and knees along the way but we healed faster then. We also learned leadership, organization, and mediation skills along the way. There were a few bruised egos among the kids who were picked last, but more than a little character was revealed when someone determined that he was not satisfied with that fate and worked--tirelessly--to change it. We played to play, not to impress a crowd. My parents came to lots of my youth league and high school games, but they were not there for the countless ones that really mattered, the impromptu, pick-up contests I played simply because I loved the game, loved to compete, and loved the companionship that went with it. Yet make no mistake, I knew my parents supported me, but I also knew that their self-esteem didn’t rise or fall on my performance.
Yes, our society has changed over my lifetime, and there are legitimate explanations why the carefree afternoons I remember have vanished, but crime and predators are not new, and so I wonder if it has to be this way, or whether such concerns are simply used to obscure the fact that we as parents want more control given the tremendous investment that our children represent. We need to remember that in the end it is not about us. The “Glory Days” of which Bruce Springsteen sang are long past, and probably not as glorious as we remember them, but they are ours and our children need the chance to pursue their own. Indeed, all of us need to remember that even in these more restrictive times, our children need real play and the chance to learn and grow from it. After all, in the end they are just games.