I’ve been on the soccer field my whole life. I’ve been watching my five older siblings play. I watch my father coaching teams and I have been playing for as long as I can remember.
Through all this time, you would think the one thing I hear the most after games is, “Can we stop at McDonalds?”
No. Surprisingly enough, the one thing I hear consistently after every game is, “Can I ride home with Grandma and Grandpa?”
And to a certain extent, it makes sense. Jumping in your grandparents’ car, there’s a flood of happiness when all you have to hear is “I loved watching you play.” No analysis of the game, no critiques; just some fans who were thrilled to watch the game.
Growing up in a competitive household, I appreciate the desire to win and the ambition given to me by my parents to be the best athlete I can be. That being said, some days it is nice just to be congratulated on a game well played. Even though my parents love me unconditionally, in those moments when I’m being told what I could have done better, I feel as if my own self-worth was defined by how many goals I scored.
I’m surrounded by friends and acquaintances who have given up on passions, whether it be soccer, wrestling, or even music, because the stress and pressure associated with a hobby ruined their enjoyment.
So do me a favor; next time you watch your kid play or perform, let the first thing you tell them be just how much you enjoyed seeing them out there doing their best.
