I recently went to a kids soccer match. While watching in the cold 22 children running behind a ball on a nice Saturday afternoon, my mind started to elaborate that image.
Those children weren’t having fun: none of them were smiling. Their relatives were screaming and talking badly about the composition of the team. The coach was even worse, insulting every single one of them for their mistakes.
Maybe I watched too much TV, or maybe the time has changed. Anyway, I’m sure that those children practice sports firstly because is imposed by society (e.g. it is “good for your health” or “that’s what boys should do”), secondly because they like it.
I personally never liked sports. I was bad at them, and they were imposed to me by everyone. Nevertheless, I enjoyed playing in a volleyball team, up until it went competitive removing all the fun.
So, my first explanation for those children not having fun was competition: the pressure to win. I can’t handle this kind of pressure even now that I consider myself an adult.
How could children handle it?
I am not a mother, or a child expert. I have some years of child care experience, during which I learned how to communicate with children. Still not an expert, but I managed to unite the feelings I had as a child with my good listening skills and that made me a pretty good nanny, or at least I think so. I wrote all of this just to gain your consense when I say: parents impose their dreams and passions on their children.
Somehow, while I was forcing my grey matter at work, I understood that competition is not the only problem. We adults walk in life full of regrets, broken dreams, passions that we never cultivated for one reason or another. We are sad and we end up pressuring our children, condemning them to the same fate. All this is sad.
All the missing smiles on that field were to “make daddy proud”. Children want to become like daddy and daddy didn’t explain that they can be someone else. Most of them were just pushed in a sport they don’t really love or like. They just convinced themselves that they love it too; then, when they grow up, they will understand what happened. They will point a finger to their parents and say “you made me do it. I never really liked it”.
Welcome to adulthood b**ch
It’s the parents’ fault (Actually, It’s always the parents). In the end, those children will have broken dreams and uncultivated passions. It’s a sad circle. It’s the circle of life (If you read me, you know I like being dramatic).
My reflection didn’t conclude that day. Walking with one of those children and his parents, I thought that none has the right to judge how a person is parenting. I judged hard just in my mind, hoping they’ll get something out of it.
My greatest hope is that somewhere one of you parents, or parents to be, will read this and have an epiphany, or even something smaller. I also hope that I will not change my mind if I’ll ever have some little rascals of my own.
Alessia Sorbo
2019-11-17