License to Fail
It's ok to let our kids figure sh** out.
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I’ve failed over and over again in my life and that is why I succeed. - Michael Jordan
When my older son started kid pitch at age 8, I was THAT mom. The mom so commonplace in youth sports you are probably some version of her, too. Pacing. Heart pumping. Could only watch through one eye. Sometimes so nervous I couldn’t watch at all and instead sought refuge in some crevice to watch on GameChanger. Watching my kid potentially get shelled on a tiny smartphone screen felt emotionally safer than seeing the pain up close.
It sucks to see your kid fail. Especially when they have high standards. And especially within the current toxic vortex of youth sports big business that isn’t doing our kids any favors. How many youth organizations really need to have ‘elite’ in their name?
And how many parents post highlight after highlight after highlight on social media of their kid doing something their parent deems amazing. (But never of their kid fumbling.) Youth sports is a machine akin to the fashion industry; for mere mortals, the ideal is unattainable. Don’t even get me started on the must-win-or-we-will-crush-your-soul mentality of competitive travel ball.
The blessing, but mostly the curse, is the abundance of options selling a quick fix. The private coach. The bat that promises more pop. The shoe that promises more hops. When a kid falters, the current American youth sports culture of very involved parents means that we become instant fixers.
When my older son was 10 and struck out in some random-at-bat, a teammate’s dad immediately approached us and insisted that we call his son’s hitting coach. (FWIW, both our kids went 2-for-4 that day).
Nothing against private coaching other than, in many cases, the extreme cost. Of course there are a bevy of amazing coaches for every position in every sport and even more that will try and make your kid a stronger, faster, and more agile general athlete.
But the problem with going straight from strike out to private lessonville is that we’re stripping away the young athlete’s ability to troubleshoot. When we throw on a Bandaid, we eliminate one of the most crucial life lessons in youth sports: letting our kids figure shit out.
No one wants to see their kid fail. That easy goal they allowed. The meatball they threw that was hit 2000 miles. The team they didn’t make. And all the tears that follow. Ugh, it’s heartbreaking and so tempting to say something like: I’m going to talk to your coach about playing a different position! Maybe we need a different hitting instructor! Or the extreme which is far too commonplace, Let’s get you a team that REALLY knows how to develop you!
Failure and sport are synonymous. This building of character is paramount to future success. How do I get out of a jam? What position do I want, and what do I need to do to get there? How do I fix the one aspect of my game that’s holding me back? Just about every famous professional athlete in the history of time has attributed their success to failure. On a recent episode of the podcast, Smartless, David Beckham talked at length about how his infamous red card at the 1998 World Cup was a blessing in disguise. Of course, overcoming adversity is a common trait in leaders beyond sports.
Allowing kids to fail can lead to endless life lessons. It lets them figure out what they truly want. Or don’t want, because not every kid wants to play competitive sports. Shocking, I know. Failure teaches kids how to battle back. It can teach kids how to handle their emotions. And if a kid feel empowered to have some say in how they respond to failure, including asking their parent for help, the parent-child bond only strengthens. And maybe they’ll feel more empowered to ask a teacher for help.
I’ve learned this the hard way. The aforementioned older chid started struggling at the plate last fall. I could see he was squinting and immediately tried swooping in. We got an eye exam and yes, he had a bad astigmatism just like his mama. I’m no ophthalmologist but it was pretty clear from the start that objects baseballs became blurry as they neared. He also squinted when trying to read books or playing video games. But when I suggested sports goggles, it was a hard no. And then contacts, it was no frickin’ way. He’s a teen so whatever I say, he automatically wants to do the opposite. He was determined to prove he didn’t need any corrective eye wear. Well, the hitting didn’t improve and he started to sour on baseball. He took a break much to the chagrin of me and husband. Then two months later without any mention of the sport, he declared he missed it. Suddenly, he was determined to learn to wear contacts and work on his craft. It was incredibly difficult to watch him hit “rock bottom” but the fact that he guided himself out of failure is everything.
Not every kid is old enough or even verbal enough to figure out how to dig out of holes or even know what they truly want. But a kid equipped with even a little mental wherewithal to recover from failure is crucial. Being there in neutral when they fail instead of hiding nervously in the bathroom or calling a pitching coach is a great first step.
Thanks Melissa, this article was very timely.