Heartache

Today at Sydney's volleyball game a mother from the opposing team yelled at her daughter multiple times during the game. As if that wasn't bad enough, the mom told the rest of the parents in the bleachers that she was going to kill her when she got home. I couldn't tell if the little girl heard this comment, but let's hope not.

Watching nine and ten year olds play volleyball can be frustrating at times. I allow myself an occasional "Call the ball," but stick to clapping. For every serve, every hit, every mistake, every effort, every smile, every shrug. It's a lot of clapping, but maybe Sydney can tell the difference between the crowd goes wild applause when her serve return goes over the net and the encouragement applause when her serve hits the net or barely gets there. We've explained that this season of volleyball is the time to learn the rules and basics of volleyball. It's for having fun with her friends, to learn to work as a team, to learn how to call the ball.

I've mentioned "The Incredibles" theory that if everyone is special, no one is special, but I don't think that is the message I am communicating to Sydney. Giving encouragement is not the same as saying that Syd is a winner even though her serve went five feet. It tells her that trying hard, or making an effort, is a worthwhile endeavor. That she shouldn't be embarrassed because it is better than watching the ball drop on the floor next to you. (I don't clap when that happens.)

Prior to this sports season, the Army forced all parents of athletes to watch a video about the value of good sportsman ship and a parent's role in leading by example. Neil and I joked about the hour of our life we would never get back and how they could just tell the crowd not to be "that guy" and we would understand. I learned that a parent who pushes his view of winning at all costs onto their child is committing philosophical abuse. It was funny until I watched that little girl this morning. My heart still hurts.