Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Sunday, December 15, 2013
State of Play: Trophy Kids
"State of Play is an innovative new documentary film series that digs into complex and multi-layered themes in sports and explores their relationship to larger society." So says the front page of HBO's website dedicated to it's newest series by Actor/Director Peter Berg. That page presently features a still shot from the first installment of the series, "Trophy Kids." I watched Trophy Kids last night and have a personal take on what I saw. As always, my impression is based on the view through my introverted prism, as a loving dad and sports parent.
About four years ago, I read Tom Farrey's excellent Game On: The All-American Race to Make Champions of our Children. Game On is an superb, cautionary (though partially flawed) book on the complicated subject of modern youth sports. The book critically explores, among other things, the role of parents in what I refer to as "advanced youth sports." Other nomenclature for advanced youth sports might be more familiar: Select, Elite, Club, Travel. While the book did mention boorish parental behavior, it did not focus on behavior alone. That book raised the stakes to questioning the advanced youth sport complex while marveling at it. In contrast, Trophy Kids focuses on boorish behavior while revealing a deeper and more troubling sports parent pattern: the potential for sports parenting to supplant authentic parenting outside the context of their child's participation in sports by linking success to the expression of parental love and nurturance.
To me there is no doubt that the arena of sports activities available to our children has changed since my athletic youth. I don't really care to explore how or why we got here. Farrey does a good job examining the various motivations that have created a burgeoning youth sports industry outside of historically adequate outlets such as schools, YMCAs, Jewish Community Centers, and other local recreation centers. Whatever the motivations, two things are clear: entrepreneurs will make money and parents will seek status (or other expressions of happiness) through attachment to the children's' participation in increasingly glamorous programs. Neither is new. But absent in both cases is the motivation of the children themselves.
Trophy Kids capitalizes on presentation of extreme parental examples to make its points. Extreme examples can be helpful in warning parents with moderate sports-parenting issues; those with open minds will recognize the behavior and respond positively by changing their ways. But most parents with issues similar to those shown in the film will break in one of two ways, and both ways perpetuate damaging behaviors. One group of parents will identify with the parents depicted, especially in Trophy Kids, believing their behavior is warranted in view of the ends sought. The other group will flatly deny their behavior is anything like that of the parents in the film.
There's little or no help for the latter group. Denial is a horrible weakness. There is no progress or improvement in the face of denial. But if you are a sports parent, and if you've ever had a post-game or post-practice conversation in the car relating to your child's performance (attitude, effort, mentality, toughness, etc) where you were the ONLY ONE TALKING, alarm bells better be ringing. If you raise your voice to make a point or cut off your child when they attempt to express themselves in response, alarm bells better be ringing. If you change the manner in which you express feelings of warmth, safety, and love to your child based on their results, alarm bells better be ringing. If you have ever made your child cry during competition or on the way home, alarm bells better be ringing. If your personal alarm bells are not ringing in any one of these instances, you're fucked.
On the other hand, parents who believe their ends justify the means (exemplified by the parental behavior depicted in Trophy Kids) are the ones that need the message most. Superficially, each of the parents in the film believes their child is a special, beautiful creature, with great talent and boundless opportunity available through participation in sports. In part, these are natural and correct beliefs. The problem as depicted in the film arises when the parent substitutes their motivation their child's natural motivation. The problem is compounded and complicated to a potentially damaging extent when, for example, a parent cannot rise to express love to their child after a failing performance.
Each of the parents in Trophy Kids believes they are supporting their child's goals. But the film does not present much in the way of evidence of children's goals at all. Instead, each anecdotal example reveals full substitution of a parental desire for a child's goal. Through that substitution comes the loss of a group of essential parental behaviors. And most of the parents in the film actually aver to that substitution! But after a certain age, parents have to give way to coaches who are not burdened by the need to nurture a athlete child the way a parent is obligated to nurture the child. If the parent acquires a coaching demeanor and suspends the nurturing function, then BAM! you have problems. In my opinion, the bottom line starkly presented in Trophy Kids is the apparent absence of parental love as an outcome of failed performance. That absence, especially if pronounced and prolonged, can alter natural relationships and have the exact reverse outcome we seek for our kids in sports: believing oneself a failure and concomitant resentment of the activity.
My son has been involved in organized baseball since just before his fourth birthday. He has enjoyed almost 11 years of increasing performance and success as he experiences increasingly difficult competition and the increasingly demanding preparation that comes with that progression. I've been engaged since the beginning, although I happily turned him over to other men to coach by his age 12U year.
My son has always wanted to be a professional baseball player. I cannot say I fully support the idea of his pursuing pro-baseball; it's far less glamorous than most of us know. But I fully support his desire to engage the process and there's no doubt he's benefitted from the structure and discipline he's needed to express just to get to where he is now.
Despite my detachment from the end goal, I know I have crossed several lines of behavior directly as the result of my selfish focus on what I think my boy needed to know or hear. Almost always, these instances of churlish parental behavior ignored whether my son might have been well coached on the issue and was already possessed of the "right" answer. I've questioned his focus, effort, and toughness. Not surprisingly, parental desire that their child display toughness was a common theme in Trophy Kids. But when your child is raised in a bubble with everything provided him without any instance of exposure adversity outside of sports, should one be all that surprised that one's child lacks the apparent ability to stand on their own two feet?
Part of the problem is the apparent view of these sports parents that their children are merely empty vessels into which we can pour all the information and physical support needed for them to "dominate" their game or "be who they are" through their sports performance. At this point I am just grateful that I understand enough about my child to know that he will become as tough as he desires, on his own, and more so as I withdraw from his process and allow him to achieve and fail, win and lose, get stronger and get hurt, on his own.
About four years ago, I read Tom Farrey's excellent Game On: The All-American Race to Make Champions of our Children. Game On is an superb, cautionary (though partially flawed) book on the complicated subject of modern youth sports. The book critically explores, among other things, the role of parents in what I refer to as "advanced youth sports." Other nomenclature for advanced youth sports might be more familiar: Select, Elite, Club, Travel. While the book did mention boorish parental behavior, it did not focus on behavior alone. That book raised the stakes to questioning the advanced youth sport complex while marveling at it. In contrast, Trophy Kids focuses on boorish behavior while revealing a deeper and more troubling sports parent pattern: the potential for sports parenting to supplant authentic parenting outside the context of their child's participation in sports by linking success to the expression of parental love and nurturance.
To me there is no doubt that the arena of sports activities available to our children has changed since my athletic youth. I don't really care to explore how or why we got here. Farrey does a good job examining the various motivations that have created a burgeoning youth sports industry outside of historically adequate outlets such as schools, YMCAs, Jewish Community Centers, and other local recreation centers. Whatever the motivations, two things are clear: entrepreneurs will make money and parents will seek status (or other expressions of happiness) through attachment to the children's' participation in increasingly glamorous programs. Neither is new. But absent in both cases is the motivation of the children themselves.
Trophy Kids capitalizes on presentation of extreme parental examples to make its points. Extreme examples can be helpful in warning parents with moderate sports-parenting issues; those with open minds will recognize the behavior and respond positively by changing their ways. But most parents with issues similar to those shown in the film will break in one of two ways, and both ways perpetuate damaging behaviors. One group of parents will identify with the parents depicted, especially in Trophy Kids, believing their behavior is warranted in view of the ends sought. The other group will flatly deny their behavior is anything like that of the parents in the film.
There's little or no help for the latter group. Denial is a horrible weakness. There is no progress or improvement in the face of denial. But if you are a sports parent, and if you've ever had a post-game or post-practice conversation in the car relating to your child's performance (attitude, effort, mentality, toughness, etc) where you were the ONLY ONE TALKING, alarm bells better be ringing. If you raise your voice to make a point or cut off your child when they attempt to express themselves in response, alarm bells better be ringing. If you change the manner in which you express feelings of warmth, safety, and love to your child based on their results, alarm bells better be ringing. If you have ever made your child cry during competition or on the way home, alarm bells better be ringing. If your personal alarm bells are not ringing in any one of these instances, you're fucked.
On the other hand, parents who believe their ends justify the means (exemplified by the parental behavior depicted in Trophy Kids) are the ones that need the message most. Superficially, each of the parents in the film believes their child is a special, beautiful creature, with great talent and boundless opportunity available through participation in sports. In part, these are natural and correct beliefs. The problem as depicted in the film arises when the parent substitutes their motivation their child's natural motivation. The problem is compounded and complicated to a potentially damaging extent when, for example, a parent cannot rise to express love to their child after a failing performance.
Each of the parents in Trophy Kids believes they are supporting their child's goals. But the film does not present much in the way of evidence of children's goals at all. Instead, each anecdotal example reveals full substitution of a parental desire for a child's goal. Through that substitution comes the loss of a group of essential parental behaviors. And most of the parents in the film actually aver to that substitution! But after a certain age, parents have to give way to coaches who are not burdened by the need to nurture a athlete child the way a parent is obligated to nurture the child. If the parent acquires a coaching demeanor and suspends the nurturing function, then BAM! you have problems. In my opinion, the bottom line starkly presented in Trophy Kids is the apparent absence of parental love as an outcome of failed performance. That absence, especially if pronounced and prolonged, can alter natural relationships and have the exact reverse outcome we seek for our kids in sports: believing oneself a failure and concomitant resentment of the activity.
My son has been involved in organized baseball since just before his fourth birthday. He has enjoyed almost 11 years of increasing performance and success as he experiences increasingly difficult competition and the increasingly demanding preparation that comes with that progression. I've been engaged since the beginning, although I happily turned him over to other men to coach by his age 12U year.
My son has always wanted to be a professional baseball player. I cannot say I fully support the idea of his pursuing pro-baseball; it's far less glamorous than most of us know. But I fully support his desire to engage the process and there's no doubt he's benefitted from the structure and discipline he's needed to express just to get to where he is now.
Despite my detachment from the end goal, I know I have crossed several lines of behavior directly as the result of my selfish focus on what I think my boy needed to know or hear. Almost always, these instances of churlish parental behavior ignored whether my son might have been well coached on the issue and was already possessed of the "right" answer. I've questioned his focus, effort, and toughness. Not surprisingly, parental desire that their child display toughness was a common theme in Trophy Kids. But when your child is raised in a bubble with everything provided him without any instance of exposure adversity outside of sports, should one be all that surprised that one's child lacks the apparent ability to stand on their own two feet?
Part of the problem is the apparent view of these sports parents that their children are merely empty vessels into which we can pour all the information and physical support needed for them to "dominate" their game or "be who they are" through their sports performance. At this point I am just grateful that I understand enough about my child to know that he will become as tough as he desires, on his own, and more so as I withdraw from his process and allow him to achieve and fail, win and lose, get stronger and get hurt, on his own.
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