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How “boys will be boys” needs to go and “for the love of the game” is the only way to play
Remember early childhood games like Musical Chairs, Duck Duck Goose, and the ultimate game of torture, Dodgeball? There are others, games of elimination, games of anxiety and racing, and then being out. When I was a kid, I was overwhelmed with anxiety whenever a teacher gleefully announced we were to play a fun game. It would not be fun. I knew I’d be out first, I’d be embarrassed and could already hear the whispers. Then came team sports. I was picked last for everything because I was slow and chubby. Later in life, I found my inner athlete, but in elementary and middle school, gym and recess were torture. Why did we have to play games that left people out, be losers, one after another—and then at the end the winner, or winners, gloated. I hated it.
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My older son is just like me. Even as early as preschool, he was bright and curious but hated competition. In elementary school, he was the brightest child in his grade but never competed academically. He didn’t notice his grades; he simply loved learning. He’d bring home his 99s and 100s, show me his work, and then go play with dinosaurs or do experiments with owl pellets. But, when it came to athletic competition, in recess, gym, or sports, he became so anxious he’d have panic attacks or other outbursts. So, he didn’t do competitive sports. He tried, but it was not his thing. He’d later be diagnosed with ADD, and that diagnosis accords with his reactions to being pushed into uncomfortable activities, yet there are plenty of ADD and ADHD athletes (like my younger son), it just wasn’t for him.
There was a lot of pressure in the early years because of the persistent stereotypes that boys play sports, especially big boys, and he was tall for his age.
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There was a lot of pressure in the early years because of the persistent stereotypes that boys play sports, especially big boys, and he was tall for his age. Today, he’s thirteen and six feet tall. In 2nd and 3rd grade, at recess, when kids started to move into gender specific groups, he was with the boys, or alone. His particular grade that year was made up of an especially athletic and competitive group. Those in his grade were all on the soccer team, or in Little League, were highly competitive, and, most significantly, were encouraged to be so.
My son also has a heightened sense of fairness. I love this about him. When he did engage in dodgeball or other recess games and found that sure enough, the rules were made up as they went along or certainly bent, and often to suit the more aggressive leader-types in the group, he balked. And he balked in a way that a six or seven year old with (undiagnosed) ADD does, so there were incidents and unfortunately, the school handled them poorly. They pulled us aside and said “Oh, boys will be boys.” Well, I had a thing or two to say about that. The principal and I had a different relationship from that day forward, and I was on high alert. And my son got an early lesson on what we at The Good Men Project call Escape the “Act Like a Man Box.” In fact, he was already breaking free. Unfortunately, he was in an unsupportive environment. We subsequently moved to a different school that did not subscribe to that notion, and things were better, but he had a few very rough years.
Once, someone remarked on his height and asked if he played basketball, and he looked at them sideways. “No. I do science.”
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What I am grateful is what my son learned. He never internalized “boys will be boys.” He suffered, yes, but he was confident, even at that age. He played fair, liked science not sports, and did not play rough. He never felt less than. He adapted. He loved the outdoors, so rather than deal with the sports boys, he’d read at recess or dig in the grass, look for bugs, and collect rocks. Once, someone remarked on his height and asked if he played basketball, and he looked at them sideways. “No. I do science.” Now, as a teenager, he and his friends play Pathfinder, a fantasy roleplaying game that involves no electronics, and no winners or losers. It’s all about creativity and imagination, and lots of snacks.
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On the other hand, my younger son, now ten, has played competitive sports since he could hold a ball in his chubby little hand. He doesn’t get upset when he loses. He isn’t happy, and prefers a win, but he doesn’t dwell on it. It is part of the game. He loves the sportsmanship, he’s a team player, a natural athlete, and plays competitive baseball. When he was eight he told me “Mom, I’ll be playing high school baseball, right?” “If you want to, you have to keep up your grades and keep working at it.” “OK,” he said, “Because then I’m going to be a Texas Ranger or a Seattle Mariner.” “Sounds great,” I said.
I love watching my boys do what makes them happy. Sitting in the bleachers watching my lanky ten year old, eye-black, full-on uniform, batting left despite being right-handed, smack the ball far into center field and run for a double and an RBI gives me as much pleasure as watching my older son dissecting an owl pellet. What I love even more, is when my ball-player comes in to the dugout and I see him with his teammates. He is alive, he is part of something, smiling, and at ease. And when a teammate strikes out or misses a pop fly, he’s the first to meet him with a high five and a word of encouragement “Dude, you did great, that was a tough one, nice try.”
My athlete is competitive because he plays a team sport. He is also first in line to high-five the other team and the first to take a knee if a player is injured.
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My athlete is competitive because he plays a team sport. He is also first in line to high-five the other team and the first to take a knee if a player is injured. He feels a sense of community in baseball. He proudly displays his trophies and game balls. He doesn’t say “look what I did,” but rather “Oh, that’s when I was on the Dodgers with Coach Mike, and remember that double play I made with Justin? That was cool.” It’s social for him, it’s collaborative. Yes, he likes to win, he’s an athlete. He’s also a sensitive human being, like his brother, who cares about others, who cares about fairness and community.
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For both of my sons, it’s about the game, a love of the game and the experience. The baseball tournament, the day in the sun with snacks, and friends and the pizza party after. And for my teen, the sleepovers and the hours upon hours with a group of the best teenagers I’ve met, inventing a fantasy world of grave knights and goblin snakes, imperial dragons, and unfettered eidolons, plus there are lots of snacks, always the snacks.
If you liked this article by Jenny Kanevsky, you might also like:
How Raising Boys Has Made Me a Better Mom
Who Will Your Son Be When He is a Man?
Are You Raising Compassionate Boys?
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Photo Credit: iStock
I’ve gotten more tuned into the world of athletics (which I’ve enjoyed all my life) now that I have two grandsons (how did I get this old, I don’t feel this old) who are playing Division I football, one for Arkansas and one for Wyoming. Now I really love watching them on T.V. and I also worry about head injuries and the other issues that can cause a person to worry. Thanks Jenny for writing about these issues. As always, a good read.