Rookie Seasoning
Written By Richard D. Ginsburg
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2. Competition Can Wait
Children typically don't understand competition on even a basic level until they're 6 or 7 years old. Before that, they're missing an ingredient key to competing: the ability to compare yourself to others. When two young kids appear to be in competition, they're really each striving for an adult's attention ("Look at me, Dad!" "Watch what I can do!") or trying to learn ("I want to do that too").
Before 6, a child can't distinguish why his team lost — is it because we scored no runs or because our jerseys are blue? And his attention span will not last six innings. A 6-year-old's body is not really ready for competition either: Peripheral vision is still developing, and short-term memory is limited. He's lucky he won't be seeing curveballs for a while; at this age his eyes easily lose track of a pop-up.
I'm not saying young kids shouldn't play organized sports; it all depends on the intensity level and what's emphasized. You can send two teams of 5-year-olds onto a soccer field and just let them enjoy running around. I think it's great when a kid asks the score and the adults play dumb, as if it's not important. This sends the message that the grown-ups put more value on teamwork, the joy of movement, and the beginning of skill development.
Unfortunately, I see a lot of parents and coaches who think giving kids an intense sports experience at a young age helps them develop the proverbial "competitive edge."
When I met with 6-year-old Angela and her parents, she was already a star soccer player. She had started out in the town's recreation league, but the coaches found her so athletic they moved her to a higher level of play. Hello, travel team; good-bye, friends — all of Angela's neighborhood playmates were in the rec league.
Beyond missing her pals, Angela also was overwhelmed by the intensity of the games. So after the season was over, she asked if she could return to playing with her friends. Her parents were torn. If they allowed her to play in the less-competitive league, were they letting her take the easy way out? Or was the travel team too much, too soon?
A travel team, which pits a town's best players against other towns' elite, hardly ever suits a 6-year-old. If she loves the coach and the other girls, is having oodles of fun going to all the practices and games, and is sleeping well and eating well and has a sparkle in her eyes, maybe it's okay. But for most kids the experience is riddled with perils — and the same could be said for a rec league or even a T-ball team if its coaches take competition more seriously than a young player can handle.
Children don't fully understand winning and losing until they're around 12, when they're better able to think abstractly. Here's a scenario played out at ball fields everywhere: The game has just ended, and as the mother of an 11-year-old player walks to the car worrying about how she can help Susie deal with the loss, Susie is wondering, Will Mom stop for ice cream on the way home? The game's over for her.
3. Parents Have a Natural Blind Spot
It's difficult for us to be objective when evaluating our kids' abilities. Children embody the legacy of our families' dreams and aspirations, and it's natural and healthy for us to see them in a positive light. The problem is when that positive light morphs into SportsCenter daydreams. How do we keep it real? Step one: Recognize our biases.
I once worked with a boy named Josh who at 3 already was learning how to ice-skate. With a long line of hockey players and figure skaters in the family, his parents were certain he would be fabulous on the ice.
Josh showed a lot of ability at first, and his folks raved about his skating to anyone who'd listen. But when other kids in his group lessons began to skate with greater ease than he did, Josh became frustrated. His parents, meanwhile, continued to talk about him like he was the second coming of Wayne Gretzky and Scott Hamilton. After his fifth lesson, Josh told his folks he no longer wanted to skate.
Too much "rah rah" just turns up the pressure on a child. I have to score a goal because I'll be a disappointment to my folks if I don't. Or, as Josh's 3-year-old mind might have decided, I want to quit because this is no fun. A parent does a kid no favor by saying, "Honey, you're the best player on the team, no matter what other people say." On the contrary, it's good to pay attention to what others say, particularly coaches — their evaluating lens is likely to be less biased than yours.
Next page: What's the right balance of praise and criticism?
