My son has been getting ready for one of his most anticipated athletic events of the year -- the class spelling bee. The preparation (and pressure) isn't far off from what parents and kids might experience on the sports field. As he had me call-and-respond through the official Scripps National Spelling Bee word list with him, a few examples stood out, highlighting a larger e-n-u-n-c-i-a-t-i-o-n about success in youth sports.
"Hubris. H-U-B-R-I-S."
The most important lesson parents of young athletes will learn is that their kids are not LeBron. She is not Serena. He is not Cam. She is not Carli.
My 10-year-old thinks he has a shot at playing the NBA. Or certainly playing at the University of Florida. At a very bare minimum, suiting up for the local high school varsity.
"Quagmire. Q-U-A-G-M-I-R-E."
Then last week, his "select" basketball team of fourth-graders played a scrimmage against a team that will probably finish in the top 10 nationally among fourth-graders -- keeping score was hard, given the blur of relentless domination by the other team, but the final gap was probably 100 points.
"Evaporation. E-V-A-P-O-R-A-T-I-O-N."
You don't need to break it to your kids they aren't going pro or to Division I or even to the nearby varsity bench. All it takes is an experience like that and they figure it out for themselves.
"Superlative. S-U-P-E-R-L-A-T-I-V-E."
It is a much harder realization for the overinvested parent than the resilient kid. That isn't to say that finding a place for your kid to be exceptional -- or, more accurately, striving to be exceptional -- isn't attainable. As I watched the basketball scrimmage, I found myself irrationally muttering, "Well, at least he would probably beat this other team in a spelling bee."
"Festooned. F-E-S-T-O-O-N-E-D."
Two years ago, Gabe won his classroom spelling bee. Last year, he finished in the top three in his grade and got to go to the schoolwide bee finals -- the one that ultimately feeds into the Scripps National Spelling Bee. He was the first one knocked out but had a pretty healthy attitude about it and a basic pride at getting that far. Exceptionalism is an exceptionally relative concept.
"Impulse. I-M-P-U-L-S-E."
There is a natural tendency among parents to focus on achievement -- winning the game, scoring the goal, making the team, winning the title. Outcomes and results are easy to see, and comparisons are easy to digest.
"Balderdash. B-A-L-D-E-R-D-A-S-H."
As Gabe and I have worked on his word list over the past few days, getting ready for his spelling bee, the emphasis has been on process, not outcome. I admit to nudging him to write out all of the words first before I quizzed him, but he ignored me. A year ago, I would have squabbled with him about the right way to approach it; this time, I let him drive the process.
"Resiliency. R-E-S-I-L-I-E-N-C-Y."
He handed me the list and had me ask him words, cold. After he guessed -- and whiffed -- at the unfamiliar words, he eventually stopped, silently took the list from me and found a pad to start writing them down. The next session, he got almost all of them right, his confidence high with the familiarity.
"Nurture. N-U-R-T-U-R-E."
What parent doesn't want to see his or her kid succeed? Frankly, sitting in the audience during the school spelling bee last year was far more nerve-racking than I have ever felt watching him play sports.
The entire key is process. Preparation (ideally kid-motivated) is the lesson here, whether we're talking about memorizing word lists or getting better at dribbling with your off-hand or, eventually, figuring out how to navigate the even more tedious aspects of life. The only outcome your kids (or you, as their parents) really need to focus on is, "But how did you get there?"
As Gabe might spell, that -- not a ribbon or trophy or roster spot -- is the real r-e-v-e-l-a-t-i-o-n.
Dan Shanoff writes about the intersection of sports and parenting for espnW. Let's continue the conversation at facebook.com/espnw.