- Do we force our son to play a sport he suddenly hates, despite his immediate success, and thereby teach him that one should take part in activities one doesn’t like to earn the approval from others? Or do we say, “Hey, you’re five. You have no idea what you want. And what you want is T-ball. When you’re twenty-one and riding that baseball scholarship at college, getting the girls and lazing away your afternoons in the sun, you’ll thank me. At five, this means nothing to you. But trust me—you’ll thank me.”
- If we let the boy quit the game, aren’t we setting an example that it’s okay to quit something before you finish it? Or am I the Great Santini in blossom, harassing my son with the weapon of sports? Will the boy grow to be a bitter man who will one day write unflattering things about me?
- Honestly, isn’t this really about me? If you really want to get down to it, isn’t this really about my former life as a baseball player? Isn’t this my version of childhood applied to my son’s?
Truth be told, this isn’t the first time this has happened. A similar scenario unfolded with my daughter. She signed up for soccer at age four, and about halfway through the season, we drove to the game and she refused to get out of the car—even when I tried to physically lift and pull her out of the car, she always found something to grab onto that kept her inside. Also, she was screaming really loudly and other parents were starting to stare.
Well, she won! She has never played soccer again! She plays tennis now. But sometimes she’ll tell us she hates tennis, seemingly as a reminder that if she wants to quit, she will most certainly quit.
That’s because kids—or at least my kids—sense wishy-washy attitude on parents like dogs sense fear. And they capitalize on it. They know if they don’t want to play a sport, no one can make them. All they have to do is sit down and cry and scream, and if anyone wants to wrestle them onto a playing field, they can certainly give it a go.
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