Competition

Life is a Game.

It's Just a Game.

Win it or Lose it.

The only Opponent that matters is Yourself.

In it to Win it.

We've all heard all the above statements, or similar ones, at some point in our lives. There are a lot of differing opinions out there on competition-- Is it good? Is it bad? I don't have the definitive answer.

I do know one thing, though, if my own children are any representation of the general population: and that is, that children seem born ready to compete. A child as young as 18 months-- perhaps younger-- is already capable of joining in sibling rivalry. A baby can join you in a tug-of-war, and giggle when you finally let him win. Let's face it-- winning feels good; losing feels bad. It's a natural response.

"Experts" try to tell parents and caregivers that competition in children is bad, that it's psychologically damaging to children to let them compete in sports, in school, and so on. So is born the "non-competitive sports league," where "everyone's a winner." Or the alternative school that seeks to praise each child for whatever effort he or she exerts, and never criticize or push a child to "try a little harder next time."

Surely, children should not be pushed into competing beyond their own natural desire or capability, to be made to believe that he must win at whatever cost. Nor is it good for a child to be constantly made to feel inferior just because he did not do as well as so-on-so on whatever task. There is a delicate balance in these matters, to be sure.

But is it wise to suppress a naturally-competitive spirit? To never offer praise at a job well done? To never encourage a child to put forth his best effort? Because that's what might happen if we never allow competition.

Sure, we all hope that our children will work hard in school because it's good for them, because the intrinsic reward of learning and growing up to be a knowledgeable, capable adult should be motivation enough. But the truth is, children rarely have that kind of foresight. They need a more immediate motivation, and "competition" in the form of grades and other recognition still seems to me to be the best solution.

It's not fail-proof, of course. And how does the child feel who constantly brings home a "bad" report card despite giving his very best effort? Like I said before-- winning feels good, and losing feels bad. The "experts" do have it right, in a way. Competition can be psychologically damaging for this child. But is it really the competition that is the culprit? Or is it the losing? And how the child is taught to deal with losing?

Think about it. What are some common responses we give our kids when they lose a game?

"Oh, you lost this time. But that's okay, maybe you'll win next time." What if they don't win "next time"?

 "Not everyone can be a winner every time." Small children just don't get this one. They're egotistical by nature, remember. I've tried to tell my own 4-yo this one a few times, and he always comes back with something like, "But I want to win!" Or "It's not fair!" Or simply "Waaaaahhhhh!" In other words, the world ends every time he loses; that's just the way it is, no matter what I say or don't say.

 "It wasn't your fault; you'll have better luck next time." This is a dangerous one, because if said too often, it can convince a child to believe that he has no control over whether he wins or loses, or that he bears little to no reponsibility for how he fares in life.

"It's just a game." No. It's not "just a game." Not to a child. It was an opportunity-- an opportunity to show off his skill, to impress his peers and/or his "superiors" (that would be adults). When he loses a game, he not only loses the game, but also the opportunity to have his talent noticed, to be seen as someone who is "above the rest," if only for a brief moment, to shine in front of his peers, to be recognized by his superiors for his effort.

So oftentimes, we may find ourselves swinging the other way, trying to ensure that our child never has to feel the sting of losing. I've fallen into the trap myself at times: I'll reshuffle the cards when my son's not looking to ensure that he gets to the Candy Castle before I do; I'll purposefully run slower so he gets to the corner first. I can't help it, it seems, though I know it's probably not the best thing.

Here's something to ponder: why do we play "games"? I'm not talking about games like make-believe, or "ring around the rosie," which obviously are not designed to be competitive. I'm talking about games like "red-light-green-light," or "capture the flag"-- games with a clear winner at the end. Why were these games invented? They were invented to teach certain skills, to improve a child's physical prowess or strategical thinking. The competitive nature of these games, I suppose, arose naturally as children playing them realized (and continue to realize) that some of them were better at playing certain games than others were, that they could either win or not win (aka "lose"), and that-- hey! Winning felt good! Losing felt bad.

Let's take a critical look at non-sompetitive sports for a moment. On the surface, it seems like a good idea. Get a group of children together, teach them the basics of the game, and let them loose to have fun. So far, so good. But then little Junior points out that "those kids over there [in the competitive group] are getting trophies. I want a trophy!" What Junior doesn't realize, and may not even care to acknowledge even if it's pointed out to him, is that not all of "those kids" are getting trophies, and that the ones who do are working very hard to earn them. Unlike our Junior, whom we've chosen to put in a non-competitive sport because we just want him to "have fun," not work hard to compete and become a better player, or to-- gasp!-- be exposed to the psychologically damaging effect of losing when he doesn't do as well as his peers.

But, a meeting of parents and coaches is held, and it is decided that our children still deserve some recognition for "having fun." So trophies are ordered and given out at the next game, and Junior is happy. But, if every child gets a trophy every time, no matter how well he does, what's the point in trying to win? What's the point in even trying at all?

And who are we kidding anyway? Because eventually, at some point when Junior grows up a bit more, he's going to realize what's going on. Maybe he really was a good, hard-working player and deserved the trophies he got; but then, how's he going to feel about Buddy over here who got the exact same recognition as Junior, for simply sitting in the outfield and picking dandelions? Or maybe Junior was the one who goofed off during the game, paying more attention to picking on little Jane and pulling her pigtails; while Jane is the one who worked hard to learn the skills and brought in the most home runs for her team, but was denied the extra praise and recognition that she deserved as the team's "Most Valuable Player"?

But, to be fair, let's look at the other side. What are the possible bad consequences of competition-- particularly, too much competition? Because I do believe there is such a thing.

What about the attitude that I hinted at at the very start of this article? "Life is a Game."

While I do believe that some competition in life is good and natural, it can be taken too far. A child who is allowed-- or encouraged-- to compete in every aspect of his life, is likely to grow up believing that he must always "win" in everything. He must get the highest grade. He must be the fastest runner. He must be the funniest kid in the class. He must have the biggest slice of pizza. He must fly the highest kite. The list goes on. Where does it end? Every task, then, becomes a "game" in this child's mind. His whole life becomes one big game. And as he grows up, the stakes get higher: He must make the most money. He must have the biggest house. He must have the prettiest wife. He must he must he must. And what happens if one day he loses? Well, losing feels bad, remember?

The "experts" have it right, in a way. But we're not going to help our children in the long run by doing away with competition altogether. Rather, we should be focusing our efforts on teaching our children when it is appropriate to compete, and when it is not. We can focus our efforts on helping our children to learn how to be graceful winners, and confident losers. When our child loses at something, we can help him accept the defeat, and then help him find ways to become better, or else encourage him to try out other skills that he might excell at.

And, ultimately, our goal should be to teach them that the greatest achievement in life is simply to be the best people they can be, to realize and to accept their own strengths and their own weaknesses, and that they don't have to "win" at everything in order to be good and valuable human beings.

A little friendly competition in the form of "games" is the first step.

Romantic Love vs. Parental Love

Okay, this question came up in an online forum and I responded there, but I thought it worth sharing my response here, because it was thought-provoking for me.

Here's the question: How do romantic love and parental love compare? How are they the same? How are they different?

Interesting question...

With my children, it is rather a different kind of love in some ways. I feel more responsible for my children than I do for my spouse. I feed them, I play with them, I comfort them...I can do all these things for my spouse, too; but when I serve him, he realizes I'm doing it out of love and that he really has no right to demand that I do these things for him, and he thanks me regularly. With my children, though, I consider it my job to care for them, and I do it whether they appreciate it or not.

It is a nurturing love. I love them because I serve them; because they need me; because even before they were born, I knew them better than anyone else in the whole world knew them.

It is an awe-inspiring love. I know hormones have a lot to do with it (don't they in romantice love, too, though?); but when I gave birth to each of my boys, and they were placed in my arms, it was a moment was like no other. And I felt my whole soul and body reaching out to that newborn baby, like but also unlike, the feeling that accompanies sex-- only more pure and innocent and 100% selfless, because I knew there was no way my child would ever be able to repay me for what I had just given him and would continue to give to him for at least the first 18 years of his life.

Even romantic love changes after having a child. I have fallen more deeply in love with my husband since having our children. We have created two lives together, we are now "creating" two young men together. It's not always easy, but, what doesn't manage to completely rip us apart can only make our bond stronger. We have learned to love each other better, and in different ways than we did before, because we've had to for our relationship to survive.

Some characteristics of a Romantic relationship versus a Parent-Child relationship...

Romantic:
You chose each other. You had time to get a "feel" for each other and decide whether or not you really wanted to be together.
You strive to "become one," where there used to be a time when you didn't even know each other and were completely independent of each other.
You are peers.
You hope to be together for the rest of your lives.
If the former turns out to be impossible, you are allowed to separate and never see each other again, and it is perfectly socially acceptable.

Parent-Child:
You chose to have a child, but he had no choice in the matter, and you have as much control over his personality as he did over yours (meaning none), yet you must learn to make the best of the situation.
You start out as "one," but over time he becomes more and more his own person, and less and less "yours."
You are at least a decade older than him (two decades if you were smart), and you will never truly be peers no matter how you may try.
You sincerely hope that he will not be with you for the rest of your life.
Sure, you can abandon your child, but if you do you will be regarded with contempt by most of society.