Lessons in Losing

In my time as a baseball and basketball mom, I sit in a lot of bleachers. I sit in cold, metal bleachers in April when baseball season starts and it's supposed to be Spring. I sit in burning hot bleachers in July when it feels like my thighs are going to burst into flames at any minute. I sit in bleachers in high school gyms, in metal folding chairs of the smaller auxiliary gyms and on the smelly hand-me-down sofas that populate the waiting rooms of indoor training facilities.  And really, over time I don't even notice what I'm sitting on because I'm watching my boys and their teammates so intently. Even though I'm supposed to be totally chill about the whole thing, because "it's just a game, blah, blah, blah." I'm usually fidgeting and changing positions and sometimes getting up to pace around a lot because I'm hoping, pleading and praying for a big, fat, humongous win. Make no bones about it, there has never been a game where I started out not wanting a massive victory. Sure, the lessons brought from losing are critical to raising well-adjusted, resilient children, but there hasn't been a single time when I looked forward to those teachable moments.

I remember the days when I couldn't really pay attention to the game because I was trying to wrangle a toddler during an older brother's game. I barely knew when the game was over much less what the score was. But those days are long gone now. I can actually watch every inning. I can even keep track of the score and notice my kid's body language and his performance. After close to fifteen years of watching the game of baseball, I actually understand the rules and can even sometimes pick out the difference in a curve ball and a fast ball. And even more, I understand a fact about this game that has been said a zillion times: Baseball is a game of failure.

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