Thursday, May 24, 2012

To push or not to push

He'd spent weeks psyching himself up for the 2 km cross country race. Was determined he'd run well, hell he might even qualify for Regionals if he gave it his best shot. So when my eight-year-old suddenly choked a minute before the race was due to start, refusing to go in, refusing to run the race, I was surprised and disappointed. But mostly, I was disappointed for him.

Suddenly the proud little boy who'd won the Small Schools Championship, entered District and qualified for Zone, and who had his shoes on and legs limbering up, had a minor meltdown. He looked terrified, wounded, unable to cope.

"I don't want to run Mum. You can't make me. I won't!"

He was right, I couldn't make him. I also didn't know whether I should even try. What was the right reaction here? What was the reaction that was not going to turn my boy into a reluctant sportsman or a quitter for life?

Should I have insisted he step up and run the bloody race? Was that too harsh? Too 1955? Would he come away with a fierce hatred for competition after that?

Should I have given him a cuddle and told him it was all okay, it didn't really matter in the great scheme of life? Was that too soft and flippant, and so typical today? We're so keen to bubble-wrap our kids now, we often don't push them into taking risks that help them grow into bold and confident adults. Would this one day lead to him walking out before the HSC, quipping, "It's too hard, I don't want to do it, you can't make me!"

Or should I have made light of the whole thing and left it at that?

It's hard to know how to react to our children's little meltdowns and it's hard to react naturally when there are scores of other parents and children watching, intrigued and judgmental from the sidelines. But I tried to cajole him into running, I tried to walk him to the start, and when that failed, I bent down and told him he would regret this decision, that he was letting his team and, more importantly, himself down. "It doesn't matter if you come first or last, you're a winner just for entering the race," I spurted. The usual cliches.

It didn't make a jot of difference. He wouldn't budge. And so we left with our tails between our legs and felt flat for the rest of the day.