There are 34 equally lovely contestants backstage. The emcee is about to call the names of the lucky 20 girls who made the NBA dance team my daughter is trying out for. She made it all the way to the final leg of this journey. The realization of a dream. We could not be prouder, even though my heart is visibly thumping out of my chest and my hands are shaking my program so badly that it looks like I'm fanning myself, but I'm not.
Several experts have reassured us that "It's in the bag!" and "She's got this!" But as parents we can't help but let our thoughts drift to a potentially long car ride home and the ensuing months of "parent therapy" (the only kind we can afford) if things don't go our way. If she doesn't make it, it will take "all the Kings horses and all the Kings men," plus a unified set of parents to put our little egg back together again.
One of the most difficult decisions you'll ever face as a parent is just how much to "put your kid out there." ie: what, if anything, should you encourage them to try out for. These decisions seem fairly benign when your children are young, but the effects on our children's long-term psyche and overall sense of well-being magnify as our kids mature and develop. Simply put, the stakes get higher. As a protective parent, there are times you can't help but think -- if they don't try, they can't fail...
When my kids were small, they'd jump in the car with hand-outs about Brownie Troops, Boy Scouts, basketball and soccer teams; perhaps even band. It was standard to allow/encourage their participation, as all participants were welcome. As long as they don't need me to be the Leader or Coach -- of course you can join!
Parenting didn't get tricky until down the road a bit, when your kids started joining teams that involved try-outs, judges, coaches and the dreaded C-word "cuts!"
This is a whole different ballgame. Now you're competing against other wannabes and their impressive entourage of parental backing. Everyone is saying the right thing, touting the party line, "We don't care about the outcome either way, we're just excited that Junior likes it, does his best and has fun trying!"
These people are lying through their teeth. When you're not looking, they are hiring private shooting coaches, private batting coaches and buying protein bars that cost $5 a bite. They are hiring personal trainers, purchasing world class equipment, while renting private studio space for their daughter to pirouette in. Don't believe them when they say their daughter is a "Tom-Boy Natural Beauty, just like your daughter, she's been in your city's finest salon all morning getting coiffed, spray tannned, her lashes extended, every stray hair plucked like a chicken.
There's nothing inherently wrong with any of these things, per se. You just have to be realistic, eyes wide open about what you're getting yourselves and your kids into. Parents care a lot more than they are willing to admit about their kid beating your kid out for that last spot on a team. And, chances are, you care more than you think too.
If your child succeeds, it's a high like no other. I've never done drugs, but I imagine that's what they must feel like. Conversely, if your child doesn't make the cut, it will be the worst few days or weeks of your tenure as a parent and part-time Therapist. (The length of the recovery is a complicated formula involving the age of your child, multiplied by how long they prepared for this try-out, divided by your clever ability to distract them by dangling a new dream in front of them...)
If your kid is cut, you may very well ask yourself why y'all even bothered taking the risk. You may even find yourself wishing you did do drugs, but don't, because you're going to need all of your wits about you, to get your child through this.
As the young ladies names were called, we held our collective breath and listened to name after name, doing the quick math calculation to see how many spots were still left for our girl to fill. Her number was 3, twice the announcer called 33 and 13 and my heart leapt hopefully. When they called the final squad member it wasn't our beautiful girl. Our hearts sank into our stomachs. Caring strangers seated around us reached over to clamp our shoulders in astonishment. "She was amazing! "We thought she had it!"
Like all good parents, I immediately blamed myself. Maybe when you believe in your kid and encourage them to "go for their dreams," you also subconsciously set them up to them endure this type of enormous let down. I'm secretly wishing we had just skipped all this "reaching for the stars" and enjoyed this last week of summer gazing at them instead...
It was going to be a long drive home for sure. Good thing I packed provisions:
-- Tissues (for me, my girl isn't big on crying)
-- A few verses (Jeremiah 29-11, "For I know the plans I have for you declared The Lord...")
-- My very best Parent Therapist schtick
-- The tiny cheerleader that lives inside me, always
-- An ice cream sundae (I didn't pack it because I knew it would melt, but there's plenty of places we can stop along the way and get one)
We are going to take the long way home...
Previously published on :
http://agingersnapped.com
Earlier on Huff/Post50: