Source: The Rat Race: An Open Letter to Competitive Parents, from the Parent who Concedes | JAG GYM Blog

Dear fellow parents,
I am writing to you because I give up. Your child is better than mine. You win. I am throwing in the cards. I will no longer play the game of competitive parenting.
I’ll admit it. I am a little scared. What if by quitting the competitive parent game I am dooming my kids to a life a mediocrity?
On the other hand, what if by continuing to run the race I am giving my girls a chance to grow into the people they were meant to be? If that means that they are not sufficiently impressive for me to experience the raised eyebrows of “wow, you must be a great parent” at the next cocktail party I attend, so be it.
I, like I suspect most people, became a parent because I wanted the privilege of being the guardian of and guide to another human being. I wanted the gift of unwrapping each stage of my daughters’ development, including those that made me wonder if I was raising people destined to steal my sanity. Parenting has been, by far, the greatest challenge I have ever undertaken. And it is the constant rising to that challenge that has made me a better employer, friend and person.
I also hoped that parenting would bring into my life and the lives of my children a caring and supportive network, a village if you will, where we could all be interdependent, supportive of one another when things go wrong and celebratory when successes big and small are achieved.
And, in time (and by time I mean over two decades of parenting), I discovered that village. What surprised me is the game that I was sucked into along the way, a game that I am choosing to withdraw from effective immediately: competitive parenting.
Look, I am no better than anyone else who is caught playing this game. I am one of the most competitive people I know (and that is saying a lot given that I exist in the world of sports). I like to win everything, but I now realize that parenting isn’t a round robin tournament. Or at least it shouldn’t be.
Please understand, I don’t know that any of us entered into the realm of competitive parenting with the express purpose of turning what is supposed to be a relationship with another human being (parent and child) into a marker for our proof of worthiness as people. In fact, I am quite sure none of us did. I would find it surprising that anyone would undertake the responsibility of raising a child with the intention of using her as a measuring stick of one’s performance in life.
But somehow parental pride has crossed a dangerous line for so many of us morphing into a competition between parents over whose child is most talented, brilliant and unique. So when did parenting become a competitive sport? How did we get from a point of parenting being a part we play in another human being’s life to it being a report card on our success and the value of our child to society?
As best as I can tell, it begins at conception.
We don’t even realize that we were drafted into the game when it is happening. It is all innocent enough. But from the start, we slowly wade into the competitive parenting pool. It starts with assuring that we consume the “best odds” diet in pregnancy and continues with the “natural” birth vs. a birth assisted by an epidural vs. a C-section. It moves into the breast fed vs. bottle fed camps which are quickly followed by the stay at home vs. working mom debate. Instead of looking at the options as matters of personal choice and being sympathetic that we are all trying to do the best we can, we pass judgement on one another for what are private and intimate decisions.
In baby and toddler class it is the subtle “oh, is she not yet sitting up?,” “Grace gave up her bottle at 10 months.” “She’s three and not potty trained?” and “I just cannot believe that Pierre is reading in English and French at four years old.” It is the judgement of the parent whose kid has a meltdown at the mall candy store (can you even believe that there are parents who let their kids eat sugar?), whose parent allow a binky past age two (that child will never speak clearly, so there goes being head of Moot Court when she is at Yale Law), who chooses to breast feed not at all (poor thing’s brain will not develop correctly, assuming she lives without the necessary antibodies that only breast milk supplies) or for five years (deep psychological issues, obviously) or who gives plastic toys to her child (why don’t you just inject radiation in her to bring the cancer on faster?).
We are rounding the first lap of the parenting rat race…
It’s sad to say but In our quest to be and stress over whether we are good parents, we boost our parental self-esteem by stepping on those of others. And having been on both ends of the vitriol, it does no one any good, with the possible exception of companies like Baby Einstein and Kumon. They get a handsome profit off our anxiety.
In the preschool and elementary school years there are the competitions over reading and math groups, GATE programs, All-Star sports teams for kids who are still young enough to believe in the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus, peer popularity and the list goes on. And, while parenting experts and educators assure us that development is on a continuum if you happen to be the parent of a child who is on the later end of the developmental curve…well then clearly something you did in her early development caused her to be, GASP, average.
Get moving on those extracurriculars while you are at it. Is your 10 year old child still dabbling in various activities? You’ve dropped the ball. Didn’t you know that it’s your job as a good parent is to help your child find her “thing?”
Yep, guilty as charged. Private gymnastics lessons for a 5 year-old, a math tutor for a first grader who wasn’t immediately grasping division (did we even learn division when we were in the first grade?) and private singing coaching for an 8 year old so she might land the lead role in her after school drama class. Don’t even get me started on the violin, flute, clarinet, oboe and piano lessons because why try one instrument when you can try five?
And the second lap is complete…
If by middle school, heaven forbid if a child isn’t on track for either high academic, athletic or artistic achievement, and, of course, all three are most preferable. Don’t you dare let your child go through a pudgy phase or have a few pimples—solve those normal developmental quirks immediately lest she lose social standing.
Moving into the final stretch…
By high school, the gloves come off as the competition to enter into Varsity athletics as a freshman, take as many AP courses that exist (who cares if your child doesn’t like music—there is an AP Music Theory course and by golly she is taking it as her “elective.”) and beginning the sprint toward the finish line of the competitive parenting challenge: admission into a highly competitive college.
For those of you not yet to this level of the game, a highly competitive college is not necessarily the one that is most academically rigorous. No, in this case “highly competitive college” means a school that rejects significantly more kids than it accepts. With the ultimate validation of your worthiness of a parent being your (I mean, your child’s) admission into an Ivy League school.
You think that you are saving for your child’s college fund? You better also be saving for your child’s trying-to-get-into-college fund, as well. You must take your child on extensive pre-college trips so she can decide on where to apply. (Not to mention that you must be prepared to spring the equivalent of a nice down payment on a car for SAT tutoring.)
Gone are the days when your mother would wake you up too early on a Saturday morning, handed you an apple, a piece of toast, a number two pencil and send you on your way to take the SAT. Now, a complete tactical plan must be created and executed including simulated practice exams before your child sits for that three and half hour test. And seriously? What was your mother thinking giving you a breakfast that lacked protein? Tantamount to child abuse. Also, it’s your own social suicide. After all, your child’s SAT score is a direct measure of your efficacy as a parent.
And heading into the final straight away…
Mid-August of each year, the Guidebook to Ultimate Parenting Success is released: The U.S. News and World Report College Rankings. If your kid gets into one of the top 10 schools, you are a highly successful parent. Schools 11-20 will rank you as an average parent. Schools that people have “heard of” but are not in 1-20, a fair parent. And, if your child attends a college not in the top 20 AND the total stranger in line at Starbucks has never heard of, well, do I really need to say it?
Instead of college being a match to be made, it is a prize to be won. The “best” college for your child isn’t one where she will most thrive academically and socially, one that you can afford to pay for or even one where she will have the college experience she wants. Instead, the best college is the one that she is admitted to that admitted the fewest number of her peers. It is the one that provides the crown jewel of the parenting rat race: the most prestigious college static cling for your car.
Across the finish line you go… #winning
So I concede fellow parents. I am removing myself and by proxy my four children from the race. And by doing so, I am choosing to honor them, and all of the children in my community, for being exactly who they are: human beings in and of their own right, not proof of my worthiness. Their achievements are their achievements, not a sign of their value as people.
I also apologize to those of you whom I might have made feel less than, whose parenting I judged or who simply feel that no matter what they do as a parent that it is never enough. I am deeply sorry. By doing the best you can, you are enough. By being her essential self, your child is enough. Let’s join together to support ourselves, our kids and our community and recognize that we all love our kids fiercely but that parenting from a place of competition and anxiety does no one any good.
Finally, to those who take glee that there is one fewer parent in the race, you are welcome. After all, I am comforted by what one of the world’s great philosophers, Lily Tomlin, said, “The problem with the rat race is, even if you win, you’re still a rat.”
xoxo,
Anne

Source: 10 Things Parents Want Coaches to Know | JAG GYM Blog

1. I love my child so much it hurts. It makes me a little irrational. Please bare with me. Be gentle. My heart is walking around outside of me, and I entrust it to you. I am not asking for a free pass, just a little empathy.
2. And of course, I want you to love my child too. I realize you have many kids to love, but let’s admit it…mine is really awesome.
3. Despite what my actions might suggest, I want to be a good parent. I really do. So much so that I am prone to making mistakes because I over think things. I need your help in guiding me on how to be the best support for my child-athlete. If you think I am doing something that isn’t good for my child (like watching every practice or constantly bailing her out when she leaves her gym bag at home), communicate that with me. I am all for help from the village.
4. I need more information. I don’t understand things and that make me anxious. I need to understand how kids move up. I need to understand how to explain to my child what she needs to do to move on with her friends or to know that she won’t be so I can explain that to her. When I don’t have information from you, I rely on other parents, the internet or I make things up myself. We both know that this is hardly a good thing…
5. Because remember: I don’t speak gymnastics. To me a giant is a character in a fairy tale. Kip is a guy with top siders and a country club membership. And don’t get me started on Tsukahara or Yurchenko… Then, once I think I have the hang of what the levels all mean, things change, and I am confused again. Is level 6 easier than level 5 or is that just my imagination?
6. Just because I ask you a question, does not mean I am questioning your competence. I genuinely don’t understand things and need clarification. Please try not to be defensive. I am working hard to assume good faith and hope you will assume the same in me.
7. Big surprises freak me out. They freak everyone out. If my child isn’t going to move up or is missing a major skill she needs for competition, please tell me in time for me to prepare her or better yet help her achieve her goal. I know that delivering bad news is not fun for you, but if you tell me in advance I can maybe do something about it. And if bad news is unavoidable, be sensitive in how you deliver bad news but tell me the truth. In private, please.
8. Please understand we are juggling a variety of commitments and that means sometimes we might be late or even miss practice. I understand that gymnastics is your career and it makes it harder for you to do your job if my child isn’t in the gym. But occasionally a sibling’s first communion or grandma’s 90th birthday will fall on a day of practice or even a meet. And, once a year we travel to visit family and once another time we will actually scape enough cash together to go on a vacation. Sometimes the carpool falls through and I cannot get her little brother from soccer at 5pm and be on the other side of town to drop her at practice at the same exact time. We accept any logical consequences that arise because of her absence from the gym and will do our best to notify you in advance, but please do not take your anger or disappointment out on her.
9. You are the expert on the sport and my child as an athlete, but I am the expert on my child. Please know that I will always defer to you on what to teach my child, but I can provide insight to you on who she is. For instance, if one of my children says she’s not feeling well, I might take it with a grain of salt. If my other who has never missed a day of school in her life and never gets sick says that, I am certain its true. Let’s work together to share what we know so we can best understand her.
10. If you have a chance, can you encourage my kid to read, straighten our her room and be nice to her parents and siblings? You see, you have a magical influence over my child. She worships you and wants you to be proud of her. You are her role model. And I am grateful for that and am happy to bring you Starbucks whenever you need a caffeine boost.

Source: Functional Path Training: Coach John Wooden – A Twitter Coach

John Wooden died June 4, 2010 at age 99. Twitter was founded in 2006. He retired in 1975 thirty-one years before Twitter yet he was a twitter coach. Why? How? We know that Coach Wooden is acknowledged as one of the greatest coaches of all time in any sport. Fortunately during his last season coaching in 1974-75 two psychologists Roland Tharp & Ronald Gallimore studied his methods and reported on his coaching style. (Tharp, R. G. and Gallimore, R. (1976). Basketballs John Wooden: What a coach can teach a teacher. Psychology Today, 9 (8), 74-78. (Tharp & Gallimore, 1976)) In their observations of 2,326 discrete acts of teaching during thirty hours of practice they observed the following:

6.9% were compliments

6.6% were expressions of discipline

75% was PURE INFORMATION

They were short, punctuated, numerous and seldom longer that twenty seconds! There were no lectures or long drawn out harangues. There was minimal use of praise and reproofs. What does this have to with Twitter, not much directly until you think about what Twitter is intended to do – Get you message across in 140 Characters. That is what John Wooden did and he was doing it years before Twitter was invented. He was a Twitter coach before there was Twitter. There is a powerful lesson here for all of us to be Twitter coaches, know your message and convey that message in 20 seconds or less (140 Characters). If it is longer than that forget it, because the athlete is not going to get it. Be a Twitter coach and improve your effectiveness as a teacher.

If you want to learn more Wooden’s teaching methods I suggest you read Yo Haven’t Taught Until They Have Learnedby Swen Nater & Gallimore and a 2004 follow-up to Gallimore & Tharp’s original study in the Sport Psychologist journal (Gallimore & Tharp, 2004). For additional insights into his growth as a coach I suggest you read: Wooden: A Coaches Life by Seth Davis. His success did not happen by chance. It was an unbeatable combination of impeccable preparation and sound teaching.