Most kids’ activity I pay for leave me disappointed.
A $150 season of Little League with a volunteer coach doing their best to keep the kids interested (note: big shout-out to those who volunteer). Or, a $200 introductory gymnastics sessions that succumb to somersaults and water breaks after a few moments of far-too-complicated instructions each week. Worse still, a really expensive travel soccer season with a professional coach that yields little in the way of skill progress for the players on the team.
I cannot recall paying for my kids to play anything and coming away feeling like I’d gotten a bargain.
So, that was the backdrop when my wife began pitching the idea of my 6 year-old daughter, Emersyn, paying nearly $300 for a month of swimming lessons. Needless to say, I was not jumping for joy at the proposal. To her credit, though, my wife pressed me, saying, “Tobe, they guarantee that Emersyn will be swimming well at the end of the month! We live by the water, we go to the beach, and we have a pool. Come on, this is a safety thing!”
So, I begrudgingly agreed and skeptically assumed that this was nothing more than another attempt to extort money for another, disappointing kid activity, ending with my participant in a similar position as the one from which they began.
A month into these expensive swimming lessons, though, I’m sold.
I was wrong.
I learned my lesson quickly as I attended Emersyn’s third swimming lesson.
Prior to leaving that afternoon, my wife (very seriously) sat me down to explain the process to follow upon arrival at the swim school. She explained, “The swim school’s instructors are super efficient. Start by standing on the left. One-by-one, they’ll come out and call the kids to the pool. You stay outside. When you can watch, they’ll allow you in to take a seat away from the kids. After they are done, you’ll go to the other end of the pool to pick her up when summoned to do so.”
“My God,” I chuckled, half-listening and fully downplaying the need to understand the process, replying, “Honey, I’m not worried. It’s little kids swimming lessons. I’ll be just fine. I might even ask for a refund.”
Upon our arrival, I followed the herd and did what the others were doing – exactly as my wife had explained. I took my seat in the back, on a patio-like surface nearly twenty feet from our soaking wet, mostly screaming, completely terrified little ones. As teachers took our children, most erupted in tears and screams.
Most parents seemed distraught over their children seeming to hate their lesson. From the distant crowd, in fact, I saw:
- A mom sobbing.
- A dad yelling, “It’s okay, Cyrus. If you go in, we’ll get ice cream afterward!”
- A grandmother stand up, turn to me with her palms on her cheeks and state, “Oh my God, I cannot sit here and watch this!”
- And, to top it off, the school’s director come to the rescue of a teacher of four of the loudest screamers by saying, “Kendall. You’re fine. Now, let’s see your starfish back float.” Kendall sniffled, nodded, flipped on her back for ten seconds unassisted, flipped back over, and began, again, to give the crowd her familiar, blood-curdling wail.
I did not particularly notice the meticulous process the school followed. Instead, I became enchanted with the idea of the instructor’s disregard of the parents/grandparents in attendance.
- No pre-swimming breakdown of the day’s lesson. Nope.
- No allowing the kids to sit out to settle down. Sorry.
- No hesitation from disentangling a screaming child from their parent on the pool deck. Nada.
- No parent participation encouraged during the thirty minute lesson. Oh no.
- No post-swim wrap up on how your child did today. Just a smile and see you next time.
I loved it. And, more importantly, our children had only their teacher to listen to, and no choice but to learn.
Some parents, though, did not seem as impressed. The grandparents in attendance seemed particularly dismayed at the regimen the kids had been subjected to. I could see the relief on their faces when, after their children were returned unharmed and calm, they gave them a big hug and assured them that there was no need to scream anymore.
As I drove home, I started to think about the way other kids activities work in the opposite way – catering to needy, over-bearing parents who are living vicariously through the sports aspirations of their little ones as they dot the sidelines of practices.
Could relegating parents to distant, silent bystanders benefit our children outside of the pool?
Might they become more free-playing, fun-loving athletes?
Would our coaches experience less parent-issue-related burnout?
Certainly parents would, eventually, be assured that such an environment will provide the best value (kids leaving better for having participated), right?
My experience is that parents love to be over-bearing during the early years of their kid’s activities. As such, I can almost feel the virtual eye-rolls I’m getting as you read.
I can predict the criticisms:
“I know my kids best so let me tell them!”
“Honey, if you’re that upset, you don’t have to practice today.”
“Coach, he’s just not up to playing tonight.”
“I paid the money for him to join, I can say whatever I want.”
“He’s sensitive, you should take it easier on him!”
I do hear you – and, at times, think that I have the right to be as involved as I’d like during my kids’ athletic endeavors. After seeing the swim school operate, though, I’m left asking myself if I’ve reached the point where my involvement helps (stands in the way of) my kid excelling. By being over-involved in practices, am I sabotaging my own perception of value and stunting my kids progress simultaneously.
I’ll continue to think about this next time I take Emersyn to the swim school. I’ll stand dutifully to the side as they teach her water survival skills. I’ll watch them have crying kids float and screaming toddlers bob their faces in the water.
I’ll ponder that model while, later, I take my son to a soccer clinic where a coach will hold a pre-practice meeting where his agenda will be laid out for the parents in attendance, before listening to sideline parents yell instructions, orders, or, at times, compliments, toward our little ones – distracting them from the lessons on the coach’s initial agenda.
My son, I imagine, will leave the soccer pitch with the skills he’d come with.
My daughter, on the other hand, learned the backstroke today while, last week, she could barely float.
As her Grandma, I cringe… but as an older person, it makes sense. (Except maybe the price tag)… watching the development and refinement of the “helicopter parenting” age is something to witness for those of us in our twilight years. The proof is in the outcome, which sounds like a win. By the way… best phrase in today’s blog… “more free-playing, fun-loving athletes.”… THAT would be a definite win.