現今大多數的小孩都被父母呵護備至，從小就給予很多的讚美與獎勵，因怕他們心靈受傷，而不讓他們經歷任何失敗。中國人有句俗話，“失敗乃是成功之母！” 人一生總不能一帆風順，總有遇到挫折的時候，如果父母太過於保護小孩，從小就讓小孩活在“美好世界”，他們長大后可未能承受這個“現實生活”。但也有一部份家長讓小孩去學各種技能，參加各樣比賽，小小年紀就接觸很多競爭，壓力，這樣又會不會影響了他們童真的幼小心靈呢? 如何取得平衡，或許真的值得家長們思考。
以下是一位母親(Amy Graff)分享她的女兒如何從游泳比賽中經歷失敗，從而學會堅持，拼搏的精神:
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Why Kids need to learn to lose?
In third and fourth grade, my daughter played on a co-ed basketball team. The scoreboard was never turned on at games and at the end of the year all of the kids went home with a medal. Everyone was a winner—even my daughter who was afraid of the ball and looked like a deer in headlights every time someone passed it to her.
This approach to kids’ sports isn’t unusual. When my children played soccer in preschool and kindergarten, they kicked the ball around in a similar idyllic world where nobody kept score. My son preferred picking daisies on the sidelines over playing at games, and my daughter once scored a goal for the opposing team—yet they both received shiny participation medals at the end of the year.
The idea is to teach kids that sports are about having fun, not only about winning (and losing). The concept is wonderfully warm and fuzzy, but many child experts are finding that this approach is doing more harm than good. Today’s kids are growing up in a unrealistic world where everyone goes home with a trophy, a medal or a ribbon for just showing up and doing nothing particularly special. Sports teams are passing out so many tokens of recognition that the that “trophy and award sales are now an estimated $3 billion-a-year industry in the United States and Canada,” journalist Ashley Merryman noted in a New York Times op-ed piece about this culture that over-rewards kids. Is this good for kids? What happens when these kids don’t get into the college of their dreams? Will they have the coping skills to deal with such loss? What happens when these kids start their first jobs? Are they going to expect a raise just for showing up?
Merryman, who co-wrote the blockbuster parenting book Nurture Shock with San Francisco dad Po Bronson, believes this “nonstop recognition does not inspire children to succeed.” She explains:
By age 4 or 5, children aren’t fooled by all the trophies. They are surprisingly accurate in identifying who excels and who struggles. Those who are outperformed know it and give up, while those who do well feel cheated when they aren’t recognized for their accomplishments. They, too, may give up.
It turns out that, once kids have some proficiency in a task, the excitement and uncertainty of real competition may become the activity’s very appeal.
If children know they will automatically get an award, what is the impetus for improvement? Why bother learning problem-solving skills, when there are never obstacles to begin with?
If I were a baseball coach, I would announce at the first meeting that there would be only three awards: Best Overall, Most Improved and Best Sportsmanship. Then I’d hand the kids a list of things they’d have to do to earn one of those trophies. They would know from the get-go that excellence, improvement, character and persistence were valued.
As a parent I’ve found it difficult to find opportunities for my children to win and lose, especially in those early, impressionable years, from preschool to third grade. They were playing on fields and courts where nobody kept score. Both my son and daughter became lukewarm about sports and I think it’s partially because they weren’t experiencing the joy of winning and the sting of defeat. Why play if there’s not a chance of winning? They liked seeing friends at practice but they didn’t care whether they went to a game and they lacked a drive to improve.
And then my 10-year-old daughter joined a competitive swim team—and was thrown into the crazy world of swim meets where your time matters. I feared the pressure would scare her away but instead she fell in love with the sport and naturally developed a drive to excel. Before her first meet, she was terrified of getting disqualified and sure enough she was DQed in two events. She was upset but realized that her loss taught her an important lesson—she would never again forget to touch the wall with both hands when she finishes.
A few weeks ago, she flew across the pool at a swim meet in Napa. She knocked several seconds off her time in every event. After participating in a half-dozen meets, this was the first one where she really turned on the horsepower. On the drive home, she was bursting with enthusiasm for a sport she has grown to adore over the past year.
“I want to go to swimming every day this week,” she told me.
“Fine,” I said. (I’ve learned to let her dictate when she wants to go to practice, so she takes ownership of the sport.)
“I’m going to get a JO,” she added.
She was referring to a qualifying time that would allow her to swim at a special Junior Olympics quarterly meet for the Northern California region.
It seemed entirely possible. In three events—50 fly, breast and free—she was only a few seconds away. Many of her teammates were getting JOs. Why not her?
I dutifully drove her to swimming almost every day that week. She sat in the backseat, explaining to me the technicalities of flip turns, pull downs, racing dives. She put in extra time after practice with her coach.
“I’m going to get that time,” she repeatedly told me. I just kept telling her that it’s important to try her best—as I’ve learned to put emphasis on effort rather than time—so she’s motivated to get that time for herself, not me.
Last Saturday morning, her father loaded the car up with lawn chairs, towels, snacks, bottles of water and all the stuff that you seem to need (but really don’t) when you’re spending an entire day at a swim meet. I stayed at home with our son and new baby, but I held my phone close all day waiting for updates.
In the first race, she held her time. In the second, she dropped a few seconds but still no JO and in the third the same. On Sunday, she improved in two races but in her last race—the 50 free—she was a second slower. A second. No big deal, right? In swimming, a second is actually a huge deal. It can be the difference between a medal or no medal.
My daughter returned that afternoon crestfallen and crashed down onto her bed where she lay depleted and depressed, tears wetting her pillow. I tried to talk to her but she scowled at me and pushed me away.
I was secretly glad that she was experiencing defeat. This was a great life lesson, I thought. This is going to build character, to teach her how to persevere.
Then I started to worry. Her sour mood continued through the day and into dinner. I tried talking to her again and she burst into tears and told me that she hated swimming and didn’t want to do the next meet. She didn’t want to go to practice on Monday. Was she really going to give up this easily?
I was tempted to give her pep talk but I’ve learned these only frustrate her. She needed to lead the conversation. She needed to work through her feelings herself.
When I went to tuck her into bed, she perked up and finally started to talk about what happened, “Mommy, I know I could have done better in free. My dive was late. I felt fast in the first lap, but after my turn I slowed down. I know I could have gone faster.”
I just listened.
“I want to go to swimming tomorrow. I’m going to get that JO. The next meet, Mommy. I’m going to get that JO. I want to go to swimming every week.” She was over her loss and focused again on winning.
My daughter hasn’t received a single trophy, ribbon or medal. She was completely driven by her desire to get that certain time—her desire to win.
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>>Credit by SeattlePi.com