A controversy arose from a twit by Peter Boghossian of Sokal Squared fame.
I’m at a softball game. It’s interesting to hear parents tell their kids “good job” after they struck out (some when they didn’t even swing and just looked at the ball whiz by). I wonder how this form of illusionary self-esteem has collectively influenced the generations.
A relatively innocuous question to ponder, given that unwarranted self-esteem, combined with pervasive narcissism, anxiety and depression, are acknowledged to be very serious problems. It wasn’t a stinging rebuke, as “good job” wasn’t exactly a standing ovation for failure. And it was just a softball game. Had it been “good try,” rather than “good job” for striking out looking, perhaps it would have been less dissonant. But wasn’t it a fair enough observation?
No, I learned from Matt Jameson. One reason this apparently piqued Matt’s ire had to do with the speaker, a conflict about which I was unfamiliar.
But whatever animosity existed there was of no interest to me. Nor were facts not in evidence, admitted for the purpose of justifying the parents’ “good job” and making Boghossian appear utterly lacking in empathy. Nope, couldn’t care less about either. But what I did care about, as I replied to Matt, was recognizing accomplishment so that the foundation for self-esteem was real.
My son was scared shitless of the ball in Little League. He was playing 2d and a pop fly came his way. He caught it, despite his fear. Afterward, we went for ice cream.
My son’s team, the Mudcats, had a stand-out player on it. That player was not my son. Nonetheless, my son got a uniform and a baseball card. He was, at the time, all of 8 years old.
I carried that baseball card in my wallet for the next decade, as it was just too adorable as far as I was concerned. When someone would ask if I had a picture of my son, I would proudly pull it out. But there was one thing I knew. He wasn’t much of a baseball player. He knew it too.
We used to play catch in the backyard so he could improve. He was a smart kid, and was well aware that if the ball hit him in the head, it would sting (if not worse). And he was disinclined to take the chance, given his mediocre catching and lack of faith in his abilities. We worked on it, as he stuck his arm out, away from his body, to catch a ball. No matter what I said, what I showed him, he wouldn’t give that ball a chance to bean him. Because of this, he would never be much of a ball player.
The little league deal was different than when I was young. Not only did they give 8-year-olds uniforms and cards, but nobody won games, and nobody lost. They didn’t keep score because of a concern that losing would impair the kids’ self-esteem. The adults, of course, ignored the fact that even 8-year-olds can count, so the players kept score and knew very well who won or lost, even if the adults pretended otherwise. They also knew who was good on their team and who sucked, or more to the point, who would let them down in the clutch.
My son played second base because that’s where the team coach told him to play. Why, I can’t say, except to note that he wasn’t the only player on the team who failed to show potential for a career in professional baseball. During one game, a game I will never forget, his team was up one run in the bottom of the ninth, two outs, with their clean-up batter at the plate. He hit a pop fly to shallow center, just beyond where my son was standing.
He backed up, called it, and the ball arced and began its descent. He reached up, glove above his face, sun in his eyes. He caught the ball. He caught the ball. The game was over. His team won. His teammates surrounded him. He caught the ball.
Over the sundae afterward, I asked him about it. I knew all too well that he was afraid of the ball, that he had no faith in his ability to catch the ball, and thus prevent the ball from coming down right between his eyes.
“What made you do it?” I asked. He responded, “I couldn’t let the team down.”
Matt characterized the parents who yelled “good job” at the children who stood there, watching the pitch go past them, as empathetic. He also distinguished them as not being those “cruel” parents who didn’t lavish praise on their kids. I’ve no doubt there are cruel parents, the ones who ridicule their kids, even though they’re only 8, for not being stars. But there were no jerks like that around my kid’s team.
There were, however, the parents who tried hard to be supportive, no matter what their child did. Like Boghossian, I wonder what the implications are of constant praise, persistent positivity, whether there is justification for it or not. Was this empathy? Was this good parenting? From the replies Matt got, it appears that a great many people are hooked on the idea that anything less than constant positivity lacks empathy.
My son never believed he was any great shakes as a baseball player. He knew, as did everyone else on his team, that they had one really good player and the rest of them were barely adequate. What he took away from the game was his obligation to his team to push himself harder than he wanted to go, and that reflected a few critical lessons. First, he learned that he had more in him than he thought if only he would take a chance. Second, he learned that his duty to others was bigger than his fear for his own safety.
There was a third lesson as well. There was such a thing as a “good job,” an actual, real, tangible accomplishment. It required more than standing there looking at the ball whizzing by, or sticking out one’s arm and hoping by pure luck that a sphere landed in it.
Aside from that catch, he still wouldn’t take the chance of the ball hitting his nose, and he quit little league the following year to take up fencing. But that one catch was huge for him and his team. So we got a sundae afterward, which we both enjoyed immensely. And he knew he accomplished something with that catch, and that made the sundae especially sweet.
Discover more from Simple Justice
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Nice! But whatabout “Centerfield” by John Fogerty? Too mainstream?
“Put me in coach, I’m ready to play”
Too obvious.
You’re right. ….i was a bit foggy this morn when i read the title… i thought ‘ huh…a post about virtue-signaling air travel..?’
Put me in coach… I can’t afford business class.
Good coaching makes you ready to play.
On the socio-linguistic side, confidence and self-esteem wins jobs, well-paid to boot. Whi needs skill or “common sense”?
We are teaching confidence, sure, but what is needed, is competence. We’re teaching hubris, and we’re going to end up with Cheeto fingers all over our bright, shining future.
I really wish you hadn’t used “common sense.”
i was out at ‘socio-lingustic’
Thank you for not saying “good job”.
I just made the happy mistake of looking up common sense in the SJ history. I learned things, hopefully that sticks.
Honestly, I have been looking for viable replacement phrases, but nothing strikes me fitting. I’m probably just stuck in the wrong headspace to find and use stronger words accurately today.
Good job.
common sense = my opinion which other rational people must surely believe
It is unfortunate that they can’t all grow up to be head of FEMA.
They could grow up to be Supreme Court justices, if only they added a few more for balance.
One justice for every congressional district sounds about right. Make them answerable to the people.
I chuckle when somebody thinks that making judges answerable to the people means they’re going to not get royally screwed if it happened. So naive.
They can also give the district judges fancy motorcycles and imposing helmets and let them dispense justice on the go.
They used to ride horses on the circuit. Fancy horses.
Little League is when a lot of kids realized that although everybody played baseball in their neighborhood (past tense – when was the last time anyone saw kids on an empty lot playing baseball?), it was a big jump to have to hit against the biggest, strongest kid pitcher who was throwing as hard as he could … with you close to being right in the way of where he was aiming. It wasn’t for everybody then and it isn’t now, especially for 8 year-olds. Baseball takes more sheer courage to play than any sport, including football.
Do kids that age even face real pitching today? I hear about tee ball and coaches pitching but I’m not sure to what age that goes on.
They start with t-ball. The kids just keep swinging until they hit the ball. Sometimes it goes into the field. Sometimes, it just falls off the tee. Either way, they get a hearty “well done” and dream of their future as a star short stop on the Yankees.
Maybe not the Yankees.
The great thing about not being good at something as a kid, and (gasp!) someone telling you so, can make you appreciate when you take up something else that you end up being good at
It can even make you grrrrreat
The unwarranted self-esteem movement hates you for being grrrrreat, because that makes other children feel badly at the realization they suck at something.
When I was a kid, we would give lip service to the adults’ advice about being nice to the other kids, but as soon as the adults weren’t looking we were mercilessly cruel to each other. I have hope that this dynamic hasn’t changed and that kids are just getting better at humoring the stupid adults. Not because I like cruelty, but because I think that people, large and small, old and young, benefit from honest assessments of their skills, and from learning how to deal with criticism and even unfair treatment from their peers. Childhood is the best time to learn these skills.
The increasing number of socialist snowflakes is worrisome. Apparently a non-zero number of kids are buying the bullshit that the adults are selling.
There was a flip side to kids’ cruelty; much as they are still kids, and hence still cruel, the recourse back when was to deal with it. Sometimes an argument. Sometimes a punch in the nose. Sometimes working on skills so as not to be the last guy picked for the team. Now, they run to mommy, who’s only a few feet away. They get the worst of cruelty without learning to overcome it.
I guess that’s the difference. 50 years ago parents could let their kids go out of sight without worrying. Now they’re called “free-range kids” and it’s very dangerous. The danger doesn’t come from evil strangers or bullies, it comes from “well-meaning” people who call the police or other authorities to report the “neglectful” parents.
That was perfect. Thank you.
This is such a charming post. What’s wrong with you? Losing your curmudgeonly touch?
You know I have a soft spot for my sons.
Since no one else will say it, I will. He’s adorable. Who’s the father?
Prick.
“I couldn’t let the team down”.
Your son nailed in six words my favorite quote regarding leadership and courage by Thucydides, “The bravest are surely those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet notwithstanding, go out to meet it.”
Most of the CMH recipients I have heard speak say something very similar. ” I couldn’t let my buddies down.”
So he didn’t make it because he had a lousy coach?
(Sorry, couldn’t resist.)
No joke. If I was a better coach, he might have been a better player.
I coached a lot, from many Little League teams to HS mock trial. I wasn’t bad but Sparky Anderson was never concerned for his job safety. The best coaches teach competence in the sport or skill but their real excellence is in teach children life skills as part of growing up.
What really worries me is how are these touchy feely always-cheerful parents going to become curmudgeonly old men! Are old men of the future going to be terrible too?