On Saturday, a variety of emotions scorched my heart.
My daughter played in her first tennis tournament. On the morning of her “big” day, we ate a family breakfast. She laughed as she picked at her eggs and kept asking if it was time to go play. Before we left, we told her we were proud of her and encouraged her to do her best.
On the drive to the tennis center, she sang while the radio played. I detected no nervousness on her part. As we approached the building we sat in the chairs, she poked me on the shoulder and said, “Momma, my tummy is going up and down. I think I am nervous.” After taking her to the restroom, giving her a Starburst, and walking around, her nerves calmed. When her name was called, my husband and I watched as she approached the coordinator, gathered her balls, and met her opponent.
As she walked over to the court, we accompanied her. She grabbed her racket and we wished her luck. Her opponent served first and as my daughter struggled with her return, I realized that this match was not going to go well. My little girl tried. She hustled back and forth and aimed her racket to manuever for a point, but for 30 minutes she could not rally enough to get the upper hand. At one point, when my daughter was down in the second set, 3 -0, she lost it and tennis-ball tears fell down her face. She experienced losing for the first time. And I witnessed it, over and over again, point after point.
I wanted to run to the middle of court and scream,”Hey, take it easy, she’s only 7 and it is her first tournament!” But this was a transient and momentary thought. In the “real” world, as a mother I can only stand and witness. The anguish on her face was apparent, but I kept encouraging her to move forward and to keep playing. Part of me wanted to say, “Enough!”, but it was important for her to continue even if the result meant she was eventually going to lose. At the end of the match, she walked over to her opponent, shook her hand, and said “Thank You.” We praised our daughter for finishing the match, but also realized how much more preparation she needed in order to compete.
On the way home, she confessed, that she felt “beaten down” by her opponent and even composed a song on the recorder titled “The Beat Down Song.” We all laughed with her as she tried to make light of her loss. She knew she lost, but was able to see the light. As she giggled while playing her song, I thought about everything my daughter taught me in a few hours on a Saturday afternoon.
I cannot protect her forever.
She will lose and fall. But she will get up and try again.
Humor makes everything better.
Resilience is an undervalued quality.
The process is far more important than the outcome.
And, again, the lesson that keeps repeating itself like a mantra, we all must let go.
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
I *love* this post, Rudri. My son has been competing since about 7 or so as well (in martial arts), and I’m surprised I haven’t written about it since all of this is huge, and I find *my* stomach going “up and down” whenever he’s in this position. And it’s not just sports but academics as well. It’s a whirlpool of many competing emotions for me as a parent…
I think your daughter was just fantastic. She really needed to hang in there and sustain her motivation when she knew t
(hat things were not going well. I can’t imagine how valuable that morning was for her in terms of building up resilience and toughness. And she’s learned what it takes to win next time as well – it won’t be the last time she’ll lose but certainly there will be many more wins for her in the future.
I admire children so much. I encourage my son to get out there, be confident, do his best, to not worry if he loses, blah blah, and he does. But I could never in a million years put myself on the line like that. At 9 he is already so much braver and more resilient than I am.
Wonderfully written, Rudri!
(My cursor is acting strangely so I can’t scroll back up to check for typos!)
AGGGG, I’m dying over here! It is so heartbreaking to watch your little on falter and then fall! <3
*one*
What a wonderful sport she is! You taught her well. You’re a wonderful mother.
“Losing” and “failure” have proven to be inextricably linked to perseverance and success. And letting go is so important to letting your child own that moment. I wonder if my oldest would be any different if I had chosen to allow her to experience more failures in her early years. I love how you end with letting go. In the end, it’s the most healthy, instructive thing we can do as parents. As humans. Another lovely, brilliant post Rudri. Hugs, Renee
Oh, I’m so glad she could find humor in it!! It is so hard for me – letting go. I wouldn’t say I hover too much, at least not yet, but I silently suffer when my kids are in any kind of hurt. And they’re so young. There’s a world of hurt to discover. And also a world of wonderful and brave things.
It’s great that your daughter experienced losing so gracefully, and I especially love that she is able to laugh it off. Humor does cure all.
My older girl hasn’t been in any competitions yet, but even on ordinary days, when we’re playing something as simple as rock, paper, scissors, she cries and throws a tantrum when she loses. It’s going to be rough trying to prepare her for “real life losing”…
It is so hard to let them go. It’s hard to watch them lose and to see the defeat on their faces. We teach them to go on tho, to learn from it and figure out what they need to do to be better next time. It’s not always about winning, but giving it your all.
My daughter was able to compete and take things in stride. It was my son who was like your daughter. I know exactly how you feel. And I love that even though it was difficult for your daughter to lose, she managed to look at the silver lining. I’m guessing she learned that from you. 🙂
Everyone has to have a first tournament, and I bet very few win the first one! It’s hard to watch them lose…and especially cry while doing it!
But you are so right and it is so true…humor makes everything better! And laughing and then sleeping help almost everything!! Way to go, N. It’s only the beginning!
Rudri, she handled herself with grace and humor . A wonderful post filled love.
Amazingly heartfelt post. It can be so hard to sit back and simply allow life to impact our children. Sometimes just being there is the only role we can play. Learning how can be very difficult. Thank you so much for sharing!
Thank you for writing this! Loss is a part of life that we want to protect our children form, but eventually everyone loses. Even Jimmy Connors, even Andre Agassi, even Martina Navratilova, and even our kids. Providing them with the wearwithall to survive the losses in their lives is the best protection we can give them. Sounds like she’s doing great, and so are you!
That is tough for a little 7 year old girl. It is heartbreaking to see kids in these kinds of situations. For us it is leadership elections at Scouts. It is brutal and heartbreaking to see some of the less popular (usually ADHD or -mildly-autistic) kids who don’t get chosen – time and time again. I guess the theory is that they are supposed to learn something from these disappointments, but to me it just seems like a painful childhood memory that they will always remember.
It is so hard to watch them lose…you handled it well!