With 200 meters to go in the recent BYU Triple Crown Elementary Race, my 10-year-old son, Ace, began sprinting toward the finish, closing in on the boy who was in first place. I screamed at the top of my lungs, giving him all the encouragement I could to help him reach his goal of a first-place finish.
Even with my screams and the cheers of many other spectators, Ace came in second, just two seconds behind the leader.
Ace Brown, in orange, finished second at the BYU elementary school cross country meet. | Arianne Brown
As I snapped pictures of Ace on the podium with all the other top finishers, I did not see a boy who was happy about his accomplishment. What I saw was a sad kid who was noticeably disappointed with his second-place finish.
For those brief few seconds, I thought of what I could say to make it better — things like, “You did great!” or “You should be proud of yourself.” I even thought about talking to him about not being a sore loser.
However, I knew none of those things would be worth saying because Ace wanted so badly to win. For the past few months since his last cross-country meet, he has talked about winning the fifth-grade race at the BYU meet. He has dreamed about crossing the finish line first and having all his friends see him as the winner.
I get it.
As one who has frequented the second-place spot more times than first place, I know exactly how he feels. I remember all too clearly what it was like to come in second in the 800 meters at state, on that very same Brigham Young University track as a senior in high school.
I had run a personal best time, and I remember my coach running up to me, ecstatic because we had earned enough points as a team to secure a team win. I can even see how proud my parents were of me, and I remember posing for pictures with all my family members to commemorate a successful high school track career.
Even with all the excitement surrounding me that day, I was disappointed in my performance. The 800-meter was my race to win. It was my chance to prove I was the best, and I didn't do it.
Armed with complete empathy for my son's situation, I let him feel what he needed to feel. Of course, I told him he did a good job and that I was proud of him, but I let him talk about his disappointment. Ace spoke about how badly he wanted that win and what happened during the race that cost him.
“I got discouraged when the boy passed me at the half-mile because I was tired,” he said. “I got excited when I saw the crowd at the track and started my kick too early. I should have waited.”
As he talked about the race, I just listened. I gave no advice but let him feel what he needed to feel and then come up with his own solutions. I told him I enjoyed watching him, that I knew he was capable of reaching his goals and how much I looked forward to watching his next race.
Then we got ice cream.
I have no doubt that one day Ace will come off conqueror. However, when he doesn't, I won't fill him with praise he doesn't need or want but will just let him feel what he needs to feel.
Because, after all, sadness is a natural response to a goal not met.
Arianne Brown is a mother of seven young children who loves hearing and sharing stories. For more of her writings, search “A Mother’s Write” on Facebook. She can be contacted at ariannebrown1@gmail.com. Twitter: A_Mothers_Write