Hellobee

There were several reasons we chose Tae Kwon Do as Spencer’s first “group participation sport.” Some of the reasons were cultural, some of them behavioral, and some of them were of what I consider the “mama’s prerogative” nature. Two of these more “mama’s prerogative” reasons included “no weekend commitments” (what can I say… weekend time is too precious around here!) and “no competition.” Don’t get me wrong… I think that competition is good for your soul, spirit, and confidence. But, I wasn’t on board for that at age four. Tae Kwon Do offered the perfect solution… lots of focus on team work, but no competition… except for that of the self-competition/strive for improvement/belt testing variety. Now, I’m not living with my head in the sand. I know there are competitions in Tae Kwon Do, it’s an Olympic sport even! But that was for when he was older.

Or so I thought.

About a month ago, the Manager of the dojang called to tell me they wanted my son to compete at an upcoming state competition. My first reaction was to laugh. Which was quickly followed by, “Are you kidding me!?” Not even two weeks prior, it took Mini Michelangelo not one, not two… but THREE tries to actually test for his next belt. He simply didn’t want to do it. He knew his stuff… but just did. not. want. to. test. I was infuriated, my son was indifferent. So, imagine what my initial thoughts were when they told me that they wanted to send him to the state competition. They asked me to not make a decision, but to think about it.

The next few classes were sandwiched between discussions with the Manager and the Master about “could he?!” And “should he?!” And… “can I?!” That was when it hit me. This was not about my fears for him, my worries, my nerves. It was about his. Of which there were none. Now, in part, that could have been due to the fact that Mini Michelangelo had no idea what a competition was. And, given who he is… he has no idea of what “failure” is. When that dawned on me, I realized we needed to let him at least try.

I know I won’t be able to protect him for the rest of his life… and I know there will be failures and let downs along the road. I realize that as much as I want to, I can’t put him in a safe little bubble. All I can do is make the best decisions I can on his behalf until he’s able to make them himself. We just did this for school, so why was I unable to do it for a competition?! I knew in my mind he was capable of learning the forms he needed to know in order to compete. I knew in my heart that he doesn’t like to do anything until he can do it perfectly. I knew with my gut that I had the perfect team here to help him do the best he could. Or, at the very least, it was the best group of people to have by your side if you didn’t succeed. So, I said yes… and then filled out the paperwork.

All we wanted was for him to go, have a good time, and do his best. The only thing we didn’t want to happen was for him to cry and run off the mats. As the Master and the Manager said again and again and again… it was about the experience. He was the youngest student that they have sent to competition. They knew (as did we) that technically he was more than ready, but that emotionally he had a lot to overcome. I mean, what four year old walks into a gymnasium full of people and NOT have nerves and uncertainty?! But, the earlier you are exposed to that sort of environment, the better… right?! I didn’t have that experience until 5th grade… and by then… wow, it is probably a hundred times more overwhelming. Nerves and uncertainty mixed with 5th grade self-awareness does not make for a good feeling.

In the end, my guy walked in as though he owned the place. Never saw that one coming. He was calm and confident. And right then, I knew we had made the right decision for him.

And then he won Gold in Forms his division. I’m pretty sure we are all still a little bit in shock.

Moral of the story: Sometimes the little bird needs to be given some space so he can show you what he’s got.

Looking back, there were three elements that were critical to the first competition being a positive experience. (Aside from the whole Gold medal thing… clearly, that helped.)

1. The focus was on FUN. Yes, we all worked hard to make sure Mini Michelangelo knew his forms. And yes, he was focused on the idea of winning a medal. But all along, all the adults would say “Make sure you have FUN!” In fact, when our son first saw his Master on competition day, he ran up and said “I’m going to do my best and win you a medal Sir!” To which Master said “Just have FUN!”
2. Speaking of the Master {and the Manager, and the dojang}… we were surrounded by really good people. Not only did they have more faith in him than we did at times, they showed lots of love, determination, and patience. Of course, they wanted him to win. But he never knew that…he only knew that he was supposed to have a good time. They also did everything in their power to make it the best experience for him. The Master got in touch with his favorite instructor who is currently away at college, and got him to agree to coach. The Manager had two of his favorite (older) students there competing. They both drilled it into him that it was about meeting lots of new people and cheering for your friends. (And to have FUN, of course.) We had a whole team of people that our son felt “safe” with. He knew they all cared for him and no matter what, they weren’t walking away.
3. We made the competition all about him, and what he was feeling… and not about us, and what we were worried about. It’s hard not to worry about your child’s emotions and feelings in situations like these. But when we parents are clouding our feelings (on their behalf) with our life experiences… it gets a little mentally messy. By remembering to constantly take our lead from him, we set a much more low-key/no-stress atmosphere. Don’t get me wrong… I was shaking with nerves when it was his turn, but he never saw that!

Several parents have asked me if I would have thought the competition a success if he hadn’t won Gold. That’s hard to answer since we didn’t have that experience. Yes, he won Gold… but more importantly, when it was his turn to compete, he walked on to the mat and he gave his best Forms routine to date. He was in the zone, and absolutely solid. I think that all of us pretty much felt like we had “won” then, before the rankings and the medals. For us, the success was in giving him the techniques and emotional support… then stepping back and watching him soar all on his own. Had he run off the mats in tears, I’m sure that I would have felt like it wasn’t a success and that I hadn’t made the right decision. But for now, yes… I feel it was a success, medal aside.

I know he won’t win every competition and that there are still frustrations and tears in our future… but, I am so happy we chose to let him show us what he could do. The look of pride on his face when he finished his routine was worth every moment of second-guessing the decision. (And all the other moments of hard work in the weeks leading up to competition.) He clearly loved the feeling of spreading his wings and flying since he ran off the mats, medal around his neck, and jumped into the Master’s arms yelling, “That was so much fun! When can we do it again?!”