A 'Spoiled' Stereotype on the Peninsula

My son, Robbie, grew up on the Peninsula. Plus, he’s a stand-up comic and writer, so I knew he could give me solid advice on this particular column topic: Are Peninsula kids spoiled?

“You’re supposed to write about 750 words, right?” he asked. “That’s too bad, because you can answer that question in one word—yes.”

That made me laugh, but I could practically see the hackles rising on readers about to leap to the defense of Peninsula kids. So let’s clarify some things: Yes, there are unspoiled and unselfish kids here, just like anywhere else. And no, I don’t think money and other advantages guarantee kids will be spoiled. 

But I do think Peninsula parents have to work extra hard to raise kids who don’t think they’re better than others, who don’t expect to get everything they want, and who appreciate how fortunate they are. 

I grew up in this community and raised two kids here, so I‘m used to the fact most of our neighbors in the South Bay assume Peninsula kids are smug and spoiled. Don’t tell me they’re just jealous, because that proves they’re right. Plus, many people who lived or were raised here, moved out of the snug Peninsula cocoon and broadened their horizons.

It’s difficult not to be spoiled growing up here. Data from the U.S. Census Bureau website shows the four Peninsula cities have a combined average family income of $183,170, compared to a national average of $62,323.

Walk through the Peninsula High parking lot, check out the cars, and compare them to what you’ll find in the parking lots of corporations across the South Bay. Per capita or per cylinder, any way you want to measure it, most of these kids drive better cars than most adults. Then throw in the houses, vacations, and all their stuff. The sum total boggles the mind.  

The “spoiled Palos Verdes rich kid” label has been around a long, long time. Decades ago, when I played sports at P.V. High, it was obvious kids from other schools saw us as rich, spoiled, privileged, and therefore, soft. That gave them extra motivation, and it motivated us too. 

In football, neighboring schools had no problem working up a good rage against rich kids when playing us. We finally got our chance when we played Beverly Hills High. For the entire hour-plus bus ride there, we mocked those movie-star rich kids. Deep down, we knew it was dumb, but we just couldn’t resist. 

Not every Peninsula kid feels uneasy about the rich-kid tag. Some years ago, my daughter played soccer for Peninsula High, and their biggest rival was Mira Costa in Manhattan Beach. After Peninsula lost a hard-fought game at Costa’s field, girls from both teams mingled together as they walked to their buses or cars to ride home. I heard a Peninsula girl say to a teammate loud enough for all to hear, “It’s no big deal losing to them. They’ll be working for us someday.”

I was shocked. Where does a 14-year-old get those ideas, let alone feel entitled to announce them to the world? And how little perspective can you have? Manhattan Beach isn’t exactly the wrong side of the tracks. Home values, family income and other financial metrics match those of RPV, PVE and RHE. (Rolling Hills, the city “behind the gates,” beats almost every city in the state.)

This anecdote is the very definition of a spoiled kid—immature, self-centered and unable to deal with a world that doesn’t give him or her everything they want.

You hope kids like that will somehow outgrow the attitude. I say “somehow” because, not surprisingly, P.V. parents can be as spoiled as the kids. How often do they badger coaches and teachers when their kids don’t get exactly what they want or think they deserve?   

The other day I met a former coach from one of our schools. We talked for about an hour. He was inspiring, dedicated, successful, but finally, exhausted by spoiled parents. 

The last straw came when picking team captains. Three kids were up for the honor. Two told the coach that if picked, they hoped they’d do a good job for the team. The third kid asked for a checklist of exactly what had to be done to become captain, because it would look good on college applications. 

“To this kid, it was all about ‘me,’ not the team,” the ex-coach said.

He picked one of the other candidates and suffered a season full of harassment from an angry dad. He now works at a store—and that’s our loss.