Try Your Best—When We Let You

Recently we made our yearly trek to Six Flags.

We laid our offering of free and discounted tickets at the feet of the Carny Gods and hung any concerns about hygiene at the turn-style door. We put this trip off until the very end of summer, the last day before the tickets the boys earned through a reading program at school were due to expire. It was a great decision considering the unbearable weather this summer. The temperature for the day was set to be in the low 80’s, overcast and breezy. It felt wonderful and we were all in a festive mood.

Right away, E had spotted a stuffed Pokemon at a game station. He had to have it. He begged and pleaded until we told him we would save the games for the end of the day, after we were done riding the rides so we wouldn’t have to carry a stuffed animal around the park. We told the boys they could each have a certain amount of money allotted to game playing, but not until then. That seemed to please E, but he continued to talk about that stuffed Pokémon for the entire day; through the line at the Screaming Eagle, waiting for the bumper cars, even around his mouthful of Stone Cold Creamery ice cream.

Each time we patiently explained to E that while he may really want that Pokémon prize, the games were harder than they looked, and the chances of winning were, most definitely, not in our favor. He just smiled and said, “Sure Mom and Dad”, but we could tell our message was lost in his daydreams of a Pokémon pal.

The time finally came when rides were done and E led us to the booth at the front of the park that was the current home of the Pokémon Tepig. The game itself appeared simple: toss a rubber ball into a tilted plastic bucket; if it stays in the bucket, you’re a winner. We assumed the boys would want us to win the toys for them; we always had in the past, so MJ and I stepped up to the line and paid for our balls.

The boys promptly watched as we each lost twice. There was a trick to getting those balls to stay put, and we knew if we could figure it out, we could put them in there every time. We paid for four more balls and promptly failed four more time. E was getting more and more upset. MJ and I had set a limit on how much money we were willing to spend on this venture and we were coming down to the wire. Our funds were low and our skill at carnival games even lower.

When we announced the money was gone, E began wailing. I pulled him aside and told him to dry it up. He knew that there was a good chance we would end up with nothing.

“That’s not why I was crying”, he said, “You and Dad did it all. You didn’t even let ME try. I could have done it.”

He was right. We hadn’t even considered giving him a chance to try it on his own. We just assumed that we could do it better. We didn’t believe he could do it, but he believed in himself.

MJ and I counted out the change we had left.  We handed our last five bucks to E who handed it to the barker for two balls. E threw the first and it bounced right back out. He held his last chance in his hand. He slowly underhanded the yellow rubber sphere toward the big red target.

The ball arched into the air and with a muffled thump, hit the inside of the plastic bucket and stayed there.

E petted and talked to his Pokémon the whole way home. If we had just believed in him and let him do it in the first place, he would have felt better, I wouldn’t be wracked with guilt for not having confidence in my son’s abilities, and we would have 20 bucks left in our pockets.

We should have allowed him the chance to try. As parents, we’re supposed to encourage our kids. We’re supposed to take a step back and just be there in case they need us, but we wait and allow them to ask for our help. We just assumed we could do it better—and you know what they say about when you assume.