“Good job darling!” I yell, with my face arranged into the Encouraging and Affirming Mummy Pose. Both my thumbs (not just one) are raised and simultaneously punctuating my prose as I shout “Great work!” and “Good try sweetheart!” whilst smiling so hard my ears hurt. Or maybe it’s the chorus of other netball mothers, out-encouraging their daughters, that’s causing the pain.
The truth is that Prima (aged 7) is shaping up to be as athletically challenged as I am. I have to say, I am very proud of her values – every week she bravely gets out there on the court, when the ball comes towards her she stoically doesn’t flinch, her concentration is palpable. She’s no One Miss Wonder, my Prima – with her little arms waving wildly, she misses the ball. My childhood friends will remember that scene well (except that I was never brave and I still do flinch).
I love the effort Prima puts into missing the ball and the goofy smile she gives me when it sails right past her. It makes me want to run onto the court, scoop her up and say “You’re the best darling!”. I know she’s not, and when the ball comes towards her, I am flinching on the inside and praying for contact. When the inevitable outcome occurs, I don’t know what comes over me but I have this uncontrollable impulse to raise both my thumbs and smile encouragingly like an idiot.
At the end of the season we proudly attended the netball gala at which every child is presented with a trophy. Quite rightly, at this young age, the emphasis is on participation and teamwork, rather than individual skill (or lack thereof). In the sausage sizzle that followed, one of the netball mothers hesitantly and quietly asked the following question: at what stage do we stop giving every child a trophy and start teaching them that some people are more skilled than others; that if you want life’s trophies, you might have to work harder.