In Defense of the Participation Trophy
Topics: babies, family, Auntie life, millennials
First and foremost, a piece of housekeeping business. In case you haven’t seen anyone in my family recently, big news: there’s a baby. Perfect Niece will hereby be referred to as Gigi. No, that is not her name nor her nickname. Nobody calls her that. But this is a public space and she doesn’t need to start her life being SEO-tied to my ramblings. I want her to still like me in twenty years. So without further ado, Gigi has officially entered the chat.
Last week, we were informed of her baptism day. None of our respective families have a special, heirloom family baptismal gown. I, however, have a fancy little number purchased back in ‘88 at Jacobson’s in East Grand Rapids, complete with all the bows, lace, and ribbons one dress can handle.
The idea was tossed out there, could Gigi wear my gown? That’s kind of heirloom-y, right?
I went to retrieve the dress that, likely, started my obsession with dresses. I took a deep breath before opening my baby box, knowing full well that it was going to break my heart. If not from nostalgia, from the Childless Cat Lady of it all.
And it did; I won’t lie about it. I am human after all. Deep wounds still nag long after we make peace with the decision. (Being at peace doesn’t mean “thrilled with how it all turned out.” It means “whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, it is well with my soul.” Those are different things.)
I opened the box and found what I was looking for. Dress, booties, and bonnet all there. Buried alongside the dress there is an array of other childhood outfits my mother saved for me. Fur coat with matching earmuffs. Navy and white polka dot dress. Mommy and Me Christmas sweaters.
Immediately, I pictured me and Gigi posing for some ridiculous photo op in 3-5 years (when the sweater will fit her) that I will proudly put on a Christmas card. Oh. My. Gosh. It’s just the right amount of obnoxious and kitsch! Who puts their niece on a Christmas card in a matching Mommy and Me teddy bear Christmas sweaters? It’s something out of a cliché sitcom—Childless Aunt boldly saunters in to play “parent” while Mom and Dad fume silently, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Do they tell Childless Aunt she’s crossing boundaries or do they let it slide?
Fingers crossed Ty and ML opt for the latter because I really want to wear those Christmas sweaters.
Another thing I found in the box was a handful of old assignments from elementary and middle school. Circa 2001, a teacher asked the class to write about when we die, what do we want to have done with our lives?
My answer:
I would want to spend a lot of time with my family and friends. Tell them that I love them and make sure that I accomplished all the things God planned for my life. I would try as hard as I could to finish everything that I wanted to accomplish. I don’t think little things would matter so much.
I would care about what others thought of how I acted, dressed, etc.
I wouldn’t worry about what they wanted me to do and to be. I would do what God planned for me and what I wanted to do. I would have fun and make my last days on earth the best of my life!
That reads slightly more profound than I probably meant it to be. What do I want to have done with my life? Even at 13 years old, my answer was surprisingly vague. No talk of college. Grad school. Marriage. Children. No MASH-style dreams of mansions or sports cars. No Pulitzer Prizes or New York Times best sellers. No dreams of Alaska, Hawaii, or Greece. I don’t even mention Hemingway cats!
What do I want to have done? I want to accomplish things. I want to finish projects. I want to spend time with people. I would give zero effs about other people’s opinions, following only my savior and my own whims and desires.
A few weeks ago I was watching a Reel from a mortuary manager who was answering questions about death. She commonly hears people expressing their fear of dying, and she brought a hospice nurse to talk about some reasons this may be. The overarching reason people are scared to die doesn’t come from a lack of faith or fear of the pain. People are scared of dying because they are scared of their own regrets. Unfinished business is what keeps people panicking in their deathbeds, not the fear of death itself.
Millennials get a bad rap for being softer than previous generations. We don’t chase Mayberry like the Greatest Generation. We don’t chase wealth like the Boomers. We don’t chase independence like the X-ers. We don’t chase individualism like Z-ers. Rather, we chase pieces and parts of all of those things with no single, static target in mind.
Ask any Boomer parent what their kids’ problem is and they will likely say with a hint of exasperation:
They go everywhere and do everything!
They’re never home!
Getting them to commit to plans is impossible!
All true; no lies detected. (Other than the sweeping generalizations of entire generations, but for the sake of the essay, we are speaking in aggregate.)
Millennials love a good time. We love living by the seat of our pants. We love fluid schedules, loosely made plans, rough timelines, and constant options. Certainly millennials will die with their own set of regrets, but not participating in life won’t be one of them. Whether we’re going to dive into a cheeky Christmas card photoshoot or travel to Bora Bora, we are committed to the cause just for the sake of it! We love our options, our freedom, and our dedication to finding and reinventing ourselves as we go. We are truly the mosaic generation.
It’s curious that already at 13, this mindset was internalized and vocalized. What do I want to do before I die? Live a life on my terms, by my faith, with all the fun, friends, family, and flair this spinning chunk of basalt has to offer. Yes, it’s on-brand for me, personally, but it is also just the epitome of a millennial answer. Individual, but in community. Faithful, but in a personalized way. Devout, but only to my God, not to other people’s opinions.
How did we get here? How did we become a generation of spastic cats, always looking for the next laser beam on the wall only to be aloof and noncommittal once we get it?
In simple terms: conditioning. Our Boomer and X-er parents gave us a top-notch Pavlovian reflex. When we showed up, we were rewarded for it. Even if we failed/lost/sat down in the infield, we still got a medal and a Rice Krispie Treat for our effort.
Everyone can laugh about it, but truth be told, this is the superpower of the millennials. We will show up and do the damn thing because, why not? Throw in a marshmallow covered cereal bar and it just went from a “why not?” to “hell yeah!” We don’t care if we catch the laser beam. We are just happy to be prancing around for the sake of the experience! Why? Because for most of our lives, we’ve been told that’s what counts. We may not articulate goals and hit milestones like previous generations, but that doesn’t mean we accomplish any less. It just means we appreciate the options and are OK not having a set plan for what life must be.
I could not and would not have survived the past five years if I didn’t have this superpower. It single-handedly saved me from so many dark places and dark days. The belief that participation IS the end-goal is why I never gave up. The outcome doesn’t matter; the fact that I put on a baseball hat and took the field does.
I acknowledge we can be a frustrating subset of the population, but like most aloof cats, I don’t see us changing. We are completely OK with our evasive ways and our “the experience is the prize” disposition. We love our participation trophy mindset, and I believe most of us are better off for it. Our ability to shrug things off and say, “It was fun while it lasted!” and “I’m so glad I got the opportunity,” gave us an optimism that is hard to beat (even if we can’t commit to plans or return a text in a timely manner.)
So in 2-5 years when you get a Christmas card of me holding a toddler who isn’t mine while wearing matching teddy bear sweaters, take it as my reminder of this: I’m not nuts, I’m participating. I, at the very least, owe 13-year-old me that much. After all, she was wise enough to know I don’t need a checklist of things to accomplish before I die. I simply need to show up for the plot.
And, possibly more importantly, I think it’s safe to say if any of you forget how I dress, I will be devastated. It’s thrifted J.Crew and Banana Republic. Thanks for noticing. :)
~ Tricia
Image is of original hand-written assignment on lined paper.
