Let me set the scene: It’s early morning, and the air is buzzing with anticipation for the race you’ve been training for. Months of sweat and effort have led to this moment — your very first half marathon. Volunteers hand you your bib, and you scurry off to stretch and connect your playlist. As you stand there, nerves swirling, you wonder if you can actually do it.
And then, you’re off! Gone are the days of lounging on the couch, glued to your screen. Sure, your run might resemble a brisk walk more than a sprint, but this isn’t about elegance or speed. It’s about setting a goal and pushing through, and you’re doing just that! As you near the finish line, the crowd has thinned, and you realize that it doesn’t matter — everyone gets a medal, and you’re eager to showcase yours on social media with a triumphant selfie.
With legs shaking and breathless, you cross the finish line and scan the area for a volunteer handing out those coveted medals. Instead, a woman in a bright shirt approaches, pats your back, and simply says, “Good job,” before moving on. Is that it? After all the effort, you receive nothing more than a casual compliment? This is beyond disappointing. Many will hear about this!
Ah yes, the sting of not earning a participation trophy as an adult. But let’s be honest: Adults don’t refer to their rewards as “participation trophies.” We avoid labeling ourselves as “losers.” Instead, we indulge in our own trophies — wine, Netflix, retail therapy, and even the occasional self-care session. And let’s not forget about the ultimate reward: intimacy. Yes, sex is the trophy of all trophies when it comes to adult participation.
I revel in the irony of participation trophy critics. If I face defeat, I’m headed straight to the “trophy tent” for my consolation prize. Hand me a cookie or a certificate, but don’t leave me empty-handed! If self-affirmation sufficed, social media wouldn’t be flooded with likes and posts.
I’m competitive, but I refuse to be harsh towards kids. Years ago, I volunteered to guide a group of elementary school girls. Not every child was eager to engage; some were defiant. However, every girl attempted to contribute positively in her own way. Those who completed certain tasks earned badges, while others did not. Yet, at the year-end ceremony, each girl received a unique participation certificate and a small token. It was vital to communicate, “I see you.”
Walking through life alone is a crushing experience. No one truly achieves success in isolation. Recognizing kids for participating doesn’t shield them from the reality of failure or the need to adapt. Hardship is a part of life, and I wouldn’t wish the struggle for resilience on any child. I wish every child a joyful childhood, filled with fun and carefree experiences — except maybe that one kid who splashed me at the pool. Seriously, what’s up with that?
Kids need encouragement and support; they face enough challenges in life as it is. Until adults relinquish their own “medals” for coming in last, I’ll be showering participation trophies on the deserving kids like confetti. For every child who tries their best, I see you! The critics can take a back seat.
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In summary, the discourse surrounding participation trophies often overlooks the vital importance of recognition for effort, especially in children. Celebrating participation fosters a sense of belonging and encouragement, countering the harsh realities they will inevitably face later in life.