How to Handle a First, Crushing Disappointment

Gabe received the first rejection in his life as a budding athlete yesterday, being left off a travel basketball team on which eight of his Alpha-male friends earned spots.

Now 12, Gabe is becoming increasingly taciturn, monosyllabic and withdrawn. As a depressive, I'm watching these behaviors carefully: are they just the beginning of adolescence, or are they something more ominous? Will he rebound from this, will he use it as motivation, or will he withdraw into himself?

These things sound so small, but to a lucky kid like Gabe they're enormous. He's always been a good athlete, but never particularly big or fast. His contemporaries are starting to get bigger and stronger. Of his favorite sports (baseball, basketball and soccer), basketball is probably the one in which he has the least talent.

He absolutely will not let me talk to him about this. Fortunately (I guess), I wasn't home last night when he received the bad news, and the One True Wife spent the evening alternately consoling him, leaving him alone and listening to him, depending on his mood at the moment. He had basically cried himself to sleep before I even got home.

I remember that, until about the age of 30, I absolutely cringed when my old man wanted to Have A Talk, or Give Me Some Advice. There was a certain tone that I perceived in his voice -- a certain gravity and ponderous pitch, and a somber stitch at the center of his brow -- that I couldn't bear. I see myself having just this affect on my son, despite myself.

There is so much I want to say to him: Michael Jordan was left off his high school basketball team his sophomore year, and used this as motivation for the rest of his playing days. Maybe he (Gabe) can find motivation in the rejection -- what else, after all, is rejection good for?

Our daughters had contentious but DNA-reinforced ties with their mother that they didn't have with me; and my son thinks I care too much about his success in sports, and would rather I never spoke to him about it.

But I see his hollow eyes and his permanently downcast gaze, and I fear that more than just his athletic life is at stake.

What does one say?

--T.A.

Comments

[JewishAtheist]

I'm not a father, but I am a son. :-) This leapt out at me:

and my son thinks I care too much about his success in sports,

If that's the case, it's no wonder he doesn't want to hear from you about sports. Any attempt to help could be seen as an attempt to make him more acceptable to you. Maybe you could engage with him more on non-sports-related stuff so he doesn't think (incorrectly, I'm sure) that if he doesn't succeed in sports, you'll think less of him.

[amba]

"Permanently"? Probably not. This too shall pass.

But he's taken it to heart, obviously, and he's not letting you see his heart, so you don't know how dark it is. As you say, he's been a lucky kid. Even the lucky have to learn how to roll with the occasional loss, rejection, disappointment.

*sigh* It's just so hard to be a human being, and it's in adolescence that you really start taking that burden on your own shoulders and feeling what a yoke it is.

[Mom]

Your reaction to Gabe's sports disappointment is just basic training for how you'll share, if you can, other bumps in his road. So it doesn't do to say that sports are less consequential than, say, being jilted, not getting into the college of your choice, or not being elected class prez. So what do you do? You respect his grief, his anger and self-doubt and whatever else a rejection activates, you tell him you are sorry, and you don't linger too long in the wallows. You make other interesting topics and actions available without pushing him away from his cruel disappointment. And let him know how much you love and admire him for his developing grace in the face of a setback.

[Danny]

I've been thinking about this post for days. Is there anything harder as a parent than learning how to tolerate our children's pain and disappointment? I've certainly been guilty of "comforting" my child in such a way that denies her feelings. I grew up in a household where my father would freak out if we suffered a moment's discomfort. As a result, we all learned to hide our discomfort from view, first from him, and then from ourselves, which is not good (and ultimately leads to extended visits to a therapist's couch). I LOVE your mom’s advice above. Is she a child psychologist—or just a good mother?