A Teenager's Lesson for Vince Lombardi

"Winners never quit, and quitters never win." - Vince Lombardi

Vince Lombardi (Photo from Sports Illustrated)

If anybody could speak to being a winner, it was Vince Lombardi.

As the coach of the Green Bay Packers, he won two Super Bowl titles and five NFL championships. And the Hall of Famer never experienced a losing season as an NFL head coach.

But thanks to my 13-year-old son, Lombardi's quote now rings a bit hollow for me. Just a few weeks into his first season of conditioning workouts with the school's football team, LJ quit on his coach and his teammates.

And I support it.

In fact, not only do I support it, I can say that I watched my son mature and grow through the process -- even as he pronounced himself to be a quitter.

First, let me say that I absolutely love LJ's football coach. He's the right blend of tough and tender; cares deeply for his players; and always puts academics first. He holds his players accountable for their actions and choices, and as a parent, that's really all I could ask for.

LJ's issue with football wasn't the coach. And really, it wasn't the football.

It was everything else.

Although LJ just began workouts in January, he was already feeling the pinch on other areas -- wanting to participate in activities like Science Olympiad and chess, while also juggling his regular academic load in school. He arrived home exhausted after workouts, and started to feel the effects in the classroom with forgotten homework assignments and careless mistakes.

LJ wondered aloud how he would possibly manage it all when the "real" season began in August with even longer and more frequent practices, late night travel on game days, and an equally tough course load.

But Jack and I encouraged LJ ... told him his grades were fine (which they were), and that he could do it all if he just put his mind to it and just wanted it enough.

The mantra?

Our children will not be quitters.

Winners never quit, and quitters never win.

LJ kept a positive attitude through it all. He didn't complain about sore muscles. He talked excitedly about being part of the team and "earning" whatever minutes he might get on the field. And he began to develop a deep respect for his coach.

But earlier this week, I found LJ in my office after school, when instead he should have been at football practice.

I asked him why he was in my office, and he said, "Didn't you check your email, Mom? I sent you an email."

Irritated and feeling like I was about to hear some lame excuse, the mantra went through my mind:

My children will not be quitters.

Winners never quit, and quitters never win.

I started in on LJ, but his expression spoke volumes, so I opened my email:

Subject title:  I have Decided to Quit Football

"The stress produced from football far outweighs the benefits. This stress has prevented me from performing my best academically. I'm sorry I have had to make this decision but I am too stressed from football to continue."

And then I looked at LJ, curled up in the armchair in my office, and I simply said: "Okay. You can quit."

Future football dreams ... dashed.

With some cajoling, LJ talked to his coach in person, and gave him the same reasons for leaving the team. To his credit, the coach sensed LJ's anxiety, agreed that academics have to come first, and left the door open for him to join the team in future years.

As we walked back to my office, the relief was tangible. LJ's mood was lighter and he couldn't stop smiling.

Watching your child quit something -- walk away without remorse -- now that's a humbling moment. 

But on the inside, I was smiling too. 

Once again, my child had been way smarter than me. He knew his limits, knew when he'd reached the tipping point, and knew when to quit and be okay with it. In this case, quitting equated to winning. 

At least for LJ.

"Mom," he said, "I feel like half of my brain has just cleared out. I can think again."

Not exactly sure what was in the other half of his brain, but I didn't want to press.

Instead, I just gave him a hug and kept my mouth shut.

The NFL Hall of Fame may not be in LJ's future, but this was most definitely a Hallmark moment.

Popping "The Bubble List"

Image from chicagonow.com

Last month, Huffington Post published an article by blogger Emily Mendell called: The Bubble List: 31 Things My Sons Should Be Able To Do Before They Move Out.

If you haven't read it yet, I suggest you do. It's a well-written, poignant, and endearing piece that both moms and dads can identify with, no matter the age of your children.

The first 30 items on the list are basically actions or life-skills your child will, in theory, have to tackle at some point in his or her life. 

If I'm being honest, though, there are many items on this list that fall into one or both of two categories:

1) Never done it or had to do it (and I'm rapidly approaching 40)

2) Will be made obsolete or altered to a point of such ease that they are afterthoughts (thanks to technology and smartphones)

I couldn't care less if my son knows how to check the oil (#10) or if my daughter ever learns how to make hospital corners (#25). 

And it hasn't held me back in life that I have no clue how to sew a button (#26) or replace a fuse (#28).

There is one item on the list, however, that deeply resonates with me. And it's the final thing that Emily lists:

31. Say "no" with confidence

Now this is a skill worth learning -- and teaching.

Will my daughter confidently tell a friend, "No, I'm not getting in the car with you because you've had too much to drink." (And even more importantly, will she take the keys?)

Will my son confidently tell a teammate, "No, I'm not cool with you picking on that kid because he looks different/acts different/seems different." (And even more importantly, will he make the "different" kid feel welcome?)

Will my daughter confidently tell herself, "No, I don't need to lose five more pounds so I can look just like the model in Abercrombie?" (And even more importantly, does she realize how beautiful she really is, inside and out?)

Will my son confidently tell himself, "No, I don't need treat girls like sexual objects just because I see other guys doing it?" (And even more importantly, will he respect a girl when she says "no" with confidence?)

#31 -- Yes, this is the one thing on The Bubble List that keeps me up at night. Not just for my own kids, but for their friends, their acquaintances, and for those I've never met. 

Growing up wasn't easy for any of us, and it's exponentially harder for our own children's generation. 

Our children are constantly connected, frequently distracted, and always seeking instant gratification. Language skills are eroding because of text messaging, 140 characters, and diminished face-to-face conversations.

Saying "yes" these days is just way too easy.

So is the real issue that my kids should learn how to shave with a razor (#11) or catch the subway (#7)?

Of course not. 

It all boils down to #31.

If there's one skill we give our children -- one gift we bestow upon them before they leave "the bubble" -- we must teach them to say no with confidence. 

It's a monumental task, but it all begins with modeling. 

It's on us as parents, as educators, and as human beings, to teach our children not only to say "no" with confidence both face-to-face and in cyberspace, but also to stick to their word and stand strong when those around them cave into pressure.

Thank you, Emily, for a thought-provoking piece. 

And I especially thank you for saving the best for last.