This week on the BuddyUp Server, though I am exactly one day late, the word of the week was criticism. I initially was not going to write anything at all. I worked yesterday and sometimes feel like I don't write anything worth writing if I force myself to be obligated to writing a WOTW post. Of course, it is a double-edged sword because I also feel I am letting down the people of BuddyUp even if they say otherwise.
Criticism can be a fickle thing. I think whether it is a positive or negative often depends on where a person is at in life. If you are too young and the criticism is too harsh, it can be destructive. Meanwhile, at an older age it can be constructive.
I remember when I was really young, maybe four years old, I had a terrible time learning how to tie my shoes. My brother, the usual dick he was, would just make fun of me. My father would help, but eventually he would find it funny. Eventually, they promised to buy me silly putty if I could tie my shoes on my own. I can't even remember why that was the all the rage in the 90s, but I guess it motivated me because I did end up being able to tie my shoes.
And then I got it stuck in the carpet...
I often think if I ever elected to have kids I would be a great father because I learned from that stuff. Sometimes, you just need a helping hand, an elder who knows how to carefully tread while patiently teaching you those types of things.
I had a difficult time with criticism growing up. I still have problems at times with authority figures even in my late twenties. Though overall I was a good student, there were times in school when I was pissy because of it.
I feel like I was born into the wrong family sometimes. From as far back as I can remember, I've wanted criticism - that feedback - yet the criticism I'd get from my separated parents and my brother was never really constructive, it was often that of ego and seemed to have an intent of tearing me down. Yet, after all these years, they still can't see why I don't necessarily want to be around them.
On top of knowing your audience when you are to criticize someone (i.e. being aware of their age and emotional maturity), I think people should bear in mind the area in which they are criticizing a person. Perhaps some things, like sex, should be handled extra lightly. I mean no one wants to hear that they are bad at sex - I'd imagine men especially.
Then, there is religion. While I don't disagree with religion per se, I do think there are some people who get lost within it. As much of a tyrant as my brother was to me growing up, he's now thrusted himself into the arms of Jesus and there is simply no getting through to him anymore.
I'm sure a percentage of my youth was growing pains and maybe I would be a lesser person without them. I just think a few things could have happened differently.
I tend to not have many regrets, and when I do I walk the long road to put my mind at ease over them, but one instance that comes to mind regarding criticism was when I joined the baseball team in middle school.
I may have already talked about this...so, if I have, I am sorry. It is what came to mind.
From age 10 to 12, roughly, I basically taught myself how to play baseball. I knew I had things to learn still, but I also had the presence of mind to be aware of the fact that I had the ability to succeed in the sport. Some people might view that as being egotistical, but I feel like you have to know at some point that you can be great at whatever it is you're trying to achieve...to be great. You don't just casually become the greatest basketball or baseball player of all-time. The same goes for singing and often in the work environment, as well.
As you face competition from your peers indirectly or competition directly from the opposition, you are forced to become more self-aware of your strengths and weaknesses - a bit of self-criticism. I may have been young, but I was old enough to know that regarding myself and baseball.
For the two years or so I played prior to trying out for the middle school team, I gradually became one of the top 3 players or so in the area. I could tell by the way people in the stands would respond or parents of other kids would talk to me. I could tell by the way other players reacted. I could just tell.
Still, I've always had this part of me that tears me down and never feels good enough. I am left to wonder how much of that was because of my family.
When I tried out for the middle school team, I was pretty out of place. I came from the smallest school in town while 90% or more of the kids trying out together already knew each other because they went to the better schools. Though they were all mostly the same kids I had outperformed in the league for the past couple of years and they knew I was a good player, I naturally felt out of place. They all would do their drills in groups and I didn't hardly know anybody - having to worry about that social aspect of it probably hurt my performance a little.
I ultimately made the team.
In the coming weeks, it was hard to fit in for me. Don't know what it is about suburban kids, but they're just so pretentious and judgmental.
But I knew if I just got the chance to get on the field and show my new coach what I could do and had any semblance of consistency, I could get in a good performance and build off of it.
A couple of games into the season, we had a double-header. If you aren't familiar with what that means, it just means that two games are played consecutively. This day seems burned into my mind.
The first game, I wasn't starting, which was fine. We used several different pitchers that game and we may have lost, I cannot recall. Then, the second game rolled around and again I was not starting. I dealt with it pretty well.
Finally, at some point, we used literally every pitcher we had and the coach still wouldn't let me pitch. I was right there as the coaches were trying to determine what they should do. The assistant coach even suggested that the head coach allow me to pitch and he still refused.
I did end up getting an inning or two in right field and, I think one at-bat, but I think a part of me died that day.
Maybe two weeks passed and I don't think I even had a chance to start or play at all. It became a waste of time driving as some games were an hour or more away.
You're supposed to help kids grow, doubly so in athletics, and I never saw that from him. It was a suburban coach coaching suburban kids.
I guess I had my feelings hurt so after those two+ weeks, I quit. I e-mailed the coach telling him how inadequately he coached the team, referencing the double-header in which we had nothing to lose at that point by letting me pitch even one inning. I can't even remember what all I said.
Yes, I know I am not owed anything, but I really don't view it as a matter of ego at all. And if his perspective was that I thought I was better than I was, not only was he wrong, but he should have told me that. I know very well I wasn't a cocky kid. Maybe I just didn't look the part...didn't have the suburban look. I am not really sure.
It's kind of sad that something like that killed my love for the game to be honest. All I really needed was some feedback, any sort of criticism. Instead, I was left to just rot on the bench without a word said to me and somehow supposed to make sense of it as a twelve year old.
Given that tryouts were held in the summer prior to the start of school, I hadn't actually had a middle school class yet. Once school was under way, we had physical education class (P.E.) as one of our main classes as you'd probably expect. Eventually, we played baseball in P.E. and I was doing great. Somewhat ironically, my P.E. teacher (unaware I had already quit the team) even told the coach that he needs to get me on the team immediately (right in front of me). That was awkward.
In sum, I am sure there are several things to be taken away from my story. I could have "earned my stripes", I guess, by sitting on the bench for several weeks longer. I probably could have refrained from e-mailing the coach and maybe I would have had a chance later on when my P.E. teacher talked to him.
But...I was a kid, and a good one at that. You killed my love for baseball and made my life harder than it had to be. I wish you would have criticized me.