From today's Briefing:
Some days it feels like everything in Frisco is a competition.
Who can sign up quickest for the coveted middle school STEM camp?
Who can find the best time to show up to buy candy-coated donuts without waiting an hour in line?
Who can secure teen driving classes via an online calendar system before every other 15-year-old in town?
I sense the urgency on the streets, especially in the afterschool hours, when families are taxiing children to dance, soccer, gymnastics, cheer, volleyball, swimming, lacrosse, baseball, basketball, guitar, voice, math, taekwondo, robotics, coding, violin and/or fencing lessons. We’re competing with traffic and stoplights to get our children to competitive training on time.
I hear the urgency among high school students, especially among those with the top GPAs, the kids who know how many hundredths of a point separate one scholar from the other, who know exam scores of all their friends and frenemies, who take Advanced Placement courses not just for the extra rigor but also, maybe exclusively, for the extra points.
I see the urgency on the fourth-grade playground, especially with the basketball kids, who play each game as if they’re in the Final Four. Every few weeks I blow my whistle, gather the competitors and deliver a speech:
“This is recess basketball. This is not select basketball or tournament basketball or AAU basketball. This is supposed to be fun. This is for anyone who wants to play. You’re playing with this intensity. (I place my hand high above my head.) You need to play with this intensity. (I place my hand at my waist.)”
Frisco didn’t invent this madness – it’s simply where I experience the madness daily. It’s the community I’ve embraced for 15 years, even when I don’t always agree with prevailing opinions or motivations.
City services and facilities are reliable and clean. Neighborhood schools are student-centered and stocked with volunteers. Families reflect a growing diversity of cultures, backgrounds and religions.
These families, generous with their time and resources, want the best of everything for their children, which works well when you’re collaborating toward a common goal, such as building a park that accommodates children with special needs or approving funding for the arts. It’s less appealing when the race to the top pits child against child, parent against parent.
I don’t advocate for participation trophies or “we’re all winners” in place of keeping score. There are appropriate outlets for healthy competition. But, as often noted but rarely practiced, moderation is key.
Over spring break, our little family combined sightseeing with college tours, as we tiptoe in to university shopping for sophomore Cooper. Student ambassadors at all three schools spoke about the importance of collaboration.
The courses are tough, shared an engineering student at Georgia Tech, and you learn to rely on each other to study and complete projects. We heard the same at Auburn University and the University of Tennessee.
“You take tests by yourself,” our Auburn tour guide told us, “but the rest is done with your group.”
It was reassuring to learn that our future problem-solvers, students who competed to secure seats and scholarships, have embraced a collaborative spirit.
We didn’t limit our tours to campuses; we sought out nearby nature. We hiked to the top Stone Mountain in Georgia. We explored boulders and creeks at Chewacla State Park in Alabama. We walked trails at Ijams Nature Center in Tennessee.
Wherever Cooper spends his college days, he wants access to land he can explore, trails he can run, rocks he can climb. He’s savvy enough to know he can’t avoid jostling people altogether – and wise enough to know he needs an escape plan for the roughest days.