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.
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