What examples are we giving?
When I was a kid, I didn’t like playing football very much. I remember that in primary school, the school organized tournaments on Saturday mornings, in which they competed, in principle, by grades, but the very good teams had the enormous pride of playing against higher grades. My teammates spent the whole week discussing details of the previous Saturday’s game and planning the next Saturday’s game, with rival analysis and verdugueadas included. I was left out. I wasn’t interested.
In my teens I started to like it a little more, but I think because it was an excellent way to share time with my friends. I enjoyed it, it’s true, but what I really expected was for the game to end and for the jokes and sandwiches and soft drinks to start. One day, talking to another friend who didn’t like to play either (he was more fundamentalist, directly fell for the sandwiches) I realized the possible origin of my disinterest.
Very young, I’m talking about 5 or 6 years old, my parents took me to the football school of the neighborhood club. To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I asked for it, but I remember that although at first I liked it, little by little I became disinterested. That day, in the conversation with my friend, when I told him this story, I had an epiphany and a memory appeared covered by geological layers of life: a little friend of my age, in the escuelita, cried disconsolately. I dived a little into the memory and the mist began to fade: the energetic father insulted the teacher, the rivals, the classmates and his own son, in that order. Let us remember that he was 5 years old. As a terrible irony of fate, he was the best player. Perhaps it was precisely because of the pressure of the insane father: he was missing a pass, an insult. I lost the ball, insult. I missed a goal, a cataract of insults. A team-mate missed a pass, insult. An opponent stole the ball, insult. I can’t even imagine the pressure of that boy. How can it be that something a priori funny, an activity that helps to generate our concept of team, of sporting competition, of effort and, above all, of the existence of the possibility of victory and defeat is destroyed in that way?
The Argentinian Ceramic Club of Chivilcoy launched a campaign this week so that parents don’t behave like orangutans in heat on the other side of the wire. Can you imagine what must have happened for it to be a topic in the meetings of the board of directors and for them to have come to the conclusion of investing silver in the flags?
Parents, please don’t distill hatred and frustration on your children. If your lives are a disaster, take advantage and try to make your children’s lives different. Please. Thank you very much.
Hipólito Azema nació en Buenos Aires, en los comienzos de la década del 80. No se sabe desde cuándo, porque esas cosas son difíciles de determinar, le gusta contar historias, pero más le gusta que se las cuenten: quizás por eso transitó los inefables pasillos de la Facultad de Filosofía y Letras de la Universidad de Buenos Aires. Una vez escuchó que donde existe una necesidad nace un derecho y se lo creyó.
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