Growing Up in a Competitive Family

I am the youngest of six kids and throughout my childhood we were all involved in a variety of sports. My brothers all played baseball and football; one was a wrestler; another was a pole vaulter. My sister and I both played softball and I played volleyball and basketball, too. It's no surprise, then, that my dad grew up playing sports (hockey and baseball) and was a Little League coach for years and years.

We always played board games when we were kids--there was no Nintendo or Wii back in the day. We spent hours playing games like Monopoly, Life, Sorry, Concentration and Mastermind. We had a ping pong table and a four-hole putting green in the back yard. Oh, we also lived across the street from a park, which offered a variety of activities, from caroms to shuffleboard to checkers to handball (old school style - against a wall, not on a court).

I remember playing ping pong when I was a pre-teen, which meant my sister and brothers were all teenagers. Holy cow, we all wanted to win, so there were some intense games. At times, the paddles would fly (literally), so you had to be on your toes. My biggest challenge was always trying to beat my dad. Yeah, I had to try really hard to beat my brothers or sister, too; but in my young mind my dad was a legend. He was smooth, he was slick, he was confident!

I'll tell you a story about my dad. When my son was about 8-9, my parents came for a summer visit. They were probably in their mid 60s at the time. I had a net set up in the backyard for volleyball or badminton. Matt was outside playing badminton with my folks while I went to run an errand. When I came back a while later, my dad was sitting on the couch with his foot up on ice. When I asked what happened, he said he had to dive after the birdie and he tore his Achilles. With a big smile, ignoring the pain, my dad said, "But I got the shot!"

I think my siblings and I have all carried some measure of competitiveness into adulthood. Most of us, at one time or another, have all coached our children as they played sports. Two of my brothers are handball fanatics - Ron is currently holding the line and Mark is pushing at it until he gets his first victory over Ron. (Ron, by the way, won the national handball championship a few years ago, so Mark has his work cut out for him.) Some of my brothers golf, some run, my sister in recent years took up ice skating again (to keep up with her hockey-playing son), and I try to play a weekly game of racquetball. When we have the opportunity to spend time together, my sister and I inevitably end up playing Scrabble. The challenge of playing "one more game" to get the win seems to keep us at it for hours.

To this day, if I play a board game or if I am on the racquetball court, I want to win. Thankfully with age comes wisdom, so I know that winning is not all important. I've learned that having fun and enjoying the company of the people I am with is more important than getting the W. Oh, and at my age, I've learned that making sure everyone can walk away uninjured is much more important than getting the shot. I guess my dad was slower in learning that lesson!

I'm writing this post after my weekly racquetball game. At the start of our games today, I told my partners in crime, Toni and Chris, that playing racquetball with them is one of the highlights of my week. And it is--win or lose, good shot or bad shot--I love the adrenalin that comes from giving my all and doing my best!