vulnerability in the arena: what i love about 4-h
August 21, 2016
Vulnerability in the Arena-what I love about 4-H
By Amy Wingrove
This is the end of summer with two daughters near their teenage years. It's the good stuff.
This week we have been at our local county fair. The children in the barns with the animals are some sort of super heroes in today's age of instant gratification.
It was Theodore Roosevelt who said
"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."
I saw it over and over again over the past few days but because this is about my life, I will say most notably with my daughters.
All year, or years in the cases of many, children in the 4-H programs care for living things. Day in and Day out, there is no vacation. These animals require vet checks and shoes in the case of our horses, grooming, proper nutrition, and the list goes on and on.
And they ride. And they go to meetings. And they go to conferences. And they turn in proof of all of this at the end of the year.
Or there are other passions cultivated like photography, art, baking, sewing- and it all requires continual desire to learn and create. Innovation and creativity are linked so tightly that it is impossible to have one without the other. Period. The art barns may contain the next Steve Jobs. Or someone like that.
My youngest daughter rides horses but is passionate about art and photography and was incredibly disappointed that she didn't place as high or at all in many categories. As a parent who constantly dares greatly or tries to -- I know what it feels like to be exposed and vulnerable and to have my heart ripped out of my chest (not literally) with the disappointment of wondering why I bothered to (express my opinion, say that, love him, befriend her) and the pain of overcoming that disappointment. I breathe. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I need space. I have learned to cope with the disappointment of being face down in the arena because I have learned to rise.
And so do these kids. These little people who have poured their hearts and souls into a creation or to another living thing. Because throughout the year, especially with the living things, there are opportunities for the child and the horse (or other project, but we have horses) to become a team and to form a bond and a partnership.
And they get out there and do it.
Yesterday, my oldest daughter was with her "Rockstar" who is a seasoned veteran gaming horse-- and who I am pretty sure is the love of her life, had an off day.
All year long at the shows which the kids have to do to qualify if they want to be a part of the district and state 4-H shows, Olivia and Rockstar kept improving and beating their time from the last competition and working together more efficiently (and if you're working hard for something why not push to attain the annual award right?).
But yesterday was off.
We all have bad days. Horses and riders do too.
She was nervous. Her horse wasn't but somehow he always hits that second barrel with his butt. They had been doing so great-- and yesterday, he hit the barrel with his butt. Down it went- penalty added -no placing.
Her dad and I told her to breathe, relax -none of which helped so we walked away and gave her the space she needed.
And the next class, pole bending-- he did it again. Knocked a pole. And then another one. It was sad to watch. They had worked so hard all year. She squished her face as she came out of the arena and put her hand up and rode away. Her dad and I looked at each other but understood.
As her mom and someone who understands this level of vulnerability, I find myself conflicted and want to run and hug and hold her-- but by giving her the space she needs to work through this disappointment on her own I allow her to learn coping skills that are invaluable in life. And I know this. But it's still hard. Really hard.
And she's 13. So her asking for space looks a little like a hand in the air as she rides past saying to her dad and me, "DO NOT TALK TO ME. STAY AWAY." In the tone that only 13-year-old girls have. And that causes a "you don't get to talk to us like that, we are your parents" reaction in both of us. Somehow, though, we did hear her. And we heeded her request. With a respect of understanding where she was in that moment.
When it was obvious by the slumped shoulders and red face that she was through the initial part, it was then we approached. Me first with some encouragement and when I walked away, her father.
And it was good.
Our friends approached me, Sam, the father of two other riders, empathetically expressing that he understood, and Beth, the mother, offered prayers and she told me that she knew what it felt like. Their empathy was invaluable to me as a mom of a competitor but also, I believe, as a true reflection of what we as parents also learn through 4-H. We cheer for each other, we help each other, and we do hurt for each other's children. At least that's how we do it here.
My daughter, Olivia, had been face-down in the arena. (Not literally- she stayed on the horse, I'm referring to the quote above.) Vulnerable and anxious, she had been defeated by knocked over barrels and penalty times. And she brushed herself off and began the process of standing, and she had to do it fast. Because her next event was coming quickly and she had no choice but to quit or get back in there and run.
I can't adequately put words to the expression on her face, other than I knew it. I had been there before. Face down in the dirt. Painfully exposed and dusting myself off, as I began the process of rebuilding. It was the look of hope. Behind it, the understanding of what needed to be done.
Her number was called. And she ran.
With a look of determination and a mutual understanding, Rockstar and Olivia ran.
My God did they run.
He did his job, ran. Stopped. Pivoted and ran. And it was the best time in the contest. It was roughly 10 seconds of me holding my breath.
And it was a First place.
The crowd who had been understanding and holding their breath for the little girl with the off day, cheered!
Hands in the air. High fives. The energy was palpable.
And Olivia exited the arena, dismounted Rockstar and hugged him.
It was the moment that Theodore Roosevelt speaks about. The one in the arena knows the trials and the tribulations, but also knows the great emotions that come from victory. Who can handle failure with grace. Who tries again.
And even the parents sharing empathy, understanding the pain of defeat, both for themselves and their children but also for us yesterday, as we were also part of that emtiobal process.
The sportsmanship, empathy and lessons in vunerabilty are obvious to this 4-H mom, but I think that the relationships that we make with each other, the responsibilities and lessons our children are learning are those which will serve them as they go to college or trade school.
And I know, that these lessons will serve them in whatever they do in life, because these are similar to the ones which I learned through my experiences as a child in 4-H. And, now as an adult I realize that it was, in fact, these very same lessons that have served me throughout my life. Just the same as they served my daughters this week.
It is my life passion to : Motivate. Inspire. Hope.
blog - writing- community news - 4h- inspiration
