You win some, you win some

I've never been very competitive. Except when playing Scrabble, it doesn't really bother me to lose. As I've said in a previous post, I like it when my kids win, but I don't push, cajole, threaten or harrass them to be the best. I'd never make a good stage mom.

When LegoGuy was in kindergarten, he joined a soccer team. I was mortified by the actions of hyper-competitive parents, overzealous souls who would scream at their six-year-old from the sidelines and reduce the child to tears. "Do you want to eat dinner tonight? Then get in there and kick that ball. Make a goal, dammit!"

We didn't stay with that league very long. I was afraid LegoGuy was going to be dragged off the field after he was seen chasing butterflies near the other goalie's box.

Which is why I was so uncomfortable at WA Sport's District Achievement Auditions. He had to play a piece in order to qualify for State. I ran into the mother of one of his piano classmates.

"I hear your son is quite a prodigy," she began, eyeballing Sport. "Ms. Melody says she can't keep up with him. Learns the music as fast as she gives it to him."

"He does love to play," I admitted.

"I saw he was picked to go to the Weatherford Competition. I asked Ms. Melody why my boy wasn't picked to go. He's been taking piano a year longer than Sport. We're paying for hour and half lessons, after all."

"Well, we've got a pretty good practice schedule worked out..." I began, but she thrust her son's sheet music at Sport.

"This is what he's playing. Have you ever played it?"

Sport eyed it, quickly making an assessment. "Nope. That's too easy for me."

I groaned inwardly. "Now, Sport, that's not true," I tried to cover for his lack of tact. At that moment, up strolled her son. She turned to him and said sharply, "Sport says this piece is too easy for him. What do you think about that?" The poor child blushed and shrugged his shoulders. What do you say when your mother humiliates you in front of casual acquaintances?

Sport's name was called by the proctor, and he hurried into the music room to perform for the judge. I thought perhaps Stage Mom would leave us alone, but she wasn't done yet. "I'm just going to listen at the door," she said to me with a crocodile smile. She took the place that was rightfully mine, pressing her ear to the wooden frame and spying through the narrow glass window.

What can I say? My kiddo played perfectly. He scored a I+, the highest that can be made. He's going to State!

Stage Mom grabbed her son and disappeared out the door. I'm not sure he had a good afternoon.

I hope this isn't going to develop into some kind of rivalry. Not between the boys, but between their mothers.