Recently I had the opportunity to take my kids back to my parent’s house for a visit. It was absolutely wonderful to just relax, read a book, and let my family watch my kids. 
One lazy afternoon Mackay drew my attention to all the trophies in my parent’s room above their bookcases. And she asked me what they were, and why we had them. Most of them are from my older brother, the basketball star. But three of the trophies were mine from growing up. Why we still had them I have no idea. I felt close to zero pride for the gold painted plastic. Case in point:
Trophy #1: My very first trophy. A beautiful, well-shaped gymnast doing a handstand graces the top. My name gold plated on the bottom. I knew I didn’t deserve it when I got it. My mom put me into gymnastics (I was SO excited), but even after a year was never able to do a cartwheel. To this day I still cannot do a cartwheel. At our final gymnastics event of the year all the girls in the class learned a “routine” and performed it, one by one, as a solo. The routine was packed full of cartwheels. Unfortunately for me these cannot just be faked. I even remember parents giggling through my performance. And I got a trophy?
Trophy #2: My friend wanted to perform a duet on the piano for a competition coming up that weekend. It was SUPER easy, we barely practiced. We went to the music store for the competition, armed in the same shirt, skirt and shoes (you can do this when you’re best friends). Our parents didn’t even come. We played our duet, the judges oohed and aahed over our matching outfits, and we left. And were called back later that day for the “finals!” We were so excited. We went back, played our super easy song again, and won first place in our division. My trophy even has a “1st” on it, and it’s kind of sparkly. I’d be proud if I had actually tried, or practiced.
And trophy #3: Probably the only one that means something, but the smallest trophy I own. Growing up I always loved to write. I was always writing stories (granted, usually they came from a story I had just read or a show I had just watched, but still). I entered one of my stories into a district-wide competition at school, either about a woman becoming president or going to outer space, and my story was picked as one of the best! I’m not sure if I got honorable mention, or actually placed in top three for my school. But I won a trophy, and that’s sort of all that mattered. The day I accepted it was during an assembly in front of the whole school. I was death-bed sick with the flu at home, but my mom made me get dressed and go to school just for this assembly. She didn’t tell me why, I had no idea I had won anything. And I was a little more than perturbed when I had to stand on stage in front of the whole school so light headed and nauseous. Oh, and my outfit was SO ugly, and my hair wasn’t done, I remember.
So trophies. I can almost sum them up as a semi-meaningless way for us to compare ourselves to our friends and family so we can feel bad about ourselves. That, or in the process of making others feel bad we find our own sense of pride. Does anyone else agree with this sentiment? Does anyone else still have their childhood trophies? I think if I had really excelled at something I would be more proud, but mine just shout “MEDIOCRE!” every time I see them. *Aah.* What a lovely walk down memory lane.
+ - 3 comments
Linda - Maybe trophies are just good for memories. Some good, some bad. But trophies usually bring good memories, or so I thought. I do agree that sometimes we give them out a little too easily — don’t want anyone to feel bad. Maybe that’s the problem.
Diane - I believe Nathan’s trophies are here, at home, packed away in a box in a closet. But once-upon-a-time they were important enough to pack in a suitcase when he ran away from home!
Nate - That was one heavy suitcase. I was going to spend the night at the park down the street and then head into downtown Denver in the morning. Beyond that who knows. So it’s a good thing I had all those trophies to weigh me down.