Green Ribbon

Anyone who knows me well, knows that I have about as much athletic ability as a sloth (see earlier blog, Cravings). I’ve spent a lifetime trying to avoid the world of competition, especially when physical prowess is involved. I’ll admit that I’m still prideful of my mini- medal earned for being the fastest typist in small town, Midwestville, but other than that, no need to build a trophy case for me.

It will come as no surprise that I dreaded the annual Field Day held at my little grade school when I was growing up. After surviving the dreadful tryouts, it was evident that the only event I qualified for was sack race (read loser). And, you guessed it, I was pathetic at that as well.

I recall the excitement and anticipation of my peers and siblings as Field Day approached. Who wouldn’t look forward to a day off from school and a picnic lunch? Me, of course. In fact, I remember dreaming of ways to get out of the event. Sore leg. Stomach ache. Nausea. Leprosy. You name it. I thought of it. Unfortunately, my mom was on to me and pseudo-sickness was not an acceptable excuse. When the day arrived, despite my final pleas to God for rain, I crawled into the car and headed off to school for the big day.

Somehow I endured the hours outdoors, the inevitable sunburn, the humiliation of defeat and the long ride home, now truly sick with a headache and the need to just read a good book and make it all go away. While my siblings sparkled with stories about their great wins and near misses, I watched the scenery go by from the car window. Deep inside, I knew that this too would pass.

Just when I thought there was a limit to the shame of Field Day, it got worse one year. The teachers, with honorable intentions I’m sure, decided that they would make sure everyone got a ribbon. Blue ribbon for first place, red ribbon for second place, white ribbon for third place and…drum roll, please…green ribbon for participation. As we gathered for the end of the day ribbon ceremony, it was very clear to me that I would no longer be able to shrink into the shadows and wait for the festivities to abate. I would now be called forward to accept the green ribbon. Let’s just paint a bulls-eye on me and broadcast it far and near…I’m a loser. Again. Rest assured, the green ribbon never made it into my scrapbook.

Now, lest ye feel too sorry for me, let me explain that I am grateful for the lessons I learned from my green ribbon.

Lesson #1: It’s okay to lose. Especially as a kid. Life isn’t about being the best at everything and we don’t need a green ribbon to tell us we matter.

Lesson #2: Well-intentioned adults sometimes feel too sorry for kids. I wasn’t fooled into thinking the green ribbon would solve my problems. I knew that there was no future for me in sports. Best find that out earlier, rather than later.

Lesson #3: You need really good excuses to outsmart your mom. Just give it up and go to Field Day.