Why It's Good to Fail in Front of Your Kids

I want what's best for my kids. Obviously.

I want them to sail through life without ever encountering a single bully, without the pain of heartbreak or the sting of self-doubt, and I want them to feel proud of and confident in their family. I want them to have the perfect childhood. Unfortunately, no such thing exists and there are times when that inevitable failure on my part terrifies me to my core. I want to be perfect for them, but I know I never will be.

What I'm slowly starting to realize, though, is that being perfect isn't the point of being a parent, and even if it was, it wouldn't necessarily be the most beneficial for our children.

Dozens of times in my short stint as a parent I've watched anxiously from the sidelines as my children attempted some new feat or took some unknown risk. I've paced back and forth like a caged animal, wringing my hands and praying to anyone who will listen to please just let him make this shot or please don't let him forget his line in front of everyone.

Just don't let him fail.

Because failure hurts. It's demoralizing and embarrassing and often very, very public. Sometimes it's enough to destroy a person's love of a game, or even their love for themselves, and I would do anything to shelter my children from that pain.

But failure is also an essential part of life and growing up. How else do we learn where our limits are so that we can figure out how to break them? Without failure there can be no growth, no accomplishments, and no pride.

So as difficult as it is to watch my children continually put themselves in danger of failure, I know I have to let them. I have to stay on the sidelines, muttering quiet affirmations to myself and clenching my jaw, and show them that I'm there for them whether they fail or not. But it's not enough to just tell them that failure is a part of life. It's my job as a parent, as it is for so many things, to model that behavior for them as well.

When it comes to my own failures, I need to be honest and open with my children, even if it means admitting that I'm not perfect. Because I need them to know that success isn't just a series of triumphs; it's a long, hard road that's badly paved with potholes in the center and 100-foot drops on either side. I want my children to know that I've worked for all that I have, and that it's OK if things don't come easily to them. The best things rarely do.

I want my children to see me fail. I want them to see me get knocked down, lose my way, and cry like a baby so that they can see me pick myself back up. I want my children to see that failure isn't the end of their dreams. If anything, it's just the beginning. It's a tool to help you hone your craft or focus your effort.

Someday I want to sit down with them, surrounded by memories of the good life we've lived together, and I want to tell them that I had the opportunity to quit. I had so many chances to be afraid, to shrink from the possibility of another painful failure. But I didn't. I want to be able to tell them that I fought for what was important to me, and I want them to know that they should be prepared to fight too.

Taking risks and following one's dreams isn't always pretty, but it's almost always worth it.

Imparting upon my children the importance and the fragile beauty of failure, acceptance, and perseverance is the closest thing I'll ever get to being a perfect parent. And I'm sure I'll screw it up sometimes. I'll get caught up in wanting them to be proud of me and think I'm invincible when really what they need is to see that I am human. That I am just like them. And that I am still trying every day.