It was about twenty years ago when people my age and older began bemoaning the problem of “participation trophies.” I think this myth emerged from youth soccer culture, in which an alleged society of overindulgent moms and coaches had fallen into the disastrous habit of rewarding every child participant with a trophy – despite their ability, accomplishments, or even whether their team had won or lost. I guess the concern was that if you get a trophy just for showing up to the game, you’ll inevitably become some spoiled, entitled adult who believes you deserve the world for being just average or even flawed. Rewarding everyone also seemed a disservice to the actual strivers and winners, the truly exemplary people who could no longer set themselves apart by nabbing that once-rare prize now possessed by all. Because as we know, no one can be truly special if everyone is special.

I never really related to the old “participation trophy” gripe, though at the time it seemed like a thing I should embrace as a childless person approaching her thirties. And then life happened, to all of us. In the two decades that have passed since I started hearing grown people complain bitterly about child soccer players, I’ve seen those kids grow into adults who know very little ease. Many have amassed enormous college debt only to land jobs that no longer pay a living wage. Few can afford to buy a home or reasonably dream of retirement. As climate change has worsened, the rich have gotten way richer, and forever war has sucked away any government resources that could fund healthcare, affordable housing, or debt relief, the future looks even bleaker than the present. At this point, how could we describe any average under-40 adult in this country as “entitled”? Entitled to what, aging in dystopia?

But in spite of these hard times, and all the difficulties the Participation Trophy Generation has had to endure, I am so frequently awed by their spirit of compassion and inclusivity. I see within so many of them an openness and curiosity about sexuality, gender, race, ethnicity, and neurodivergence that simply did not come up in conversation when I was young. Their grasp on trauma and its long-term effects gives me so much hope for the healing that seems to elude many of my generation. People my age and older don’t tend to have the same capacity for examining their own mental health with candor or self-compassion. When we felt sad, overwhelmed, or confused in our youth, we were told to suck it up. Or maybe we just got the complaining beat out of us. Perhaps that’s why so many of us got bent out of shape about whether or not a child earned their little gold-painted plastic trophy. 

And sure, not everyone falls into one of these categories based on their age. I tend to think generational discourse is pretty dumb, a useful distraction from class warfare that most benefits the ruling class. We’re all peasants compared to the 1%. They love it when we fight each other over avocado toast instead of fighting them. All I’m saying is that when you tell children they are special and lovable even when they suck at soccer, they have a greater capacity for caring about their own and other people’s feelings. They’re more ready for a society where everyone gets to be themself, instead of closeting, conforming, or masking to fit in with whatever personality type is deemed “normal.” And that’s why I’m grateful for participation trophies. Maybe we could all use an award just for showing up to life.