Saying shhh to parents

Most weekends, I engage in a ritual that is a staple of American parental life: trekking to a pitch to watch kids play soccer (in my case, to see my daughter play in an under-10s team, run by the Manhattan Soccer Club).

Earlier this month, however, the Sunday ceremony assumed an unusual twist when the club solemnly announced that it would impose "silent Sunday" on everybody. This meant, the head coach explained, that parents could not hector their kids, shout at the referee or offer loud praise (or abuse).

"Speak only quietly, if at all, to others on the sidelines," a stern email warned. "Avoid comments that can be heard by the players, referees or opponents. We ask for your respect of our efforts. When a goal is scored, please subdue your reaction to applause."

It is a striking sign of the times, and a welcome backlash against our era of helicopter parenting. The ostensible rationale behind "silent Sunday" is to empower the children. Instead of taking orders from others, they are being told to think for themselves. Or so the theory goes. "Building the skill to think independently is more important than all the comments, advice, instruction, commentary and criticism coming from the sideline," the email explained. "Silent games give players an opportunity to develop leadership roles, make their own decisions and improve player-to-player communication . . . to think and play without the distractions of coaches and parents, injecting themselves [into the game]."

But there is a darker side to this as well: some of the helicopter parenting at kids' sports games has become so intense that it has turned aggressive, if not violent. I have never seen anything along these lines myself: all the parents seem delightfully good-natured at my daughter's home ground (a rather smelly spot next to a sewage plant on Randalls Island). But there are darker tales of parental aggression elsewhere.

The most infamous example occurred 15 years ago, when a dispute between parents at a junior league ice hockey game in Massachusetts left one of them dead. But while that extreme case is, thankfully, rare, milder forms of anger seem surprisingly common: the blogosphere is buzzing with stories of parents shouting at each other, the kids or the referees. Occasionally, it turns physical. And not just in the US: similar tales are now being reported at youth rugby and soccer games in Britain too.

Why? In America, observers might blame the behaviour on economics. If a kid performs well on a pitch, they can get free college education via a sports scholarship. That gives a strong incentive for some parents to care deeply about "winning".

However, there is a bigger cultural point. Sports, as anthropologists have long pointed out, are one of the most powerful microcosms of our modern social values, and what is occurring on the sidelines highlights a bigger trend in parenting behaviour. Most notably, in today's hyper-competitive world, children (and their parents) face intense pressure to produce tangible results - and be "successful". Or as David Brooks, the American writer, notes in his new book The Road to Character, the idea of building character often takes second place to the aim of achieving a good "score". In that sense, sport is just a metaphor for life.

Thankfully, some sports groups are trying to shift the dial. The National Alliance for Youth Sports, a non-profit US group, is distributing educational videos showing parents how they should behave. Some sports legends are also weighing in. Mike Matheny, a former baseball star, recently wrote an open letter to the parents of children he is coaching. "I always said that the only team I would coach would be a team of orphans . . . I have found the biggest problem with youth sports has been the parents," he said, imploring them to provide a "silent source of encouragement".

Local leagues are trying to shift parent behaviour too. The type of "silent Sunday" I experienced on Randalls Island is now being practised in other parts of the country. Earlier this year, the idea was also introduced in Britain at youth rugby games in Yorkshire.

But shifting attitudes will take a long time; particularly in a world where hyper-successful adult sports stars are revered - and the cult of helicopter parenting is so pervasive. So, having experienced my first "silent Sunday", I have become a fervent fan. To be honest, I did not find the edict easy to obey: after years of shouting encouragement, silence feels odd. But, if nothing else, a moment of silence should force us all to question our ideas of what "normal" parenting is; and maybe even make for a nicer game, at least as far as the kids are concerned.

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Illustration by Shonagh Rae

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