They are the tackiest, gaudiest, most hideous ornaments anyone has ever put on a Christmas tree. Yet, they are somehow among the most meaningful ornaments in our family’s entire collection. And if anyone should ever give a prize for “Best Repurposed Use of a Child’s Participation Trophies,” these ornaments just might deserve a real trophy.

Their story began in the mid-1990s when my eldest son began playing T-Ball. Being a dutiful father in the Age of Indulgent Parenting, I sheepishly went along with the Team Mom who suggested that we all buy our kids participation trophies at the end of the season. Once the precedent had been set, it seemed impossible to break – even as our household, with three sports-loving boys, accumulated more and more and more of these vacuous, pretentious trinkets.

Then, it was my turn to be coach

In time, I became our Little League’s MCP – Most Culpable Parent – because when I took over the coaching duties for my boys’ teams, I could have and should have put a stop to this nonsense. But I didn’t. Even though I knew better. Because I didn’t want to run the risk of ruining our team’s epic end-of-season party.

Christmas celebration in Lenox, Massachusetts, on Dec. 15, 2019. (Photo: Gillian Jones/The Berkshire Eagle via AP)

At those team parties, I would stand and deliver a merit-based salute to each of my players – citing this pitcher’s dazzling strikeout totals or that hitter’s momentous game-winning double. Then, when I had finished, everyone would get their silly participation trophies – even, inexplicably, in years when we actually won championship medals.

When my wife and I downsized several years ago, our boys’ participation trophies were put initially in the toss pile. My sons no longer wanted them. My wife had no room for them. And I had always despised what they represented (or failed to represent).

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But handling those old trophies got me reminiscing about my experiences as a coach. I recalled the time our team began its warm-ups by rolling around in the right field grass because our right fielder had been on a three-game hot streak. And the time our dugout went berserk when a struggling young rookie caught a pop-up for the first time. And the night one of my outfielders refused to go to his position because a kid playing in that spot the previous inning had urinated on the field, leaving behind a small puddle.

It might be cliché to say, but it was never only about winning

The more I reminisced, the more I marveled at the fact that many of my fondest coaching memories had little to do with winning or losing. And many of the players who made the strongest impression on me were boys who amassed more errors than base hits during their inauspicious Little League careers.

Moved by such memories, I decided to turn those “gold” participation trophies into Christmas ornaments (after removing their faux marble platforms). And I now proudly display them – not just as a reminder of the great times my boys and I once had on the Little League field, but also as a peculiar symbol of what Christmas means to me.

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For Christmas in our house is an epic end-of-year celebration. It’s time when we’re reminded that enduring relationships ultimately matter more than fleeting accomplishments. And a time when I, with childlike wonder, marvel at the fact that the spiritual riches of the Nativity are given to me not because I am deserving, but because I am loved.

William Mattox is a past recipient of the national Double-Goal Coach Award from the Positive Coaching Alliance.

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