"Just Win, Baby."
That's not only the slogan of the Oakland Raiders—it's also the philosophy that the majority of 21st century American parents subscribe to.
"Not me," says soccer mom Mary Beth. "After all, winning isn't everything."
Mary Beth's husband Dale is a rising star at a computer software company—his $150,000 salary pays for Mary Beth's BMW sedan and their children's private-school education. When Dale first got his job, he took out a loan and bought a beautiful Victorian home, with a backyard big enough for his kids to frolic and a Labrador to run amok.
Mary Beth is in the PTA, and Dale plays poker every Thursday night with his co-workers—making sure to only drink Diet Pepsi and never gamble away more than a few bucks. The couple belongs to the local country club, where they meet their friends on Saturdays for brunch and a few games of tennis.
Mary Beth drives her seven-year-old boy to soccer practice on Mondays and Wednesdays, and her ten-year-old daughter to the local pool for swim meets on
Tuesdays and Thursdays. She never misses any of her son's tennis matches or her daughter's piano recitals. She appears to be the most supportive soccer mom in town.
On Friday evenings, the family goes out for pizza night. And on Sunday mornings, you can find them in church by 9 a.m., prayer books in hand.
Simply put, Mary Beth and her family are perfectly content in their wonderful little world. Life is beautiful, and so are Mary Beth, Dale, and their bright-eyed children.
And the best part about it? Mary Beth never pressures her kids to be "winners."
"There's simply no need," she remarks. "When you have two perfect little angels like these [rubs children's heads] why would you ever do anything to pressure them?"
"Like they say: if it ain't broke, don't fix it," says Mary Beth with a grin.
Fast-forward ten years: Things are majorly broke.
Dale got laid off when the software company downsized, and hasn't been able to find work ever since. He and Mary Beth were forced to sell their house, and begrudgingly moved into a modest apartment in a shabbier part of town.
Mary Beth traded in her BMW for a used Honda—the tires are worn and the glove box doesn't shut all the way. Meanwhile, her husband has taken up heavy drinking as a hobby, and she herself is regularly turned down at the pharmacy for trying to refill her Valium prescription too soon.
The kids are a wreck. Her son has piercings in twenty places and wears black lipstick—he's been held back two grades in high school. Mary Beth's daughter became anorexic when she went to college and started sleeping around—she was sent home by a concerned administrator to live with Mom and Pop for the rest of the year and pull it together.
It's three years later, and Mary Beth's daughter ain't going back to school.
A bundle of support just a decade previously, Mary Beth's true colors have now been revealed. She is more critical of her children than Simon Cowell is of American Idol contestants. She cu
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