I did not have any family connections to the university, or to any Ivy League school, for that matter. In fact, when I called my father to tell him I had been admitted to Harvard, he said, “But only rich people and the Kennedys go there!”
My first semester I stumbled upon a sociology class. Having never considered studying anything besides history or government before, I was quite taken by this new-to-me social science. That course on social stratification helped me make sense of the new community I was suddenly part of by exposing me to research on class, status, and prestige.
Fourteen years later, I am still trying to make sense of the world using the sociological tools I learned about in that class. After graduation I left Harvard for other Ivy-covered campuses, where I studied parental aspirations for their children. During that time I wrote a dissertation—the basis for this book—on competitive after-school activities (specifically chess, dance, and soccer) in which I link parental anxieties about their elementary school–age children’s futures, especially anxiety about the increased importance of educational credentials, to their parenting behavior and strategies in the present.
At heart Playing to Win is a story about social reproduction. I am interested in how everyday parental decisions impact the social structure across generations. My research shows one way that these practices have been institutionalized: through the professionalization of children’s competitive after-school activities.
In contemporary sociology the question of how social reproduction occurs is often approached from the “bottom up,”1 looking at those toward the lower rungs of the social class ladder. But it is equally important to know how those in the middle and upper-middle class get there and how they prepare their children to stay there (or move up in the class structure). This is especially important given the increasing in e quality in the United States over the past quarter-century, particularly when it comes to childhood and parenting.2
My findings on children’s participation in competitive after-school activities provide a small but revealing window into how social reproduction happens as parents actively strategize about child-rearing practices. Training a lens primarily on the affluent middle class helps us understand how and why decisions made during childhood might have long-term consequences for future credentials acquisition and careers—which in turn deepens our understanding of how less advantaged parents can leverage cultural activities to help their children.
I should know because I didn’t grow up like most of the children I studied. I never played travel soccer, nor did I play on any athletic team. I took dance but never participated in a competition. And I never even learned how to play chess, so forget about playing in a tournament. In fact, I never competed in any activity in an organized way before middle school, and even then I competed only in the school-sponsored activities of reading and public speaking competitions. I was definitely a competitive child and thrived in any high-stakes environment, especially in educational settings, but not in the way the kids I study do today.
And yet I ended up walking through Dexter Gate. My own interest in how people from different backgrounds can end up in the same place has shaped my sociological imagination, and it is one of this book’s motivating factors.
I am married to a man who had a much different childhood, one that more closely resembles that of many of the kids in Playing to Win. He was born and bred in Harvard’s 02138 zip code and attended Philips Andover Academy (one of those historic boarding schools I had never heard of before college), where he was captain of the cross-country team. He also played select soccer while still in primary school and learned chess at his elementary school. His father graduated from Harvard, where he is a professor, and his mom graduated from Smith, one of the Seven Sisters.
Despite our varied upbringings we were in the same college class. Some believe that once we passed through Dexter Gate as freshmen, we were equal. But the sociologist in me knows this is not the whole truth. We brought with us very different views of the world and bundles of resources when we entered Harvard Yard, ushered in by the gatekeepers who read our admission files. For instance, my husband brought with him all the cultural capital that comes with attending an elite boarding school; I brought with me all the wisdom that comes from growing up with a hardworking single mom determined to provide her daughter with the best educational opportunities she could.
So how did I get so lucky on a day back in November 1997, when a Harvard admissions officer decided I was worthy, despite my lack of an elite high school education and participation in myriad organized, out-of-school, competitive activities? I have asked myself that many times, and as part of my work I have spoken with admissions officers at Ivy League schools. One of them explained to me why participation in extracurricular activities is so important and in the process helped me understand why my application ended up in the admit pile.
Ivies are looking for smart students with a great deal of ambition. But it is hard to measure ambition. Participation in activities—and awards and leadership earned through participation—are a proxy for that ambition. The specific activities are less important; what matters is that you play a sport or seriously participate in an activity such as debate or drama. But you should also do something else—perhaps play an instrument or be part of a Model United Nations team or volunteer or compete in dance competitions. While in high school I participated in Model United Nations, drama club, literary society, French Honor Society, National Honor Society, and more.
What Harvard, and schools like it, is looking for are ambitious individuals who are not afraid to take risks. When freshmen get to campus they will be exposed to new activities and academic disciplines, as I was. Admissions officers want to create a campus full of ambitious kids who are willing to try swimming or journalism or glee club or anthropology for the first time. So to be admitted you can’t do just one thing; you need to show you are flexible and versatile. Of course, you are still expected to excel in what ever you try, especially in academics first and foremost, but you must first be willing to try.
Being ambitious and versatile and taking risks are traits that many also think of as being American, part of our nation’s DNA. A former president of the American Psychological Association said that America is “a success-oriented society whose attitudes toward achievement can be traced to our Protestant heritage with its emphasis on individualism and the work ethic.”3 When Alexis de Tocqueville toured the United States in the mid-nineteenth century he famously wrote about the participatory nature of Americans, declaring that we are a nation of joiners.4 When another European, the developmental psychologist Jean Piaget, toured the United States, he was also struck by the degree of social involvement of Americans—specifically American parents. Piaget was shocked by how many parents asked him whether it was possible to speed up children’s development.5 He named this concern “the American Question” because he said Americans are always trying to hurry things along.
“The American Question” symbolizes not just ambition and involvement; it also symbolizes competition. In his book on competition in the United States sociologist Francesco Duina argues that competition is central to finding our place in the world in both a physical and a symbolic sense.6 Why? Because competition allows us to prove our worth (to ourselves and to others) and offers a way to determine whether something, or someone, is actually working well and succeeding.
It is no secret that Americans have long loved competitions and rewarded winners. General George Patton often declared in his speeches to troops during World War II, “When you were kids, you all admired the champion marble shooter, the fastest runner, the big league ball players, the toughest boxers. Americans love a winner and will not tolerate a loser. Americans play to win all the time.”7
In contemporary American society competition seems to be everywhere. Organized, tournament-like competitions are held for the seemingly mundane, the inane, and the arcane. We have beauty pageants, bodybuilding competitions, spelling bees, and video game tournaments—not to mention organized
