You're all losers.

You all suck.  Every last one of you is a complete and utter disappointment, a failure.  A waste of life and tissue. You aren't the best at everything.  Shit, most of you aren't the best at ANYTHING.

And that's ok.

No, seriously.  It's perfectly fine.  We weren't designed to be perfect.  There are one  or two "greats" out there and the rest of us are mediocre trash.

So why is it that we teach our kids that we're all winners?

When you have, for example, a Little League game, and Little Timmy whiffs on the damn swing, we as a society have gotten into the habit of saying, "It's OK, run the bases, good job, try harder next time."

You know what?  that's a really fucking terrible message.  Because someday Little Timmy is going to grow up into Timmy the Fuckwad and crash his forklift at his minimum-wage no-college-degree-required dead-end factory job and be so surprised when his boss comes out of the upstairs office and instead of greeting him with a bouquet of flowers and an, "Oh, well.  I'm sure you tried your best.  It's inconsequential that you cost the company our weeks earnings.  What matters is you TRIED.  Lets go shit sunshine and rainbows together while i fellate your ego.", he instead gets greeted with, "YOU INCOMPETENT ASS, YOU COST ME THE WEEKS EARNINGS.  NOW YOU AND TWO OF YOUR BUDDIES ARE FIRED BECAUSE I HAVE TO MAKE UP THE DIFFERENCE!" So little Timmy goes home and hangs himself from his fucking ceiling fan  because he's realized that -SUDDEN SHOCK!!!!!!- he's terrible at driving forklifts and would have been a better mechanic, but it's too late, he's 38, and there's really no going back now and he's only got his mom because no girl would ever date a man-child such as him.

What we should be doing is telling little Timmy that his batting ability sucks big black prisoner dick, and perhaps his moderately average talents had best be applied elsewhere.  So instead of holding on to a worthless dream of becoming something he's not and ending up with the state police and the county coroner cutting him off of his ceiling-mounted cooling apparatus while blood pools in his limp legs, perhaps he can find something that he's passably decent at and go on to excel at it and live a miserable, mildly alcoholic semi-stable married life with 3 lecherous kids like all of the rest of us.

You won't be perfect.  But you should at least enjoy what you do, rather than pine for a useless dream that will get you no place.  Not everyone is a star.  We're all failures.  That's fine.  But you deserve to be a happy failure.

Moral: Be honest with your kids.