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My Turn
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From The Asian Reporter, V18, #39 (September 30, 2008), page 6.
Getting a jump on the competition, unless you’re playing checkers with your son
A few years ago my then eight-year-old son Tyler came rushing to me with tears streaming down his face, sobbing uncontrollably, with the most broken-hearted expression I’ve ever seen.
"What’s wrong?" I asked, out of genuine paternal concern for an obviously traumatized and distraught young boy. Looking at his face, a rush of dramatic images flashed in my mind. Who hurt my son? How did he get hurt? What do I need to do? Do we have any ice?
"Beth beat me in checkers!" he said, choking the words out between sobs. Beth, by the way, is Tyler’s nanny.
Still not quite understanding the situation completely, I began asking a few follow-up questions.
"And then what?" I asked. "What happened after that?"
"Nothing. That’s it!" he said, gasping for air.
"So what you’re telling me ..." I continued, "... is that the reason you’re so completely beside yourself is because you lost a game of checkers? Beth didn’t throw the board up in the air while celebrating and hit you in the head with it? She didn’t scream ‘Tyler is a loser!’ and dance the chicken dance around you?"
"No," he said, sullenly, as if he had suddenly lost any reason for living.
"Then the only reason for all of this is because you lost a game of checkers?" I repeated.
"But I beat almost all the kids at school!" he said, beseechingly.
As a responsible parent, I immediately ascertain that an earnest "father/son" talk is necessary. I spend the next few minutes explaining how important it is to be a good loser as well as a good winner, that he’s only eight years old and he should know he’s at a distinct disadvantage when playing an adult because an adult has a lot more experience at checkers as well as life. I finish delivering my words of wisdom by telling my son that as he gets older, he will also improve at nearly everything, including checkers.
At the end of my little speech, we hug each other as only a father and son can, he wipes away his remaining tears, and goes off on his merry way.
A few minutes later, Tyler comes back — smiling, but this time, he’s holding the checkerboard set in front of him.
"Ba Ba, would you play checkers with me?" he asks, very innocently.
As a responsible parent, I immediately ascertain that part two of the "father/son" talk is necessary. I agree to play, but I spend the next few minutes explaining that if we are going to play checkers, I am actually going to try and win. I explain that it does him no good for me to lose on purpose and that when I win, he needs to remember our earlier discussion about being a good loser. At the end of "part two" of my series of checkers-playing etiquette, he nods his head in agreement.
OK ... I think you know where I’m going with this.
We begin playing, and I take each turn — with one eye on the board and one eye on the TV. After all, it’s OK to win but I should at least keep it close — he’s still only eight years old.
I’m not sure when I realized I was about to lose this game. Maybe it was when Tyler started rushing me: "Hurry up, Ba Ba — what’s taking you so long to move?"
Maybe it was when I got up to turn off the TV and started to brew a cup of coffee. Maybe it was after I started responding to my wife by saying things like "Can’t you see we’re trying to play a game here?!?" every time she said it was time for Tyler to go to bed. Maybe it’s when I shouted, "He can do his homework tomorrow!!!"
In the end, I accepted the situation, told him he’d won, and carried him up to bed as he hugged me, as only a father and son can.
Needless to say, we played another round the following day, this time with me carefully considering each move as well as frequently referring to the book Checkers for Dummies. I ended up on top. Tyler, to his credit, took the loss well.
Now if my dad ever reads this, I know he’s going to sit me down for part three of the "father/son" talk — only this time I’ll be doing most of the listening.