Why is Daddy Cryin
What do you get when you mix an extremely competitive father with an even more competitive son? Yeah – a tornado of nightmarish adrenaline that’s strong enough to pick up an 18 wheeler with one finger while scratching itself, burping, and watching football at the same time.
Well…maybe too much adrenaline was pumping through me just then, but it really does create a problem.
But I struggle with how much and how often I let the boy win at games. I mean, I let him win…a lot. And, there’s nothing better than the times he does win, and I was really trying to beat his ass.
I made up a game the other day in our basement where I’d place a huge pot on the other side of the room, and we took turns tossing one stuffed animal at a time from my daughter’s ridiculously, out-of-control pile of fluffiness.
I seriously think the daughter is hoarding stuffed animals at this point. We seriously have one soft, plush representation from every type of living organism on this planet and beyond in a pile in our basement right now. And she’s given them all names that end with “y.” And at some point she’s either read to them, had a tea party with them, or tucked them in for night-night.
But I’m getting off topic.
So we’re hurdling these animals through the air and I’m kicking the living hell out of the boy. I keep encouraging him and showing him a better way to more accurately throw Mr. Possumy through the air, but he just hasn’t found his rhythm yet. And he’s getting more and more frustrated and then…he cries.
That’s when my struggle comes to the surface. Do I start to let him win now so that we have a kick-ass father-son experience? Or, do I continue and win, hoping that he learns the valuable lesson that many times throughout life, you will be beaten into an oblivion, and it’s gonna suck.
I didn’t let him win.
But I did let him win every other game. And twice, he made me look like a rookie by ripping me apart when I really was trying.
I realize that I’m extremely competitive. But not to the point where I’m obnoxious about it and try to bite someone’s ear off just to get a leg-up. And I see that lovely gene has made its way from my freakish body and into my little dude’s.
So now I try to help him find that slippery, thin line where he can control and use the adrenaline pumping through him to succeed and be a freaking rock-star, rather than filled with potential but constantly quitting because of his fear of losing.
It’s a line I still struggle with today