With more of us (all of us ideally), staying in and spending so much suddenly-available time with the kids, I understand from my child-rearing friends that there has been a resurgence in board games. My memories of board games, like many I am sure, started first, by watching my older siblings play. You can tell a lot about someone by how they play games. I admit, I am the worst. I hate to lose. I don’t even like the thought of losing. If it is a three-man race, at least let me finish second. And if it is in a field of 1000, finishing second is equivalent to finishing 999th. I won’t cheat, but I will look to attain even the slightest advantage to avoid losing. No idea where I got this unhealthy attitude and it has cost me greatly in my life, but I stopped trying to figure it out and just get better with it. I was actually forced to change all that when I coached Pop Warner football. As much as I hated losing, I really did have a fierce desire to win so my kids would see and feel the elation that comes with winning. I remember when I was 3 or 4, I was building a house of cards and had reached an impressive 5 stories with my architectural wizardry. To this day, I remember the card that I put on just as I was completing the fifth floor of my masterpiece. The Jack of Clubs. As I saw my tower crumble before me in a heap, I frantically searched through the pile of cards until I found the offender. I took the card, bit it, ripped it in half, bit it several more times, ripped it into even smaller pieces, went to the bathroom and proceed to urinate on it. Finally, the shameful denouement included flushing the fragments down the toilet. I guess I really showed that card. Me, the All-Powerful. I terminated that card’s existence. At 3 years old.
Like the time I was taking a shower and enjoying the steady stream of hot water when, with no warning (as if such a warning exists), the light-blue bar of Coast sipped off the soap holder and landed squarely on my right foot. Instinctively, in a full rage, and determined to teach this bar of soap who was who in the pecking order, I picked the bar up and took a big bite out of it. It had to learn who was boss. Big mistake. For three months afterward, every time I tried speaking more than three syllables, I would begin to foam at the mouth. Tres embarrassment.
Karen, of course, yelled at me about this. Despite my assertion that I have never taken any shit off inanimate objects and don’t plan to begin now, she just told me I was AFU and left it at that.