Lacey's Articles

Most of my little gang was sleeping during their daily nap time. At age four, however, London’s naps were sporadic and we often used the afternoon quiet time to learn letters, read books or draw. Yesterday, London requested a game. I thought that sounded like a fine idea - learning through fun is always a positive experience, right?
My thirteen-year-old daughter volunteered to get the game from the shelf downstairs. She placed Chutes & Ladders in front of us and bounced off to entertain herself.
It all seemed ideal - number recognition, counting, taking turns - what better leaning opportunities than that? This game even threw in dealing with disappointment when your character landed on a chute and was forced to go backwards. London enjoyed spinning the arrow and counting her spaces. I enjoyed watching her decide the best way to spin - ineffectively flicking the blue arrow to imitate Mommy or pushing it faster in her own manner.
We were having fun. London had her game piece positioned almost at the end of the game - in the 90's - while my character struggled along in the 40's, catching every chute there was to catch. It looked like London was on a sure path to quick victory. I really wanted her to win. I wanted to see how excited she would be when her red plastic piece made the jump to the winner’s square first.
Which made me think. Should I let my four-year-old daughter win? I could, of course. It wouldn’t be hard to miscount my own squares, tumble down a chute unnecessarily. She wouldn’t notice - not yet. Hmmm. I couldn’t believe I had never faced this dilemma before. Had we never played games? Actually, this was the first game with a clear victor. Sure, we played Memory - but she never really got it before - we just matched faces and symbols and got excited when anyone got a pair. We never kept score. And we had played I Spy and other non-competitive style games.
So here I was. I never thought I wanted to be the kind of parent who purposely let her child win games. What life lesson is that? And when does the game end? But I really wanted to see London’s plastic guy beat my plastic guy. I didn’t care if I made it to the winning square first. What should I do? And I didn’t really think this was one of those defining parental moments - it was just a silly game of Chutes & Ladders. But somehow it seemed that whatever conclusion I came to would set a sort of standard for me. Not just how I played games, but how I taught my children. Did I clear obstacles out of the path ahead of them or did I teach them to deal with life’s difficulties? Yeah, this was pretty heady stuff for a preschool game.
Well, maybe it wouldn’t matter this time - London was just squares away from plopping her character on the 100. I wouldn’t even have to make a decision now. That’s great - avoidance to buy myself some time. Besides, wasn’t I making this a bit bigger deal than I needed to? Wow, the things that go on in my head.
And then, London hit a snag - the biggest chute, right beside the victory number 100 - and down her little game piece slid, back to the low numbers. Just as suddenly, my little character caught a break and hit the biggest ladder, immediately sending me to the victory 100 spot. Well, there it was. My plastic man had landed. London recognized the winner’s square immediately. I looked up and held my breath.
"Yeah, Mommy. Hooray! You won!" And she reached over and gave me a big high five. I smiled at her beaming little face. "That was fun. Can we just play with the guys now?"
And so we did, making every character slide up and down and climb the ladders in every direction. We just played. And that was what London had been doing all along.
Actually, the game did turn out to be one of those defining moments for me. I decided how I would play games with my children from then on. If I am winning, I will continue to do so. I don’t want to lie or alter reality to make my children’s lives, even momentarily, better. It is what it is. I want our home to be a safe place to fail - whether in an inconsequential board game or in the bigger moments that surely await each of my children.