She can't stand losing

[Scylla]

My six year old is in a swim meet this weekend. She's swimming in the 7-10 year age group in five different events. She's in that group because she's dominant in her own group.

She's a fish. Her skin accelerates water around her body like a porpoise. Most people propel their body through the water. My daughter does something extraordinary. My daughter slides between the water. Picture a seal moving moving effortlessly, leaving the water undisturbed in its passage, and that's my daughter.

Her secret name is "Hee-hee," and that is given to her by her younger sister, who is two. My two year old is into giving everbody secret names. Her secret name for herself is "Meel," but Hee-hee calls her "Mealy-bug."

"Hee-hee" is my child of light. Everyone brags on their kids, but Hee-hee really is something special. She is stunningly beautiful, blonde, tall, statuesque with indigo eyes that absorb light. She is unfailingly kind and decent, a beleiver in truth and justice. She's a true bleeding-heart liberal in a way that most bleeding heart liberals could only envy. She's got empathy out the wazoo. She doesn't just care, she feels everything bad that happens as if it happens to her. She's very smart without the curse of being a genius and the self-torture that entails.

But, she's got a problem. She can't stand losing. Usually, this is not a problem. Some people win by hard work and determination or luck (this is the way I do it on those rare occasions when I find myself victorious.) Hee-hee wins as a matter of Right. It is the natural order of things.

So, she doesn't have much experience losing, and she's not particularly good at it. I don't take the blame for this. Like most fathers I tend to let my daughter win when we play games. That's normal. Hee-hee's obsession with victory is not.

She gets it from her mother, The Angel of Death. I call her that not because she embodies the archetype, but because she really is the Freaking Angel of Death. When the Angel of Death comes for you there is no escape there is no appeal. Your fate is inevitable. It is predetermined.

You can go gently, or kicking and screaming, but when the Angel of Death comes calling... go you must. We win the club championship every year in tennis, including both years when she delivered our children by csection, and was nursing them. Of course, I have to give myself credit. I stood on the court, thus fulfilling the requirement that she have a partner. She doesn't play in the women's singles anymore because if she signs up, nobody else will. During the winter she plays in a men's group... a men's group that won't let me play with them.

But, she's the same way if it's Scrabble, or Tic toe, or charades.

I'll give you an example. For about ten years I've been a fitness nut. A real fanatic. I'm really strong and have the cardiovascular system of King Kong. It's not natural for me. I'm compensating for all my psychological inadequacies, and the fact that inside I'm just a scared little kid. The term you're looking for is "pussy." The fact is that I'm also afraid of being a pussy, so I've worked really hard to disguise it to such a degree that I'm actually a real badass except for the fact that I'm really just a pussy. Understand?

Anyway, I've run all these marathons and a fifty miler and I run everyday. About a month ago my wife announced that she wanted to come along on my long weekend run. I run with this guy who qualified for Boston, a natural. We've been doing this for several years.

So, for her first run, we go ten miles at our normal training pace of 8 minutes. My wife refuses to drink anything along the way (an amateur mistake,) and won't even suck an energy gel. We were planning on going nice and easy but we have this natural pace and we keep falling into it, and my wife kept up an never complained and did the whole thing with us. Afterwards, she smiled and talked. We went out for a drink, and she laughed. We dropped my partner off, got home, sent the babysitter away.... and my wife collapsed.

I don't mean that she collapsed like "boy I'm really tired" collapsed. She collapsed in total body failure, the shivers, the sweats, the whole nine yards. It was alarming. You may think I'm a callous jerk for pushing her, or I should have known better, but you don't understand. I didn't push her. To all appearances, she did the run easy. Never, not once did she give any indication of distress.

I'm now convinced that the first sign of distress I would ever see from her would be when she would fall face first into the trail with an exploded heart.

She's like that.

That's where Hee-hee gets it, and I'd like to get her out of being that way.

This past Sunday we're playing foosball for the first time. I explain the rules to her. She nods and pays attention the whole time.

On the very first ball she passes it to her defender, than to her goalie, and then knocks the ball deliberately into her own goal.

"I did it!" She exclaims.

"Yes, you did. That's my point," I reply.

"Nuh-uhhh," she disagrees.

"Yes, really. That's my point. You're supposed to hit it into the other goal. That one's mine. I get the point." I click my counter over so it says "1." Hee-hee stares at me in shocked disbelief.

"That's not fair."

"Yes," I say. "It is fair."

"Nooooooo! I didn't know. You didn't tell me. You Cheated.!"

"No Honey, you're starting to make me mad. I did tell you. I'm your Daddy, I would never cheat you. I told you that if the ball goes in that goal it's my point, and you said you understood."

I don't know how I got myself into this. I'm a real prick. But, I can't back down now.

"It's not right!" She cries, in full offended mode.

"There is no right and wrong in foosball, just the rules. That's a lesson for life, Honey. Remember it."

She cries and thrashes on the floor violently, and I suggest that she's not being a good sport and maybe we should just stop playing since she's taking it all too seriously. As far as my daughter is concerned, abandoning a game in the middle is a mortal sin, so she promises to stop crying.

"It's only one point, Honey. We're playing to ten, and this is just for fun. It really doesn't matter, Ok."

"Ok," she says and grabs the rods with the steely-eyed grim determination of a fighter pilot about to make a suicidal strafing run.

I feed the ball, and pass it from my centers to my attackers and nudge it gently just to the left of her goal. She intercepts it with her goalie, accidently spins the wrong way and knocks it into her own goal.

There is pure silence as she stares at me with huge heartbroken eyes, welling with tears.

"That was a good try," I say.

Silence.

The final score is ten to four, and every point was like that. Sheer torture. I couldn't even make it any closer. In foosball, the bulk of the men you control are close to your goal. Every time I got the ball, I would pass it gently into her area, and in her efforts to stay in control she would try to move it among her men with the inevitable result that it eventually drop into her goal.

I tried.

Any ball that she hit towards the goal, I let go by making dramatic misses. I even "accidently" knocked a couple into my goal.

Still, she got creamed.

Hee-hee has a full-blown fit. She screams and lays down and thrashes her legs and cries and yells and carries on. I know enough about my daughter to guess that this isn't all foosball, but rather foosball is probably the tipping point for all the fears and frustration of a prepubescent goal coming out at once, but it's till awesome to watch.

Finally (and I swear this is true,) she launches unknowingly into racial epithets.

"It's not fair! You got to have the black guys. I got stuck with the white guys, and they stink. They don't work right."

For the record, our foosball table has one team ivory colored and the other team ebony colored. As far as I can tell they are all identically cast from the same mold, the sole difference being the coloration of the plastic they are made from.

There are no racial inequalities on my foosball table.

"Your guys work fine, honey. You just have to practice."

"You cheated! You took my point! It's not fair!"

And on and on and on for literally half an hour. It's really out of hand. I explain that it's just a game. All in fun. That you have to be a good sport. That it doesn't matter. That life is full of disapointments, and that foosball is a minor one. I try to console her, but she is, how do you say....

Inconsolable.

I'm getting frustrated and this has gone on long enough. I'm not getting mad, but I have a plan. A long term plan. She really does have to learn.

"Hee-hee, listen to me, " I say (noting the irony that at the same time she is screaming and crying and calling me a dirty cheater, she is also hugging me and crying into my shoulder.) "It really hurts my feelings that you call me a cheater. I love you, and I wouldn't cheat you. I'll tell you what. If it will make you happy, I'll let you have the point. Not because you're right, but just because it bothers you and I want to be nice" She stops crying and listens now, sensing she's getting her way. "That will make the score 9 to 5. But you have to promise to be a good sport, ok? It doesn't matter who wins, ok?"

She agrees, but I know it's dishonest.

She wipes her eyes, gets a drink and pulls herself together and I reset the score to 9 to 5.

I feel like a total shit because of what I am about to do, but if you knew my daughter, you would know that it was long overdue, and that this was a lesson she had to learn.

Hee-hee positions her men carefully, testing each rod for play and spin with the total focus of an olympic athlete.

She feeds the ball.

I excecute my plan. I play my best. I get control, pass to center and with a wrist snap, fire the ball into her goal at about 100mph.

"GOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLL! Yeah! Daddy wins!" I shout.

Hee-hee collapses into a crying heap. I pick her up and let her sob it all out. I tell her again that it's fun, that she should be a good sport, that she should congratulate me. This however is her first taste of defeat in her short life, and she doesn't take it all that well.

Hours later, Mom and Mealy-bug take a bath and Hee-hee is curled on my lap still weaping while we watch Armageddon.

"Sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose. You have to be happy, Hon. You can't let the little things bother you. Foosball takes practice, but it's just for fun. It doesn't matter who wins. I just like to play to be with you. You just have to learn to be with happy with life."

In between sniffs and sniffles she weeps "But I...." :Sniff: "Don't..." :Sniffle: "Have a happy life."

"What's wrong with your life, honey. Besides foosball of course."

"Mealy-bug always wants to play with my toys." she cries tragically.

"So, she likes you. That's not too bad. You're always a good share-bear."

"But she takes the outfits off of my Polly's and sometimes I can't find them."

By "Pollys" she's referring to Polly pockets. These are little two inch high plastic girl dolls with plastic outfits that you can put on and take off. I hate Pollys. Their like Barbie in all their cliche consumerist values and I'm not crazy about instilling that kind of crap into my kid. But, she loves them and all the kids have them, and the fact is that she's just a kid and I want her to have the toys that she wants.

More importantly though, I don't want to force my prejudices upon her. I have a real problem with Pollys. For me, it's Personal.

You see, Hee-hee was playing with the Pollys in the bath one day and left one behind. They are only about two inches high and easy to miss.

I filled the bath with water and didn't see it. I got in the bath and sat down... right on Polly Pocket. Polly Pocket went into a place where Polly Pocket should never go. My distress was immediate. The problem though was worse than you might imagine. I didn't simply have a plastic toy lodged in my fundament. It was stuck. When I sat down on Polly her arms were at her side. When I tried to pull her out, those plastic arms were like barbs on a fish hook.

That's more information that you wanted from this digression, I'm sure. Let's just thank God for cream rinse's lubricant properties, say that I never looked at Polly the same way, and leave it at that, ok?

Anyway.

"Aww, Honey. You have a good life. I love you very much. You have to try hard to be a good sport, ok. Really. Sometimes you lose, and it doesn't matter. You have to remember how the other person feels. You wouldn't want somebody to cry and call you names when you beat them, would you. You should make them feel good for winning. It's only fair."

At "fair," my daughter's eyes look at mine.

"Ok," she says.

She asked to play yesterday, but I said no.

Today we played and I won 10-4.

She told me "good job," and went into her room and cried by herself, quietly.

This parenting stuff can be tough. I hope I'm doing good.

[anyrose]

well, it sounds to me like you're off to a good start. She's young yet, and if she chooses to learn from you, she'll probably be fine. But if the missus' "win at all costs" philosophy overshadows yours, little HeeHee may have a tough time of it in school.

[fluiddruid]

Scylla, as usual, that was a joy to read. I laughed aloud at the Polly Pockets and the tub. Did you lose some outfits up there?

In all seriousness, though, I hope you don't worry too much about being a good parent. Your words shine with obvious love and affection, and you clearly spend time with her and talk with her about her thoughts and feelings. It's hilarious that you creamed her on that re-won point, but it was an excellent lesson too. Sometimes you will do everything you can and still lose; you don't have to like it, but you have to cope. You sound like a really cool dad.

[Guinastasia]

I love the stories about your daughter, Scylla-she sounds like a real little character.

I think you're doing the right thing. Eventually she'll just see it more of a challenge, and instead of, "I must win", it will be, "I must do better."

[Improv Geek]

My mom recounts the hardest lesson she ever gave my younger sister. My younger sister tended to bite people when they did something she didn't like and they had tried everything but she was still doing it. One night I was doing something and my sister didn't like it, so she bit me. I was 6 and she was 4 I think. And my mom comes flying into the room with my cries. Without a word she swept down on my sister and finally she just bit her!

My mom bit my sister so she could learn what it felt like. She didn't draw blood or anything, but the shock and pain of it made my sister quite biting people cold turkey. Mom said it was the hardest thing she ever did.

[Poysyn]

Scylla, that was a fun read, and thank you so much for sharing.

I feel your pain, I really do, my daughter is three and is an only child. She is beautiful, smart, articulate and amazing. She is also bossy, doesn't like to lose and has a hard time sharing.

I don't lose (generally), and am pretty competitive.

I am not looking forward to teaching her this lesson, but hopefully I can learn from your example

[GusNSpot]

There was a time when there were little Pac-Man™ tables all over the world that played for a quarter. We traveled to a lot of soccer games and tournaments. Her name was at the top of the high score list at every table she sat down to. Only took one quarter. (Never saw her lose a game, she would just run out of time and have to leave.)

She started playing soccer as an 7 year old in the under 10 girl group. ( back in the old days ) She did not know what a loss was until the final game for the state championship in her last season of the under 10 girls.

That was a lesson day for a lot of young ladies. Parents too.

She went on to play at the premier league level until an injury stopped her when she was about 17.

Lucky for me she was not the best at all things, so she did learn to lose without too much angst.

[Otto]

Never, and I cannot stress this enough, never let her play poker.

[roger thornhill]

6 years old is about the age when a parent should no longer let their child win. They cry at first, sure; some will cry longer, but that's immaterial. One of the greatest lessons a parent can teach a child is that however good they are at something there will always be others better. And since we're all going to be doing a lot more losing in life than winning, getting used to losing is a good discipline. It also paradoxically makes you a better winner.

[ivylass]

Oh, that kids popped out knowing everything already, and could go through life without getting bumped and bruised along the way.

Scylla, you did good. She's well on her way to learning how to be a good loser as well as a good winner.

[WordMan]

Well told and BOY, can I relate.

Keep on doing what you are doing - and please keep writing about it.

[slaphead]

I am not really qualified to comment on the parent issues, since I don't get on with kids as an adult and was a little shit when I was a kid myself. However, I have to say

Originally Posted by Scylla

Polly Pocket went into a place where Polly Pocket should never go.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! This is one of the finest little digressions I have ever encountered. I hope any injury to your 'back pocket' was minor and didn't affect your running style too much.

[anyrose]

Thinking about this thread has caused me to remember - My sister, 15 years my senior (and living on her own), would go out of her way to beat me, which made me want to win even more - so I practiced (chess, backgammon, whatever) with my parents every chance I got, read strategy books, joined clubs at school, all so I would improve enough to beat her the next time she came to visit. Sometimes it even worked.

[AHunter3]

Scylla, if you ever leave the Straight Dope and set up a pay website where only you are allowed to post, I will pay my membership just to read them.

[a35362]

Parenting -- not for the squeamish.

She's only six. She'll be okay. Sounds like you're doing a great job.

So...was your wife okay?

[iamthewalrus(:3=]

Originally Posted by AHunter3

Scylla, if you ever leave the Straight Dope and set up a pay website where only you are allowed to post, I will pay my membership just to read them.

Sssshhh!

Don't tell him!

[MaxTheVool]

Originally Posted by Scylla

We win the club championship every year in tennis, including both years when she delivered our children by csection, and was nursing them. Of course, I have to give myself credit. I stood on the court, thus fulfilling the requirement that she have a partner.

Chandler?





Seriously, awesome post, and an adorable story. I have a cousin who's 11 or so now who has a tinge of the overcompetitive can't-bear-to-lose syndrome. It's hard to know how to compete against him... On the one hand, playing full out at something like soccer and just destroyed someone half your size seems a bit pointless. On the other hand, I kind of feel that losing would be good for his character... Generally, it's easiest in a team game like soccer to kind of try to keep things close so all egos are kept in check.

[NurseCarmen]

Originally Posted by Scylla

She's a true bleeding-heart liberal in a way that most bleeding heart liberals could only envy.

Sweet! You done bred a Democrat!

She can't stand losing.

Ooops. Maybe not.

[Burnt Sugar]

Phew. Makes me glad I don't have kids!

[Elza B]

Scylla, you're the kind of parent I want to be with my own kids. Seriously.

[gigi]

Originally Posted by roger thornhill

6 years old is about the age when a parent should no longer let their child win. They cry at first, sure; some will cry longer, but that's immaterial. One of the greatest lessons a parent can teach a child is that however good they are at something there will always be others better. And since we're all going to be doing a lot more losing in life than winning, getting used to losing is a good discipline. It also paradoxically makes you a better winner.

Yes, isn't it "cheating" her to falsely let her win?

[JohnT]

Originally Posted by gigi

Yes, isn't it "cheating" her to falsely let her win?

You want the kid to enjoy the game. Obviously, playing baseball with a four year old puts you in a situation where it's hard to lose... but you want the kid to have fun, right? So you lose.

If you keep winning, they get frustrated and "I never want to play that again - I always lose!" That's not good.

Btw, you let your three year-old see Armageddon, Scylla? Now I don't feel so bad about taking our three year-old to see Revenge of the Sith last summer!

[Rigamarole]

Originally Posted by JohnT

You want the kid to enjoy the game. Obviously, playing baseball with a four year old puts you in a situation where it's hard to lose... but you want the kid to have fun, right? So you lose.

Uh, no.

It's never fun to play a game with someone who isn't even trying to win.

What's the point?

(yes, I'm thinking from a child's perspective - my parents did this to me and I felt terribly cheated and betrayed when I discovered the truth. Any good feelings I had experienced from "winning" anything in the past, whether with them or my peers, was immediately negated and belittled)

[gigi]

Or, you could just teach skills useful in that game, and enjoy time together. My father just taught us to bat, catch, throw, etc., but we didn't play to win or lose. That kind of trouncing came later in life.

[Knowed Out]

Oh man, classic post again from Scylla. I haven't stifled this much laughter in my cube farm since the blimps.

[roger thornhill]

Originally Posted by gigi

Or, you could just teach skills useful in that game, and enjoy time together. My father just taught us to bat, catch, throw, etc., but we didn't play to win or lose. That kind of trouncing came later in life.

Indeed. My best experience of childhood (i.e. of my own and of my kid's) teaches me that a child with more than the average self-knowledge, a child brought up to understand and affirm the difference between right and wrong, and true and false, will suss out pretty quickly when a parent is letting them win inappropriately. In other words, sure, let them win when it's an open secret that you're doing so, and they'll be fine with that. They won't feel cheated. But when they want a proper contest, usually as they get older, of course, respect them enough to give it your best shot. Then they know where they stand.

[JohnT]

Originally Posted by Rigamarole

Uh, no.

It's never fun to play a game with someone who isn't even trying to win.

What's the point?

(yes, I'm thinking from a child's perspective - my parents did this to me and I felt terribly cheated and betrayed when I discovered the truth. Any good feelings I had experienced from "winning" anything in the past, whether with them or my peers, was immediately negated and belittled)

Yes, because when your four year-old yells "let's race, Daddy!" I should flat out go and KICK HER ASS, EVERY TIME because it's good for 'em!

Do I get to trash talk? "Take, THAT, Loser!!!! Loser, loser, Sophie is a loser!"



Ahhhh... childrearing lessons from the childless. Aren't they just precious?

[Omniscient]

Originally Posted by Scylla

As far as my daughter is concerned, abandoning a game in the middle is a mortal sin, so she promises to stop crying.

We could use her in our Fantasy Baseball league, she interested?

Finally (and I swear this is true,) she launches unknowingly into racial epithets.

"It's not fair! You got to have the black guys. I got stuck with the white guys, and they stink. They don't work right."

Good god man, that's rich.

[Angel of the Lord]

Originally Posted by Rigamarole

Uh, no.

It's never fun to play a game with someone who isn't even trying to win.

What's the point?

(yes, I'm thinking from a child's perspective - my parents did this to me and I felt terribly cheated and betrayed when I discovered the truth. Any good feelings I had experienced from "winning" anything in the past, whether with them or my peers, was immediately negated and belittled)

Heh. My grandpa and I used to arm wrestle when I was a young 'un (eight through twelve-ish). I won most of the time, just by the skin of my teeth. Even when I was eight.

Now, my twenty-two year-old self knows that my grandpa--who was a very strong man--was not bested by a nine-year old girl with absolutely no athletic prowess whatsoever. He let me win, but gave me enough of a fight that I felt that I was winning by my own merits. Realizing later on that he was stronger than me and could've licked me easy didn't make the experience any less fun; I mean, it wasn't as though he suddenly proclaimed, "I let you win!" And, frankly, I don't think that any parent should ever do that.

That being said. . .that was great, Scylla. This kind of thing is why I started Doping so many years ago. And, FWIW, as someone not-too-far out of kid-hood, I think you did the right thing.

[gigi]

Originally Posted by JohnT

Ahhhh... childrearing lessons from the childless. Aren't they just precious?

Yeah, because the fact that I don't have children means I was never a child, and have never interacted with children in my life.

[NurseCarmen]

Originally Posted by Angel of the Lord

twenty-two year-old self knows that my grandpa--who was a very strong man--was not bested by a nine-year old girl with absolutely no athletic prowess whatsoever.

If only you knew what grandpa was really up to...
I am so going to hell.

[CrankyAsAnOldMan]

Originally Posted by gigi

Yes, isn't it "cheating" her to falsely let her win?

I think there is a spectrum here. With some things, you have to "cheat" a little to give them a chance to learn the rules of the game.

I am sure that Scylla, for example, has taught his daughter chess. Perhaps he's written a post about it that I missed somewhere. But I digress. A grownup playing a toddler who has newly started chess could win in a very few moves. Then the game would be over, the kid learns little, and it doesn't feel very fun. The better move is to 'cheat'-- the parent plays "badly" enough that the game can last awhile. He or she may even play badly enough to let the kid win.

As kids develop, parents can gradually up the level of competitive play. Parents are not just trying to help kids develop their playing skills, but they are also helping them develop emotional maturity. A 1st grader may have the brain and/or skills of a 12 year old but still be way behind their peers in emotional equilibrium and ability to handle setbacks. I believe that's why one has to be careful with children who are "advanced."

[JohnT]

Originally Posted by gigi

Yeah, because the fact that I don't have children means I was never a child, and have never interacted with children in my life.

It's totally different this side of the aisle. So different that parenthood, like Bangledeshian-level poverty or the incessant pain of a chronic injury, is one of those things in life where one isn't really qualified to understand until one experiences it.

[gigi]

Originally Posted by JohnT

It's totally different this side of the aisle. So different that parenthood, like Bangledeshian-level poverty or the incessant pain of a chronic injury, is one of those things in life where one isn't really qualified to understand until one experiences it.

I'm sure you're right; there just may have been a more gracious way to say it. Silly breeder.

[roger thornhill]

Originally Posted by JohnT

It's totally different this side of the aisle. So different that parenthood, like Bangledeshian-level poverty or the incessant pain of a chronic injury, is one of those things in life where one isn't really qualified to understand until one experiences it.

Well, of course a non-parent can't experience what it's like to be a parent, just as someone who's never taken cocaine can't share that experience. But understanding children, indeed, understanding parenting, is something in which someone without children of their own may exceed someone with. Not just "professionals", such as teachers or psychologists, either. Just as someone who's never touched the white stuff may be more empathetic with, and more understanding of crack addicts. And more helpful to their recovery/development too.

[ivylass]

Originally Posted by Rigamarole

Uh, no.

It's never fun to play a game with someone who isn't even trying to win.

What's the point?

(yes, I'm thinking from a child's perspective - my parents did this to me and I felt terribly cheated and betrayed when I discovered the truth. Any good feelings I had experienced from "winning" anything in the past, whether with them or my peers, was immediately negated and belittled)

There's a reason they split up youth football/hockey/baseball teams into age groups. What fun would it be for the 16-year-olds to play the 6-year-olds? A parent has an unfair advantage, and there's no reason not to fudge a little and let the child win. Or, you could play board games like Monopoly, where there's not as much skill involved and help the child along the way, but a parent/child competition is weighted in favor of the parent. (At least, until the child becomes a teenager...my son can beat me in a footrace any day of the week now.)

[Cardinal]

Originally Posted by ronincyberpunk

Without a word she swept down on my sister and finally she just bit her!

I think my mom had to do that with my brother. He would fight with another boy in the church nursery. One would bite, and the other would kick.

[clairobscur]

opping in just to say I loved this OP.....

[clairobscur]

Popping in just to say I loved this OP.....

[clairobscur]

Popping in just to say I loved this OP.....





(and going back to my scheduled American Civil War wargame...But I've the feeling the computer is letting me win in order not to not hurt my feelings)