It’s gratifying as a parent to know that every once in a great while, you’re able to pass on advice to your children that actually seems to resonate with them.
I have my little sayings that I’m prone to repeat, and my wife likes to point out that I sometimes sound like our own parents when I pass on some of that ‘old-time folksy knowledge.’ One of my favourites typically follows a tyke tumble, big or small, and the inevitable waterworks that come after that shock sets in for my son or daughter when they realize they were no longer on their feet, but in fact now looking skyward somehow.
“The fall isn’t important, it’s whether or not we get up and keep going that is,” I’ll say. I rather like that one, makes me feel wise beyond my 39 years. And sometimes it helps, sometimes it just incites more wailing. Consistency is the key.
Finn has been playing a game on the iPad with my missus lately. It’s called ‘My Singing Monsters,’ and essentially you manage a series of islands populated by various creatures that each has a different specialty or sound in the band. You feed them, care for them, even breed them (minds out of the gutter, it’s not that kind of game). Piper is also interested, and it’s a nice way for the three of them to unwind at the end of the day or to get it kick started in the morning.
There’s been a couple occasions when Finn has completely freaked out when something doesn’t go as planned in the confines of the game. He is five and a half, after all, not a shocker there. Both meltdowns have involved full-on tears, and almost a desperation to backtrack the game to get things right the second time.
Finn is very competitive, he wants and expects to win everything every single time. It’s been a bit of a slow go trying to explain to him that he isn’t always going to win, and to be as humble in winning as in defeat, because the latter will certainly teach you more in the interim and only help you succeed the next time out.
The latest incident occurred in the morning last week, and Finn was still really bent out of shape by the time I had both tykes packed up in the car for daycare/kinder camp. After I dropped Piper off first, I had a few minutes with my son to share one of my own experiences with getting too wrapped up in games. Yes, this is a hockey story.
Everyone who knows me from the days of yore (we’re talking 15 years ago) and happened to be in my presence during the Stanley Cup Playoffs probably already know where I’m going with this. My ‘passion’ for the Philadelphia Flyers especially during the months of April and May used to come to a head in a rather ugly matter. I went from being a moderate nutjob about cheering for my team during the regular season to full-scale psychopath during the postseason.
The peak of my insanity came in 2010, when the Flyers came within two wins of winning the Cup. Those couple months of playoffs were emotionally taxing to say the least. I spent most games yelling/swearing at the television, to the point where I became a sort of novelty act for some of my friends; they would literally want to watch the game with me to see how I would react. But towards the end of that run and especially that final series against Chicago, no one wanted anything to do with me, and I don’t blame them. I watched those games alone, ranting to an empty room.
After I moved back home from Calgary, that playoff rage followed me for a couple more years. Until Nicole and I started dating regularly. A non-sports fan, she couldn’t understand why I was getting so worked up that the ref had decided to give one of Philly’s players a high-sticking call so late in the game when we were already down, even though the recipient of the call was ‘leaking’ profusely. I didn’t really have a decent answer for her, because it was all I knew for so long. Watching Flyers playoff hockey and yelling at the TV had become as natural as waking up and immediately putting on the kettle for a morning mud.
But I began to see myself through other’s eyes, and how psychotic I must appear over just a game in which I had zero control. It was like a switch was flipped, and I started to watch the games for what they were and actually enjoy them despite the fact if we won or lost. I’d even miss a playoff game or two if my schedule required, which was unheard of only a couple years before. By significantly letting go it really helped my mental health, and my blood pressure no doubt thanked me too.
So this was the life lesson I presented to Finn, and he really seemed to listen and understand. By the time I dropped him off, his crustiness had dissipated and the jaunt was back in his step. He even mentioned it the next day and said that it didn’t matter that the game didn’t go his way. Because it was just a game, and it’s just meant to be fun.
That said, he still doesn’t hesitate to taunt me and perform a victory dance after handing me my posterior in Hungry, Hungry Hippos. Can’t win ‘em all, I reckon.
Thanks for reading and I’ll see you back here in a fortnight.
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This is a bi-weekly opinion column; for question or comment contact Dan McNee at dmcnee@midwesternnewspapers.com.
