Gaming Lessons Part II: Seizing the (Father's) Day

Risk is much more to my son’s liking. Counting and remembering may not appeal to many little boys, but world domination is right up my son’s alley. He likes it so much, that this morning I woke up to hear him trying to teach his little sister how to play. She is only four, and while she was eager Risk was a bit over her head both in mechanics and in purpose. She is less interested in domination. When we play chess the Queens meet in the middle of the board, have tea and invite the bishops, knights and castles to join them. For some reason the king is always busy checking his email.

My son became frustrated and starting yelling at his sister for not paying attention, so (after a few moments of enjoying this delicious irony) I accepted that, Father's Day or not, I could sleep no longer and went down to play her part – naturally she had chosen pink.

The die was cast, and it kept coming up in his favor. While I sought chokepoints (Iceland is good, so is North Africa) and to develop adequate force ratios, my son favored a more direct stratagem: “Attack!” His tiny expeditionary forces trounced my citadel in Quebec, my firewall in Ukraine, and my strongholds in Peru and Kamchatka. Soon he needed more pieces then the game provided, so he started using red pieces to augment his forces. A canny move, since my aged eyes had some trouble distinguishing between his red and my pink pieces.

Not that he needed much help. As four straight rolls went against me in the battle for Egypt I envisioned a newspaper headline spinning out, reading: Nile Defenses Shattered as Demoralized Pink Armies Collapse. But then, my small Mongolian contingents put up a surprisingly fierce resistance. I began composing lines for a future history textbook:

Unfamiliar with the terrain and overconfident from their stunning successes, Blue Armies found themselves bogged down by a tough insurgency in the depths of Mongolia’s deserts.

Finally, at my last bastion – inevitably Madagascar – the garrison fought well. I imagined its commander exhorting his men in their doomed defense like Hector at Troy and delivering bombastic speeches like Henry V calling on history: “To always remember the courage of the armies of Pink!”

But a few more rolls and it was over.

As a graduate student of international affairs, who has studied Sun-Tzu and Thucydides, it is humbling to be bested. It was also a lesson in the role of fortune in human affairs (and perhaps a warning that my coursework in conflict management is not serving me well.) The laws of probability decree that we all have a certain number of favorable rolls of the die in our lives. But perhaps these favorable rolls are bunched up at the beginning, for, as Machiavelli instructs, “…fortune always favors young men because they are not so much inclined to caution as to aggressiveness and daring…”

So my duty as dad is to teach him the things he’ll need when fortune’s favor shifts – as it inevitably will - diligence, virtue, and perhaps just a bit of cunning. That is my Father's Day Lesson, to teach my son guile, but as to girls he’ll be on his own.

(And to some extent so am I - I can't teach my daughter anything about guile, or much of anything else. She is four and knows everything.)

Gaming Lessons Part I: Naval Intelligence

My son, at seven, is finally at the age where he can play board games, and it is chance for me to impart some fatherly wisdom.

We started with Battleship, the classic game of naval combat. But this requires sitting still, remembering things and counting – not the traditional strengths of little boys. We play a more active version, which probably better exemplifies war at sea.



When he has a friend over, they team up to take me on. They add a dimension of intelligence and counter-intelligence. One will distract me, while the other tries to learn the location of my ships by sneaking around the dining room table where we play. Crawling under the table is permitted if they still have a submarine, but aircraft carriers or not, aerial surveillance by climbing over the table is forbidden by international treaty, and by mom. When the spy reports back the wee Admirals gesticulate madly at the board and discuss their findings in a chatter that brings to mind monkeys trying to write Shakespeare. Their intelligence analysis needs some work. Unless I actually give them the coordinates, they only locate my ships by chance.

Sometimes, after a disputed call, we wrestle it out. How can there be a disputed call in so straightforward a game as “Battleship?” When one party can’t count or keep track of moves the game acquires a more subjective component. This is historically accurate. Classic naval engagements were frequently settled by boarding actions.

To compensate for their poor naval intelligence, I’ll give both my son and his friend a strike in one turn. My son’s comrade will announce “E9.” “Miss,” I sigh. Then after a several minutes of shrieks and grunts, my son will announce their second strike, “E9!”

“Guys, it was a miss two minutes ago, how can it be a hit now?”

More monkey chatter. “Guys. I’ve told you before, don’t move your ships.”

It is now my turn, the chimpanzee chatter increases as the commodores discuss maneuvers to counter my strike (my 15 second old admonition not to move their ships already forgotten). If I paid attention to their increasingly manic gestures, I could locate their fleet readily, but I will let the little Nelsons have their Trafalgar. Instead, I warn them with a phrase so familiar, but almost never used in context:

“Loose lips, sink ships.”

Star Wars Spinoffs

Tired of just re-hashing scenes from the Star Wars movies, my son and I developed some spin-offs to play. One games is: No Padawan, about the dumbest apprentice in the Jedi Order. I play the bumbling apprentice, always moving objects inappropriately with the Force, not properly securing my light-sabre (and cutting off my toes), and talking too much. My son plays the wise, but frustrated master who has to admonish me for my failing. When I really mess up (like the time I told the Boba Fett where the Jedi attack team was hiding) he chases me around, sounding like the Skipper yelling, "Padawan" and trying to bonk me on the head with the foam sword we use as a light sabre. If there were national tournaments for Alan Hale impressions my son would definitely win the kindergarten division (and probably the entire elementary school league.)

My son likes this game because of the role reversal. It prepares me for his teenage years when I will, invariably, do everything wrong. When he whines at me, "Daaaad!" I hope he'll use the Alan Hale voice.

The other Star Wars based game we play is Jedi Chef. This is about a Jedi who uses his light sabre to cook things. He can slice and cook a turkey at the same time. Give him a loaf of bread and it will arrive sliced and toasted. (He's working on an attachment to dispense butter.) Also, instant French Fries. You'd think they would make vegetables dry and unpalatable, but at the right setting - veggie crisps!

It's a pretty cool show. We use the Force to throw food in the air, slice it with our light sabres and land it on the plates - which are then telekinetically sent to diners. Unfortunately, we never get past appetizers - the show is always interrupted by a battle droid attack.

Home HMOs

My daughter has been playing doctor lately. She'll look at me and announce, "You sick, I a doctor!" Then she puts her purple socks on her hands. (She is obsessed with a magazine ad for plastic surgery in which the doctors wear purple gloves. This has been a boon for potty training. We sit her down with the magazine and she concentrates.)

"No be nervous." She announces as she comes over with the "Lil Builder" tool chest. Then she gets out the hammer and starts whacking me.

"Doctor, what do I have that you need to hit me with a hammer."

"Be quiet. Take your medicine," she says sternly, "You sick!"

Then she gets out the drill...

When it is all over, she puts her hand out and says, "Copay!" It is usually a cookie, although if she has to give me a medicine (using her plastic watering can) it is two cookies. The care isn't great, but the price is right and I never have to wait for an appointment.

The other day my son got into the game. He said, "Daddy, let's play doctor. But let's pretend that we are bad doctors and when people come in for help, we just wrestle them."

The three of us saw patients all afternoon. Then mommy made us take naps.

"Here... diagonally"

If you were a kid in the 1970s you probably remember the commercial for "Connect Four:"

sister: I win!
brother: where, I don't see it
sister: see, here...diagonally
brother: pretty sneaky, sis!

Then the brother - frustrated - would let all the checkers fall to the table in a red and black crescendo worthy of Stendahl.

Now my son is in a "Connect Four" phase. But at five, the concept of diagonal is on a par with astrophysics. Again and again I get to relive that commercial. Except my son, rather than being impressed by my cleverness, is simply bewildered. He does enjoy watching the checkers crash.

Rock, Paper, Ewww!

My son has outgrown Tic-Tac-Toe (although I shouldn't speak to soon.) He has however discovered Rock, Paper, Scissors which is far more action-packed. But, being a boy, he developed his own version: Tongue, Toilet, Booger. Don't ask.*

My son, for some reason, prefers scissors and almost never uses paper at all. This is his secret vulnerability (his Kryptonite if you will). So if you find yourself in a rock, paper, scissors marathon with him play for money and take him for everything he is worth. Just cut me in for a slice.

* OK, you asked - tongue is grossed out by toilet, which in turn is clogged by booger, which is licked by tongue. I told you not to ask.

Playtime II: Fun is what your sibling finds

My father-in-law is a wonderful man, of course. Besides having a beautiful daughter, he came to this country with nothing and worked hard to guarantee decent lives for his children. He is truly a hero and I admire him. I envy him a bit too - his drive and his skill. Among his many talents is that he can build anything. (Also, even in his late seventies he has a great head of hair - which my son will inherit.)

One consequence of his life of working with his hands is that his yard is littered with aged rusty implements and parts - or, as my children like to call them, toys.

Watching my kids fight over a rusty bolt, when a few minutes of searching would probably reveal another one or something even cooler, says something profound about human nature.

Playtime I: Imagining the Mundane

My son plays these elaborate games within games. Recently, he and I built a zoo out of blocks and boxes, populating it with various toy animals. He and I were the zoo keepers. The animals had a playtime - where they had several adventure games (the monkeys were playing pirate, while the hippos - incongrously - were pretending to be lions, and the pigs were playing family.) As we shuttled between these games, we also had to attend to ongoing business at the zoo which was receiving visitors who were having their own adventures.

(I kept losing track of which adventure we were in - and my son would scold me for not paying attention. This game did something I didn't think possible - it gave me sympathy for the Windows operating system. No wonder it keeps shutting down when too many things are open.)

Eventually the little bears at the zoo began an elaborate pretend game, in which one of the bears was king and the other bears were coming to him with their problems. I couldn't exactly follow what the problems were - the narrative thread was a bit shaky. However, at one point, my son, playing the little bear king, said, in his deep little wise voice, "That is an important problem. We will have to have a meeting."

I was so proud. Already, he knows how to evade issues by referring them to a committee. (I was about six times his age before I learned how to do that.)

This may not augur well for his future success however. When I was little, I had lots of Fisher-Price toys. So I put the little Fisher-Price parking garage right next to the Fisher-Price airport and charged exorbitant rates. When the Playmobil guys came by and tried to build another parking garage I bought off the Fisher-Price town council to pass new zoning ordnances. The Fisher-Price dad always complained about the parking rates when they went on their daily vacations to my underwear drawer - but what could he do? I also owned the Fisher-Price school bus which was the only shuttle service available.

Unfortunately, my business achievements peaked early and have not been matched by comparable commercial success in adulthood. I am hoping my son is still on an upward trajectory.

Do the Hustle

Right now my son is in a tic-tac-toe phase. He can play it endlessly and my efforts to humor him and let him win only encourage him to play more. (There are only so many ways to lose at tic-tac-toe.)

So I am hustling him. We make a bet, I lose, then offer double or nothing. Finally, when the ante is high enough and he is flush with confidence I take him.

Do I feel bad about deceiving my son?

Absolutely not! He gets to play a fun game with Daddy while learning a valuable life lesson (better he learn at home than at a tavern from a guy named Slim.*) And, having taken him – my retirement is covered. He owes me a million-gazillion dollars.

* Don't mess around with that guy. Also, don't tug on Superman's cape, spit into the wind, or try to pull the mask off of the Lone Ranger.