What Matters



KS Jones

 

Today, I was reminded of a time many years ago when both of my children were small and impressionable. As a family we loved to play games. All kinds of games. We played Scrabble. We played Yahtzee. We played Monopoly. We even played cards together--poker and blackjack, mostly. We did not play for money. We played for the win. Our children both chose to play competitive sports, too. They learned that winning means you've succeeded. You have moved ahead of the others in the almighty race to happiness. For a fleeting moment anyway, because whomever just lost is already planning a new game with the intention of taking your lead.

My husband and I always took the path of teaching our children how to play the game. On the other hand, my mother--their loving grandmother--taught them how to win. She was ruthless. She smiled the whole game, maybe broader than most each time she took their winnings from them. You see, it didn't matter that they were 3, or 5, or 10, or 15 years old. You played to win. My kids were certainly not coddled in the art of success and confidence. Often they would cry when they lost and my mother would say, "Maybe you'll win next time." Sometimes they would throw the game pieces on the floor in anger. My mother would say, "Now pick them all up." My kids would shout, "Why don't you pick them up?" She'd say, "Because I won. The loser has to put the game away." And she'd smile and go on about her day. Sounds a bit unfair, maybe a bit un-grandmotherly, doesn't it? Sometimes I thought so, too, but I never interfered because my mother was a good mother to me. She was also a good grandmother to them. It wasn't my place to take her teachings, or her methods, away from her. That was what she thought was important to offer my kids. She was their grandmother and she'd earned that right, even if she did sometimes offer her teachings with strategic and merciless intent.

Do you know what my kids learned from playing those games? From Scrabble, they both learned to be excellent readers and writers. From Yahtzee, they both learned how to calculate the gain needed to succeed in most anything. From Monopoly, they both learned when to buy, when to trade, how to sell, and most importantly, when to cut your losses. From cards, they both learned how to keep a "poker-face" when it counts and how to add and match quickly. Their minds are fast and furious nowadays. From the players in these games, they both learned that sometimes siding with an opponent can mean defeat for the usual winner, even if they still had to climb those last few steps to the winner's circle alone at least now they had better odds of winning. And from their fiercest opponent (their grandmother) they learned to respect the intellect of the winner. They learned to study people. They learned to assimilate information quickly. They learned to practice 'til perfect. They learned to calculate the odds needed to win. And they learned that they still had to put the game away even if they were mad about the loss. If they wanted the prestige of not having to put the game away, they needed to learn how to win. Maybe most importantly, they learned how to cope with life and all the various types of players it hands you.

And they learned that if you win this round, don't bask in the winner's light too long because we all know the next game starts soon. And you have to start your climb to the winner's circle all over again.

I was reminded of this early this morning by my now-adult son. He sent me this YouTube video that he'd found which must have stirred his memories. Today I want to share What Matters with you, too: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kSAVN-nYSLI

In my world today, this crucial lesson reminds me that it doesn't matter which book you've just finished writing, or how big a success it may have been. Today is a new day and a new book needs to be written. Will it be disastrous, or a critically acclaimed success? I suppose it all depends on how you play the game with the opponents and the cards that are dealt you.

May The Games Be Ever In Your Favor,
Karen
www.ksjones.com