Talking to the void

I don’t often play games with my family. Unfortunately, I am a sore loser. I despise the feeling of losing. My body tenses as I suffer the frustration caused by the ill fate of the cards (or the dice roll, depending on what game is before me). I grow sour and quiet. I snap at my family if they linger too long on their turn or, in some other way, delay the gameplay. I pout. I whine. I bitch. And I am also ruthless. My family jokes how no one wants to be the one whose turn is after mine. I will do whatever I can, within the legal play of the game, to win. Often to the detriment of the other players. In other words, I am awful.

I am not proud of this.

My husband, daughter, and I played Rummy 500 a few nights ago. I lost spectacularly! I didn’t collect more than 30 points in any hand, much less win a single one! I was beside myself in frustration. I had a mini tantrum on the last hand, throwing my cards down and stomping away to sulk in the other room.

When I calmed down, I began reflecting on what caused this nasty personality trait in me. It isn’t a hard path to find – my narcissistic father. When my sister and I were young, my father loved to play games with us. Unfortunately, he was relentless. He always played to win regardless of our age or ability levels. When he inevitably won, he would gloat and expound on how he was the winner, and we were the losers. “I am the best!” he would say. “You may touch my greatness,” he would continue as he extended his hand for us to touch. When I was young, I would laugh and think this was funny. It wasn’t until I began playing games with my own family that I realized how messed up it was.

I don’t know how he handled loss. I don’t remember him ever losing – at anything. He always had to be the best. For every hobby he tried, he would read, study, eat, sleep, and breathe it until he was the best. His hobbies were always competitive. From skeet shooting (he became best in the state) to sailboat racing (once written up in Sports Illustrated for winning one of the biggest races on the Great Lakes) to collecting cars (he has shelves full of trophies of car show firsts). While this might sound like a healthy pursuit of an interest, who doesn’t want to be good at what they do? With my father, winning was combined with the demeaning of those he beat. Wrapped in the guise of friendly jest, his “put down” humor was commonplace.

What did I learned from playing games with him or watching him compete? You are a capital “L” loser if you aren’t first. There is no silver or bronze metal, only gold. Unfortunately, the biggest lesson I took away was if you don’t play, you won’t lose. I have carried this lesson through life. I never put myself out there for fear of failure. Julie, my inner critic (see my earlier blog post for an introduction to her), takes this message to heart! She will stop me before I make a fool of myself and fail. Her voice rings in my ears, reminding me how easy it is to lose and likely I will. Consequently, I give up much too quickly, finding it better to walk away than to learn any unfavorable outcome.

This explains why I rarely play games with my family. I don’t want to lose. While I don’t intentionally gloat when I win, I am visibly happy. When I lose, not so much… My emotions are remarkably unmistakable and often not nice. I want to change this about myself. I am conscientiously making an effort to lose gracefully. Not to be upset. To enjoy the game just for the fun of it! So, the three of us played again last night. Once again, the cards were not in my favor. I was down over 200 points. My husband was one hand away from winning, with my daughter close behind. I was doing reasonably well controlling the disappointment I was feeling. When I started to whine, I would bring myself back to the fun of the game. With the second to last hand, I finally had favorable cards! I collected enough points to be within striking distance of winning. The final hand clinched it. I won handily.

I wonder if I should have thrown the game to work on my character and teach myself to lose gracefully.

No, I still want to win. I just don’t want to be a bitch when I lose!