Biggest Woozer

Toms blog edition:

Corrupting the children… check.  Teaching socially unacceptable behaviors…  check.  It has been a good day.  I think I can rest easy tonight.

1 hour earlier.  Isaac, Nicholas and I sat down to play a serious game of competition for world domination.  This was no mamby-pamby  “gentlemen’s” game.  This was WAR and they were out for blood.  By entering the competition, I was set to risk everything with humiliations galore but if I win… then I can come away with…  nothing?  Let’s face it, soundly defeating a 3 yr old in head to head competition isn’t the sort of thing you can brag about to your “drinkin” buddies.    At the same time a sound trouncing of my opponents would surely brighten my day.

So it was that I said “Pick a game, any game.”  Don’t break the Ice was chosen over the likes of Risk, Stratego, Chess or even Monopoly.  The game progressed at an alarmingly fast pace.  Tap, Tap, Tap, clink.  Unexpectedly, it was my turn and the only move would drop the remaining pieces including the plastic red skater with that mocking smile.  I had been daydreaming about that which all teenage boys fanaticize.  That’s right…  a Ginourmous shredded beef, extra cheese, smothered burrito.   I nonchalantly took my turn with the vain hope that my “non-win” would be a non-event.  I, however, had non-luck.  Immediately, the fingers pointed and a chorus exploded with delight pronouncing my defeat.  “Woozer, Woozer, you are the big WOOZER!” 

I was instantly transported back to an unfortunate childhood experience where I had my first non-win and tasted yet again the bitter herbs of dire rejection.  WAIT… I am a mature adult beyond the need for validation of toddlers whimsical adulation!  So I “pinched” myself to snap back to present day reality.  (Actually, I find that plucking nose hairs works so much better than pinching oneself)  I took the moral high road to crushing defeat and…  declared the game invalid, on a technicality and ordered up a rematch.  Yeah baby, redemption is going to crush you. 

Although there is proof to the contrary, my story is that I crushed my barely potty trained opponents.  In fact, my brain recoiled slightly when I was crowned the WOOZER again.  But, as it turns out, we were suddenly playing the best 2 out of 3.   “WOOZER, WOOZER, you’re the big WOOZER”.  How about the best 3 of 5?  And so it went game after game, well into the evening.  Although I sneaked a few wins, I was by far the biggest WOOZER.  As the night wore on and sleep threatened to overtake them, I finally had to stop the pain and concede…  a draw.   

As I coaxed the contented contenders from cushy couch cushions and into comfy California king cotton, I reflected on their exuberance and joy at beating their dad and naming him the big Woozer.  I contemplated the happiness derived from competing, playing and interacting in a world with simplified rules and objectives.  I evaluated the intrinsic messages of competition displayed by the socially unacceptable practice of gloating over a crushing victory.  Perhaps I was corrupting their innocence by encouraging their sense of competition.  Possibly, non-winning is not that big of a deal.  Maybe it is in reality “Just a game.”   The only thing I am sure is that I have been crowned king of the Woozers, although I am not sure exactly what is a “Woozer.”  Maybe my drinkin buddies can tell me…

King Woozer