The Crying Game

At the precise moment of admitting defeat at the hands of my adversary, a small, unassuming, and yet hugely powerful opponent, I had a moment of total clarity. In one epiphanic flash, I perceived his full battle strategy and was forced to tip my hat to the cunning genius and utter simplicity of his plan. I had been outflanked, outmaneuvered, and out-right slam dunked. Again.

Allow me, if you will, to reveal for the first time my story. It is a story of the triumph of youth over experience, of primal instinct over wizened rationality. It is not a tale which I tell with pride, nor yet with anguish, but its telling will – I sincerely hope – unburden my soul by acknowledging the full untenability of my position.

And because my adversary is only two and half years old, he has yet to comprehend the sweetness of victory while I face the next 20 years (nay, more!) of bitter defeats.

The story unfolds in the recent past, about a week ago. I had the immediate urge to sit down and write out the details, but I forestalled my instinct so as to allow the passage of time to enrich the details and perhaps to shed further insight.

My friend and business partner was going to appear on a new B92 television show as a guest. The scheduled time (o! cruel clarity of hindsight!) was at 20.00 – dinner time for my opponent. The normal fare at this time of an evening consists of Spongebob, Noddy, or even the random madness of Cartoon Network. I should have known that he would never go gently into that good night.

Before I continue, I should state for the record that I believe myself to be a reasonably Good Father. I do not believe in corporal punishment, in negative reinforcement, or in imposing my will with the time-tested parental reasoning of “BECAUSE I SAID SO!” On the other hand, I firmly believe in establishing discipline and limits. The job description of a child includes a large amount of Limit Testing, to see how far they can go before a parent’s head physically implodes and he (this is the father’s perspective, therefore “he”) dissolves into a mass of molten chemicals on the kitchen floor.

The battle scenario I had planned (and yes, I knew there would be a battle) consisted of 1) early concessions, 2) distraction, 3) deferred rewards, and 4) grim determination. The adversary’s tactical approach however was much simpler: CRY UNTIL YOUR MOTHER INTERCEDES.

I will spare you the gory details from the actual field of battle. Suffice to say that my cunning plan was doomed from the outset. As I took possession of the TV’s remote control and switched channels, the crying began. Any parent can tell you that there are very clear distinctions between mothers and fathers as to what represents a tolerable amount of crying. The mother, generally speaking, can resist crying for approximately 0.02 seconds. The father, on the other hand, may have a much higher upward limit. In my experience, however, I cannot say with any accuracy how long I could resist the howling, if only because the end of the maternal resistance time is accompanied by Direct Intervention. After 0.01 seconds, the stern looks set in (“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY CHILD?”). After 0.015 seconds, the Swooping In begins. By the time the deadline arrives, corrective procedures are already being executed.

In fairness to the players in this drama, I was indeed able to see my partner’s guest appearance, the crying did not last more than about a minute (although it seemed like 30), and there was no post-traumatic shock to deal with on any side. My own plan, however, was exposed as a failure.

Why have I shared this tale with you? What force has compelled me to regale you with my shameful and undignified demise? They say that confession is good for the soul, but this is not the reason. The fact is that my young son has brought about a sea-change in his father’s Weltanschauung. No longer will I hatch elaborate schemes to try to circumvent defeat; no more shall I consider my adversary as an opponent; and, finally, no further shall I proceed down the erroneous path of opposing overwhelming odds against me.

Next time, I will just try the Crying.