Why Bother Winning?
I took Shane to a farm yesterday. It’s fall, the leaves are falling and the pumpkin patches are open for fun and frolic. Shane buried himself in corn, then played festival games. We got lost in the corn maze and took our picture on a giant chair. We skipped the pig races so that we could have the fun slides all to ourselves. We rode the hayride to the pumpkin patch and got a 21-pound pumpkin.
And then we played tether ball. Shane and I had a grand time, passing the ball back and forth, trying to get the ball’s string wrapped around the pole. I won a couple of times, not really trying to clobber my son, but the string wrapped around the pole before he was able to stop it. And I won. We laughed and played again.
Then Johnny came over. Johnny looked like he was raised in the country, with crew-cut hair and worn out flip-flops. To be fair, we were all filthy at the farm, and this kid could have been from somewhere downtown. But I got the feeling that this boy had done some serious outdoor time, maybe with three or four older brothers. Johnny was about the same size as Shane, al beit more bulky, and had no one to play with. So I offered Johnny my spot in tether ball.
The first thing Johnny did was thrust the ball south with all his might, which made the ball fly straight up over Shane’s little head and whiz around the pole so fast, Shane’s head almost spun around with it. Then Johnny said, “We’re going to play the real way,” and proceeded to explain his rules, proving his alpha status in less than 30 seconds.
Shane held his own, but Johnny won every time. I watched as Shane lightly tossed the ball back to Johnny, and Johnny clobbered the ball with every ounce of physical strength a boy can muster. Shane’s eyes would blink, he’d flinch a bit, and sometimes he’d get the ball back around without any pole-wrapping activity. He did pretty well, and he only lost twice.
But what struck me was Shane’s lack of desire to win. He was all defense, and no offense. He would save the ball frequently from going around the pole, but he rarely, if ever, pushed the ball past Johnny – even if he could have – to get it wrapped around the pole the other way. And I realized quite suddenly that this is also how he plays Stratego and Chess and other strategy board games he consistently loses for no apparent reason.
Shane has made absolutely phenomenal moves that could easily win him games. He has the brains for it, and I’ve no doubt that he could win. He enjoys the games, and he enjoys watching and waiting to see what happens. But he’s never on the offensive. He never chooses to attack. He doesn’t seem to care if he wins. He just enjoys playing.
He’s this way with his friends, too. No one stomps all over him, because his friends are kind-hearted and mature about winning. I’ve noticed that brilliant friends also tend to be more empathetic than kids of average intelligence. They’re always gracious winners (except Dylan, who is more of a typical big brother) and Shane is accustomed to playing with kindness.
Johnny didn’t play that way. He fought hard for his wins. At one point, Shane said, “How old are you?” Johnny said, “Nine.” Shane, also being nine, must have thought, Huh. It seems unlikely that both of us are the same age. But he kept right on playing, never complaining – and never even mentioned the game (which was the last thing we did) on the long drive home.
It’s hard to say what goes on in Shane’s mind. If I were Shane, I’d have silently beat myself up the entire way home for my pitiful play. But Shane? He just read a book.
I hate Johnny.