Single Parenting, Part 2: There's no crying in Blokus

Bode's down for the count. Gavin is playing with his new art desk that Nana bought him as a garage sale. I am finishing cleaning the kitchen. All is good.

"Wanna play a game, Daddy?" Gavin yells.

I love to play games. I am probably too competitive. I expect to be good at every single game I play, except Dance Dance Revolution. That game is in no way an accurate representation of one's dancing ability! I can kill it on a real dance floor.

Gavin wants to play Blokus. Ever since our friends Fil and Isis taught Gavin to play when they were babysitting the kids a couple of months ago, it is always his first choice. I like playing it with him because it is definitely a strategic game that requires some advanced level of thought. I tell him that it helps to exercise his brain.

But I've had a long night, so I decide that I just want to dominate Gavin, end the game quickly and get G to bed so I can watch the Tigers (which I had set up to DVR earlier during my Rock Star Dad phase, which by now seems like it has been days).

He plays the Blues and I play the Yellows on his suggestion because he thinks it will annoy me that we are playing Wolverine colors. It does, but I am in my phase of not letting him know it bothers me so that he will eventually drop that idea off a cliff and hopefully take all the Wolverine fans with him. No offense.

Despite really trying to beat him and not helping him with any moves at all, we play to a draw. I think it is nearly impossible to win outright when playing two players.

Apparently I am horrible dad because I have already made both my kids cry tonight, but I don't feel satisfied since I didn't win. Remember, super competitive.

I suggest we now play the hard version of the two player game where we both play two colors. I explain how it works with him playing a blue piece, then me playing a green piece, then he plays red, then I play yellow. He nods that he understands and I am confident this more difficult version will allow me to dominate him to the point that I feel will satisfy my game-charged ego.

This game takes much longer because Gavin fiddles and turns every piece each way, trying to get the best possible move. I think I have his reds completely blocked in, but he finds a way through. Eventually we both end up with about the same number of tiles left at the end when we are both unable to play. We start counting the little squares that make up the pieces. Whoever has less squares left wins. Gavin counts first: 44. I'm counting and quickly realize that I have not dominated him at all and may not even win. My final tally: 42. Two lousy little squares was all I won by.

I get emotional rather easily. I don't know when this first started, but the first time I clearly remember was when I was standing in the Breslin Center and Mateen Cleaves and Sweet Mo Pete kissed the Spartan S at center court after playing their final home game. I teared up. I get misty-eyed during movies. I cry when my tennis players walk off the court for the last time.

I wanted to cry when the Blokus game ended, but I held it in. I'm not sure if I wanted to cry because I couldn't obliterate my four-year-old son in a game of strategy, or if I wanted to cry because I was completely exhausted, or if I wanted to cry because I am constantly overwhelmed at how amazing that little man is. We are so incredibly blessed.

I read Gavin his books (One Witch and Easy Street), told him that I loved him for the twenty-third time in the last three hours, and took him to bed.

I turn the Tigers on and try to come off the emotional high I've been riding since dinnertime. Let's just say it's a good thing the Tigers won.