Go Ask Dad: Playing Super Mario Kart against my sons

Nintendo is new to our home, but my wife and I have had many conversations about competing against our children. Do we play the wrong card or putt past the hole? Or, do our best and help them learn how to lose?

Child psychologist Lyn Fry recommends the latter. “If a child always wins,” she claims, “they’ll never learn how to cope with adversity.”

But what about instilling self-confidence from basking in the glow of victory? Fry anticipates that question: “Children will feel no pride if they know they’ve won a rigged game.”

Of course, part of being a parent means I have to cope with the adversity of their meltdowns when they lose. I have stacked the deck in their favor. Would I lay off the accelerator in Super Mario Kart?

My older son was happy to let me pick my character first. I chose Luigi because he was tall and skinny like me. “He’s also slow…like you,” my son added.

That’s when I decided that, temper tantrum or not, he was going to eat my dust! Just who did this this little punk think he was?

After the first lap, he and I had outpaced the other six drivers controlled by the computer. I had to admit he was pretty good. He raced as Toad, a mushroom-capped dude who was the smallest yet quickest driver. I’d outmaneuver him on the curves, putting that college experience to good use, but he’d make up ground on the straightaways.

We were neck-and-neck until the start of the third lap when he miscalculated a gnarly curve and fell into the abyss. While he had to wait for his car to be put back on the track, I cruised ahead to the glory of the finish line.

BAM! A flying turtle shell hit me from behind and I spun off the track. My son raced past and crossed the finish line. Attacking your opponents with turtle shells is totally legal in Super Mario Kart. He had won fair and square.

Back in the fraternity house, I would have chucked my controller with curse words. But being a parent means being the adult in the room.

“Good race,” I said through gritted teeth. After he finally stopped his wild victory dance, my son shook my hand with a surprisingly firm grip, and I thought about how time is faster than any cartoon racer. Before I know it, he’ll be wasting tuition money playing video games and learning priceless life lessons along the way.

But I didn’t have time to wax philosophically. His younger brother was waiting for the next race. Since I lost, I started to hand over my controller.

“Take mine,” the eldest said to his brother, “I’m sure you’ll beat Dad, too.”