The Memory Game

“That’s it, granddad. I win again!”

My five year old granddaughter wasn’t taunting me. Not really. Truthfully, she easily deserved a Terrell Owens-like touchdown dance to rub my nose in yet another defeat. But she was merely innocently reminding me that she had conquered Memory for the third straight time that evening.

I don’t have Alzheimer’s, and I pride myself on being reasonably bright (even with thirty-three years of losing every debate with my Life Buddy). In spite of that, I’m a smart guy. A successfully guy. I’ve withstood FDA audits, grueling questioning from demanding company presidents, and run manufacturing teams of hundred and twenty in-your-face assemblers. That should mean I’m not a pushover. I can hold my own against anybody in business. So how can I continue to fail miserably in a memory test against a five year old? A five year old!

And, if I were honest with you, I would admit a solid butt-kicking from the same powerhouse when she was four. Okay, okay, three and a half.

I think I was a decent dad. I tried to prepare both of my children with skills to meet the challenges of Life. With that, I have never intentionally lost a game against either of them to save face. I was always soft and gentle, but I played to win. They need to understand that, in Life, sometimes you lose, and events don’t go as planned. But, I constantly reminded them that it means if they did win, they did win. I don’t believe in freebees. When my son finally thrashed me in a game of chess, he did it honestly. He won, because he played a brilliant game, and I lost. I carried that same philosophy with his children.

Call me the Simon Cowell of Tennent Avenue.

So, there I sat with the humiliation of losing to a five year old in a game that I did everything I could to win.

With no other hope and my back against the wall, I implemented Plan B: Messing with the child’s head.

“Abby, we’ll play one more time, okay? Remember, the cute one goes first. That means that I go first.”

There are no flies on this young lady.

“I don’t think so, granddad. I’m the cute one. That rule means that I go first.”

I held my own for several rounds. Neither of us could match cards. Then the action began to roll, and Abigail made match after match after match before finally guessing wrong. It was my turn. One match! Then, a second! I was on a roll. The momentum was building. At this point in my mind, I was choreographing a little Happy Feet Dance that I would do at the end of my victorious game to remind her that she’s playing against granddad. An adult. A man! Someone with a life time more knowledge than any inexperienced five year old.

I turned over an Ariel card. Immediately, and with confidence, I flipped the matching second card with a snap that was...well, theatrical. Even impressive.

Except it wasn’t another Ariel; it was Cinderella.

I was deflated. My ego shattered.

“Silly granddad, you meant to turn this card over,” as she confidently flipped over Ariel, two cards further down the same row. There was no audible snap with her action, but I know I heard a taunting internal voice that whispered: Loser, loser.

I never understood how challenging being a granddad would be.

I swallowed my pride. At least I would show young Abigail sportsmanship. I was determined to go out in style.

“Very good, Abby. Another match for you,” I said.

“No, that’s okay, granddad. I made that match for you. I think you need the help,” she said as she lovingly put them in my hand.

Nothing affects a man quicker or with more impact than the innocent smile of a daughter or granddaughter. I looked into her eyes for a trace of sarcasm but found nothing other than love and confidence of a young lady that will do very well in the grownup world.

I placed the two cards on top of my meager pile.

Normally, losing is bad. We don’t survive Life by accepting loss. We make our own opportunities by playing to win. Success is all about attitude and focus.

On the other hand, perhaps the rule is different with a game of Memory with Abby.

“Your turn, little lady,” I said, knowing my fate. “Show me how it’s done.”

The smile on her face was priceless.

“It’s easy, granddad. I can show you.”

And so, the student teaches.

-- Dave Wilkins