It had to happen, I suppose.
And, perhaps, it should have happened well before this.
But my son just beat me, fairly, in a computer game. In a racing game.
I know there have been other games over the past few years where he could routinely beat me, but I didn't like playing them. Not because I didn't like losing, but because I didn't like the games. Incomprehensible games like Pokemon Stadium and other games of that sort. I don't like them, but my son does (or did) and he'd beat me anytime I succumbed to the pressure of a bored child to play with him and his game console.
But this is different. This is a racing game. I am (was) the racing game master of this household.
The battle: the Mushroom Cup of Mario Karts Double Dash. I, full of bravado and myself, challenged Cameron's friend, Keaton, to a 4 race competition. If he won, he could eat lunch with us. Long story short. He won, barely. In a sad attempt to restore my glory, I challenged Cameron and if he lost, he'd have no lunch. (of course, I wouldn't really go through with that). I lost, barely.
Used to be, when playing video games with/against my son, I'd play at 3/4 speed, or sabotage my game enough to give him hope and the chance at victory. Sometimes I'd let him win.
Today though. No 'letting'. In fact, there'll be no more letting him win. Ever. From this point on, he'll have to earn it.
As a parent, I've been waiting for this day for 10 years. As a racer, I've been dreading it just as long.