At the church where I work, watching 4- and 5-year-olds, there are several Memory card games. Barney the Purple Dinosaur Memory, Finding Nemo Memory, and a Nemo knock-off named Freddy Fish. Maybe it's just a matter of the kids who are good at it want to play it; or maybe the kids who like to play it get really good at it; maybe I should, as I have for twenty years, blame all such things on my cold and allergy medicine; maybe my brain is just past its prime; but whatever the reason, these little kids totally kick my ass. Sometimes it's by an order of magnitude. It's not unusual for some of them to get ten matches for each of mine.
It's sort of funny. At first, I'd just played the game because they wanted to play, and I didn't really try because I didn't mind handing the kids some victories in the Candyland realm of mindless children's pastimes. It slowly dawned on me, though, that these little kids were better than I was. I started actually trying to win, and man, did I get shot down.
Last week Erin and I played Dora Memory, and although we didn't finish the game, I certainly smelled bitter defeat on the breeze.
So Erin has started her accumulation of skills, talents, and physical abilities at which she betters her father. Today it's Memory. Soon it will be math, running speed, and shooting hoops. Then golf and Spanish, and then art, reading comprehension…
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Don't forget cuteness! She's already passed you there, too!
ReplyDeleteMemory cards never seem to remember us; I think we pay them too high a compliment by remembering them.
ReplyDelete