Elías is used to winning. He climbs the stairs faster than his little brother. He eats faster than his Mom. He's stronger than his babysitters.
So he cries when he loses.
It was time to leave the park so the kids ran to the car. I decided to join them. Since "join" means "defeat" in my dictionary, I reached the car first, threw my arms up in victory, and triumphantly pronounced "Yo gané!"
The first loser in second place fell to the ground in a helpless heap, sobbing uncontrollably. Misael, however, was distracted by a yellow flower so he wasn't even concerned.
Elías weakly raised his tear-stained face and stared at me with those beautiful eyes of a child whose heart is deeply wounded.
I was tempted to apologize for winning, but why? Most people are losers for most of their lives. Or they win in such a small pool of competition that Darwin's idea is best expressed as "The Survival of the Fitter." Even winners don't ever stay at the top for long. They get old or injured. Or somebody better shows up and they fade from view.
Guess what, kid - you're going to lose and that's OK. I love you no matter what because you're my son. It's my job to get you ready for life and I have to get you accustomed to losing so you have a will to compete and work hard no matter what. I lifted my boy and comforted him with hugs and kisses and words that did not include "I'm Sorry."
My kid ain't gonna be a sore loser. So I have to practice winning.
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