There is a lot you have to put up with when you become a father. Apart from the “old” commentary, your joints handing in their warranties (this could apply to the post-30s in general), and a lack of adequate sleep, there is also the reality of becoming slower.
That last point couldn’t have been more on the nose than when I hit the arcade with my 5-year-old daughter. This was her first visit, and it started off great. I was feeling all the emotions a father would have, reliving his childhood at the arcade. This time around, I was experiencing it all from my daughter’s perspective. The bright and colorful lights, the loud noises, the assortment of toys, what more could a kid ask for? Here was an occasion where I could have some quality father-daughter time while my wife could relish the peace and tranquility of shopping by herself (after nearly four years of “family” shopping).
The last time I set foot in an arcade was in the late 90s. There was a single, solitary store in my hometown. Admission was not cheap back then, but thanks to my strong performance at school, my father felt I deserved a treat. The hour or so I spent there is a gem of a memory. Coin tokens were a sweet memento of the 90s arcades. The idea of having to win coins to play more, and just the feel of it all, was pure awesomeness. Unlike today, when there are filters on the games that populate an arcade, the 90s had some questionable choices. My personal favorites were: Street Fighter and, of course, Mortal Kombat.
Neither of which I would allow my daughter play at her age.
So, entering the arcade now in the 2020s, I felt a little like a man out of time. Coins weren’t the favored currency. We now just had to load up a card with money. You win coupons and tickets that are automatically synced to your card, which you can then exchange for goodies. That last part was something I didn’t know, and I spent five minutes walking around the arcade machine and looking for an opening where the tickets fell through.
The selection of games at the arcade we hit up was much friendlier and more well-rounded for the 5-10-year-old age group. My daughter’s favorites were anything that involved claw machines. She was also damn good at it, far more than I ever was. I was very happy for her as we walked around with a generous collection of toys and plushies she had won from these machines. That happiness eventually turned to dread with the lesson I soon received.
It was a “I have tasted my own medicine, and it is bitter” scenario. I don’t consider myself too competitive when it comes to video games, but I apparently have a sadistic personality (according to my wife) and get the greatest pleasure in rubbing it in on my opponents through trash talk. Now, that side of me never popped up with my daughter. Even on my wife’s suggestion to try out a racing simulator, I was going to go easy on her. After all, seeing your child win and be happy is the best. Right? RIGHT?
Well, it is, until she whoops your ass, wipes the floor with you, and turns the sass on. The racing simulator was nothing too special, and the controls were simple enough. You had the steering wheel, the ignition, the nitrous button, the pedals, and whatnot. Once the race actually began, it was like I was facing a mirror reflection of myself. Never have I heard my daughter laugh as maniacally as she did, killing me on the track. Forget about going easy; I had to get serious. Annnddd, I still lost. Somehow, my daughter had, within minutes, perfected a technique that had taken me a lifetime: smash all the buttons at once.
The worst part of it all was getting it thrown back at me.
“Haha, Appa, you lost. You are too slow.”
Sigh. Anyways, lesson learned. Being humble can take you far in life. I graciously accepted my defeat. My wife, of course, couldn’t help but rub it in. It was well-deserved. All in all, though, I had a blast. It IS awesome to see your child be better than you in things, and it feels great…
The Pensive Reverie 