Caleb Swept the Sorry Board Off the Table and I Said Very Little

Usually the accusation comes first, and the child yelling "she cheated" hasn't looked at the rules yet and often hasn't looked at the board either, because cheating is an easier thing to feel than losing and it points away from you.

I learned it from a boy in my second year of teaching third grade who ran the four square court at recess the way some men run a hardware store, and when he got out he said the ball had been on the line. Every time. I spent most of that year trying to rule on lines, and it never worked, because the line was never what he wanted settled.

Sorry! on a Monday in September

Ours was a Monday in the middle of September, Sorry! at the kitchen table before family home evening, all five of us if you count Ben, who was lining the spare pawns up along the arm of the couch.

Lily sent Caleb's last pawn back to start. She counted her spaces out loud the way she does, one finger on the board. Caleb said she'd counted one too many. She said she hadn't. He said she did it on purpose, and then his forearm went across the board and cards and pawns went everywhere, including under the refrigerator.

Lily sat with her hands in her lap and asked me, very quietly, whether she still won.

I told her yes and then I told Caleb he was done for the night and the pawns were his to pick up, every one, including the one under the refrigerator, which took a broom handle and a good while. That was nearly everything I said. I didn't ask why he'd done it or talk about his sister's feelings, since he was too flooded to take in any of it and I was too annoyed to say it well.

The next afternoon, with a snack and nobody else in the kitchen, I asked him to show me the count. We put a pawn on the board and counted it out together. Lily was right.

He looked at the board for a while and said "oh," which was about as much apology as I got that day. The real one came at bedtime and was said through her bedroom door to Lily.

What I say right after

I say three things and I say them flat, like a bus schedule: the board went on the floor, you're out and you clean it up, and we'll talk tomorrow.

The talking waits, because an eleven-year-old corrected while his face is still hot will only dig in and a child who has just lost can't hear a word about fairness. I wrote on the 10th about why I quit ruling on who started it, and it holds for games too. Check the rule later with a calm child, and if it turns out he was right, say so out loud.

Should you let a child win?

The sources I found don't agree with each other, and none of them pointed to a study testing whether letting a child win helps or hurts how he settles himself afterward, so I'm going on my classroom. Eight-year-olds can tell when you're throwing a game, and then they stop trusting the whole thing.

I let Lily win at Candy Land when she was five and would do it again, but Caleb at eleven would know if I tried, so I don't. Whatever you decide, decide it before the box is open and in the same calm voice as the rest of the rules, not in the middle of a meltdown. At our table now I say it first. Anyone who tips the board sits out the next game. There's no speech. When Ben swept the Candy Land cards off last month I pointed at the couch and he went, a little pleased with himself. It's the same plan I use for the third time a kid whines about dinner, only with a board.

What we practice when nobody is upset

I put this part off because practicing losing sounds silly. Mark Griffin, a psychologist writing for Understood.org, makes a plain point that stuck with me: children copy what they see adults do after a loss. He suggests congratulating the winner out loud and naming something everyone did well, and showing the same calm in ordinary places, like traffic, where there's no game to hide behind.

David and I lose where the kids can see now. When I beat him at Uno he says "good game" in about the voice he uses to thank the mailman, and Caleb doesn't look up from his cards. I can't tell whether any of it is sinking in, and Ben copies everything, so he'll be the first to show me.

Let us not be desirous of vain glory, provoking one another, envying one another.
Galatians 5:26

Paul was writing to the churches in Galatia and not to a family at a card table. It's still the verse that comes to mind when I'm the one gloating, which I was for three days over a pot of chili that won a ward cook-off in 2019.

Frequently Asked Questions

My child cries when they lose a board game. Is that normal?

Lily is eight and still tears up when she's one square from home and gets sent back. Crying doesn't worry me. Tipping the board does, and so does throwing a pawn at her brother.

What do I say when my kid accuses someone of cheating?

I don't argue it on the spot, because I'd be arguing with a kid who isn't listening. I tell him we'll check the rule after supper, and I mean it, since half the time he's right and he needs to hear me say so.

Should I make my child keep playing after a meltdown?

He sits out that night, and he can come back for the next game if he wants to. Keeping a kid at the table right after he exploded just hands him a bigger audience.

How do I keep my own temper from making it worse?

Some nights, badly. When I hear myself getting sharp I say "I need a minute" and go run the water at the sink until I don't.

Before your next family night, say the rule out loud while everyone is happy. Then lose one round yourself while the kids are watching and say "good game" like you mean it.

with love, Melissa