Game On!
My sweet daughter might have a hidden competitive streak within her, but I want to guide her towards a different perspective.
When my partner and I first started living together, we enjoyed playing Gin Rummy while listening to podcasts after dinner. We were young adults with a taste for the mundane. If you’re familiar with Gin Rummy, you know it’s a rather laid-back game—nothing like Texas Hold’Em, where money or pride is on the line. It was a soothing way to unwind—until one evening when I discovered my partner had developed a new tactic of holding his cards until the last moment, exclaiming “Rummy!” before I could even count my own cards. I was convinced that this was not how one should play Gin Rummy; it felt deceptive. So, naturally, I did what any rational person would do: I swept the cards off the table in frustration and stormed out to the car, shouting, “I will never play with you again, you cheater!” Clearly, I was more of a child than I cared to admit, and we never played Gin Rummy again. To this day, my partner approaches board games with caution, reminding me, “We’re not keeping score, alright?”
I grew up in a competitive household where excellence was not just encouraged but expected. Like many immigrants, I was taught that there was no such thing as “good enough”; it was about being “the best” or falling behind. I understand the roots of this mindset; there’s a scarcity mentality tied to the American Dream, with only a select few reaching the pinnacle of success. My family was determined for me to be among those few, believing it was the path to a secure future.
However, this well-meaning lesson became an unfortunate part of my identity. From an early age, I found myself comparing grades with classmates, feeling deflated if someone outperformed me. (Once, I even sneaked into the vice principal’s office to check my peers’ GPAs—definitely a charming move, right?) Unsurprisingly, no one wanted to play games with me. Although I learned to conceal my fierce competitiveness over time, it still lurked within me, like a bear waiting to pounce during the most trivial of moments.
Then I became a parent. I feared becoming “that mom”—the one who brags about her child’s extraordinary achievements and insists on perfection. But when I looked into my baby’s eyes, I realized that comparison was futile. Each child is unique, and love can exist without competition. I didn’t need to be the best, nor did she. We were already perfect for each other.
My sense of peace was short-lived when I discovered my usually sweet daughter also had a fierce competitive spirit—one that was far from dormant. Last month, her school organized a reading contest where students would record the books they read on strips of paper to create a long chain. The child with the longest chain would win bragging rights and a coveted toy. My daughter, an avid reader, was excited about the challenge, but I was taken aback by the fierce determination in her eyes when she declared, “I will beat them all.”
I paused, feeling a wave of déjà vu. “Or we could just enjoy it and not focus on winning!” I suggested. She shook her head, serious and resolute. “What’s the point if I don’t win?”
I assure you, I didn’t consciously encourage this competitive spirit in her. We usually play cooperative games and cheer each other on. I made a point to avoid comparisons in her presence. I was also mindful of the disadvantages faced by some kids, whose parents may not have the time or resources to support reading at home. Such disparities exist in many life contests, especially those where success is inherently tied to privilege. I wanted my daughter to recognize her value beyond arbitrary competitions.
In the days leading up to the contest, I gently coaxed her to adopt a more relaxed attitude, repeating, “It’s just for fun!” But each time, her intense focus shut me down. It was a long week.
The day arrived for the chains to be displayed. While my daughter’s chain was impressive, she didn’t win; her friend Leo did. Afterward, they played together as if nothing had happened. At bedtime, I asked her how she felt about the contest, carefully avoiding the words “win” and “lose.”
She reflected for a moment. “It’s okay. Leo read so much.”
Suddenly, her competitive edge vanished, and she returned to her cheerful self. I told her I was proud of her effort, and we settled in with a book, enjoying the experience for what it was.
Throughout her life, competition will arise—some subtle, others significant. There will be more contests at school and in sports, and she may face challenges in college admissions or job applications. While her drive to excel is admirable, it should not dictate her self-worth or affect her relationships. The competitiveness ingrained in me isn’t inherently negative either; it reflects determination and ambition, stemming from an immigrant’s desire to thrive. The true challenge lies in learning to opt out of certain contests and to refrain from comparisons. After all, both my daughter and I are unique, just as everyone is.
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Summary
In reflecting on my competitive nature, I aim to guide my daughter away from comparison, recognizing her unique value. Despite her emerging competitive streak, I hope to foster a mindset that cherishes effort and enjoyment over rivalry.
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