Oedibble Complex
June 15th, 2008
I am one of the few Facebook users I know that doesn’t have the Scrabulous app installed on my profile.
I have started to realize this makes me an outcast, sort of like a Muslim at a Kibbutz: the other socialists aren’t going to complain, but my constant washing and praying towards Mecca is starting to raise some eyebrows.
I used to play Scrabble with my father and have yet to win, because my father liked beating the shit out of his children in various games and feats of strength. I can remember getting my ass handed to me by my father in Trivial Pursuit, Scrabble, Sorry, Simpsons Chess, Clue, Battleship and – because my father is a real estate accountant – Monopoly.
My father took great pleasure in conquering his puny family on the board of fake real estate. He would cackle and draw the game out for longer than three hours, making side deals that were not included in the rule book such as loans at 20% interest that would go up every three turns, cursing me to ever increasing debt. Our Monopoly games would end when someone got sick of playing and sick of incurring thousands of dollars worth of debt. Where as the game is supposed to end when players declare bankruptcy, our final Monopoly scores would always have my brother, myself and my mother in debt to the bank (also my father in a clear conflict of interests) while my dad built hotels on all the lower-priced properties, ensuring you were SOL by the time you rounded the Water Works.
In retrospect, my dad played Monopoly as if it were real life. Maybe he thought this was preparing me for some large realization that life doesn’t end when your bank account hits zero. Or – and this is more likely – Dad just liked to win against his kids.
I’m sure coming home from a long day at work, sitting through a dinner where your eldest keeps trying to pick political arguments with you and finally paying the bills kills any board game sportsmanship you are supposed to have towards your young children.
To this day, I have never beat my father at Scrabble. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve beat anyone at Scrabble. My father has gotten inside my head, and while some people may be traumatized by the first time they saw their dad’s penis or haunted by memories of the loud fights between parents lasting half the night, I break into a cold sweat thinking about my father’s smile as he placed his first tile 7 spaces away from the rest of the words on the board, knowing that he was going to fill in those spaces and collect all the points I would never have.
Mythology would have you believe that I want to beat my father at Scrabble, then play Twister with my mother, but my mom recently broke her ankle and despite aging well is still aging.
So I’m cursed to wrestle with my board game inadequacy for the rest of my life.
-Dave-
