"I want to learn," I say as he tries to grab the game controller away from me. I jerk my hand away, taking advantage of my two extra feet of height to thwart him. It's my only attempt to keep the power shift from happening even though I'm pretty sure that has already occurred.
"Behind you, Dad! Behind you!" He says. It still sounds condescending. Like he is stating the most obvious answer in the world. He's acting like I'm a flat-earther and he's Bill Nye. Jesus Christ, I can feel his eyes roll when I get light sabered in the back.
"Dad. You have to check behind you."
"I was checking behind me," I say.
"No you weren't, that's why your character got chopped in half."
"Yoda didn't get chopped in half. He's just resting his eyes a bit."
My boy slugs me in the shoulder as I hit the respawn button on the Xbox. We are playing his new game in the living room. My daughter sits on the couch, checked out to the world with her headphones in. She treats her phone like a personal assistant but I'm pretty sure she isn't as crass with it as my frustrated son is with me.
The toddler is banging on stuff and chunking it off the top of the stairs. Yeah, that's where we are at with him at the moment. Every stuffed animal gets a free flying lesson from the top of the stairs. He has the dog with him. I should talk to the boy pretty soon just to make sure we know that living things don't get the death push from up there.
This leaves me and my middle son playing Star Wars Battlefront II. I'll admit, the game is pretty cool. The graphics awaken my own ten-year-old self, gets me excited. Yoda, Vadar, Luke: all the characters that you can play. Do or Do Not is no longer a movie tagline, it's real life and I'm getting my ass handed to me by someone that thinks that fart contests are cool.
Well, they are cool but that's another story.
"Here, let me show you," Bubba Hoss says again. This time I just push him away. I'm going to destroy him this time. I'm going to Yoda these nuts all over his character, make him truly question his existence. I'll get Han to make out with Leia and make kissy noises until he can't take it anymore. My goal here is to put him into therapy for the rest of his life, the best kind of fatherly vengeance.
The next match lasts less than a minute. He force choked me. He did it while laughing.
"I told you, look behind you," he says.
I'm going to smack him.
I go to the garage and grab one of the folding lawn chairs and put it in front of the T.V., the universal sign that Dad is getting serious. I was playing games before he was even thought about. First person shooters? I was there at their beginning. Standing is wearing me out, my knees start to hurt and I was too far away from the screen to see properly. I do some thumb stretching exercises and crack my knuckles just to get into his head. You hear that, boy? Knuckles are cracking, I'm going to destroy you.
"Again," I say.
"Are you sure?" he asks.
"Start it, smart ass."
He does but it seems he is reluctant to hit the button. He doesn't want to be seen as picking on me, pilling on the garbage he's throwing my way.
The game starts. He's the Galactic Empire, Vader. He always wants to be Vader. It's happened so much that I've had a sit-down talk with him. Don't be evil, it's really a simple lesson but one that I feel doesn't get talked about enough. He ignored me. The Dark Side has claimed my boy. My duty is clear now, I must destroy him.
"Bacon Hoss, get down here," I yell at my four-year-old who has stopped throwing things over the stairs. His little feet come pounding down, jumping off the last two steps instead of walking down them. We don't do normal in this family. He skips to my side.
"Yeah, Dad?" Bacon asks.
"Sit tight."
I can see Bubba Hoss stalking me. He's trying to outflank me, get behind me yet again. I can pretty much hear him salivating at his next force choke. Or maybe he'll try to throw me off a ledge this time. He is totally focused on my destruction.
But here's the thing. He's 10. That's it. Still a kid. He hasn't learned to think tactically yet. It's all button smashing and charging ahead without a plan. Bubba Hoss is counting on his superior eyesight and faster reflexes. However, he has not yet read Sun Tzu's Art of War. He has failed and doesn't know it yet. Know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. In short, Bubba Hoss has forgotten the face of his father. He has forgotten who I am.
I know that he is trying to get around me, to come at me from behind because I'm watching his screen. I let him come in closer. He's actually snickering. He's trying to be quiet about it and failing. I let him come.
So close. He's so close. One little force choke button away from defeating dear old dad once again.
I grab his controller, my reflexes still fast enough for the occasional surprise. Tactics. Games are all about tactics and strategy. Bubba Hoss has forgotten this. He thinks the game is contained, only what happens on the screen determines the outcome.
"Hey!" He starts to scream but I don't listen. This was my plan. I give the controller to the toddler.
"Go!" I tell him. "Go!"
The toddler takes off while I use my free hand to hold Bubba Hoss back.
"Top of the stairs, boy! Top of the stairs!"
Bubba Hoss tries to break free of my grip. He cannot. I've got him. I use my legs to lock him in front of me.
"Uh-oh. Looks like Vader is having some troubles," I say. The character on the screen is turning in circles so fast that it's just a blur. My four-year-old is doing some button smashing of his own. But not on my half of the screen. On my half, Yoda very calmly walks towards Vader.
"You might want to turn away, boy. This isn't going to be pretty," I tell him.
"You cheated!"
"There isn't cheating in war, son. It's just the way it is."
"It's still cheating!"
"I'm teaching. Do you want to learn or get your butt kicked?"
I have never said something so satisfying in all my life.
My vengeance is not quick.
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