During one of the races, I kept shouting out, "Wait! I can't see what's coming!" My son thought this was hilarious, as he had been practicing for years. "Seriously! How am I supposed to know which buttons to push when I can't see what's ahead of me?!?" Well, he just laughed harder and harder the louder and more frustrated I got.
I didn't think it was funny- I was getting downright panicky! Seriously. I put my glasses on, I even moved closer to the screen (I don't have one of those big flat screen deals, just a 19" box TV from all the way back in the middle of last decade). I even tried asking my son what I was supposed to do.
But perhaps, if I kept at it long enough, I could learn how to navigate past my failures and start learning the curves. Maybe I'd start to learn how to look at both the wide view of the track (that shows up in the upper right hand corner of the screen) and to see what's right in front of me at the same time. But if not, I could still learn from all the past mistakes I had made and try to do my best.
Maybe I'd learn enough to know when to fly up the blue arrows and grab a "prize box" (I'm sure that's not what they call 'em, but I'm a mom, cut me some slack) that houses a reward like extra speed or invincibility. Maybe, just maybe, I'd be able to finish first. But maybe, I'd learn enough to sit back, enjoy the game, and go with the flow of the inevitable failures and successes that would come across my path.
By the end of my son's time here, I'd gone from twelfth place (guess how many places there were) to fourth or fifth with each race. When I'd complain about that, even, my son would remind me how far I'd come and that it was still better than when I'd started. Yeah, even more than this silly video game, my son continues to teach me life's greatest lessons.