Beyblades: 32 Minutes of Bitter Agony for 1.9 Seconds of Sheer Glory
By: Chris Flowers
Tags: Relationships, Self, Games, Parenting

Beyblades — Image courtesy of Blog DeJapan

“3…2…1….Let iiiiiiit RIP!”

My six-year-old and I shout at the top of our lungs one early Saturday morning.

Thud.

I watch as the small, three-piece sprocket crashes on the coffee table taking a little piece of my heart with it.

Whish…whish…whhiiiiiish…

I look up and see my sleepy-eyed six-year-old jerking his shoulder so hard and so far back I’m a little worried he might dislocate it.

He rips the black cord of the Beyblade Launcher with all the faithful optimism you’d expect from a first-grader, but it doesn’t budge.

We didn’t rip shit.

No big deal. We got this. I say calmly, twisting the three-piece space-looking top aimlessly into the launcher, unsure if I’m doing anything to make the thing actually stay in place.

We draw our elbows back and draw our launchers in unison. We squint and make eye contact exchanging nods for confidence.

3. 2. 1. Let it…..

Thud.

Whish……whish…whiiiiish.

I wasn’t prepared for this. How to not flip your shit while trying to assemble a toy recommended for ages six and under is not really a topic that gets covered in a lot of parenting books.

I also felt I should have been prepared for a moment like this. I learned to blow into the crevices of game cartridges to repair them. I tightened and replaced bicycle chains, wrapped foil around tv antennas and downloaded loads of copywritten music for no cost. In the heyday of all 90’s kids, there wasn’t a creative entertainment problem we couldn’t solve. But, twenty years later, here I am sitting on the family couch trying to prevent myself from rage quitting in front of my first grader.

He studies my every move, increasing the tension in the room, but also improving my restraint. There’s something about the messy-headed, pajama-clad boy that makes me a better person.

Deep breath. Let’s try this again. I muster another round of assurances.

3…2…1 Let ittttt RIP!

We bump forearms trying to get the Beys to launch, mine flys off the launcher like it's supposed to but lands outside the game arena and detonates into three pieces.

I let out a deep sigh of frustration.

The Beyblades look easy enough to assemble from the instructions, but I’m struggling to figure out the correct order of assembly and once I do, things still don’t seem to fit right.

As I apply just the right amount of pressure at the exact angle, a piece slips out of my grip and rolls underneath the couch.

Whishh….whish….whiiisshh….

My son’s blade is still on the launcher, but he’s trying. I am impressed and annoyed by his persistence.

I lurch to the floor and reach under to retrieve the missing pieces. I come back with the Beyblade, twenty-seven cents and a new determination to enjoy this toy the way the Japanese anime gods intended.

But, my resolve quickly fades as short, but aggravation-inducing moments of alternating successes and failures wear me down. The both of us coming close, but never quite launching into battle as we’d hoped.

I remain calm but keeping my frustration from showing is hard work. Parenting has always tested the limits of my patience. But, before I hit peak rage I come to an important realization.

We weren’t having very much fun.

Or at least I wasn’t.