Read the Manual, My Boys

 

Last night, my two boys were deep into a board game. You would think it was a matter of national security the way things escalated—there was a fierce disagreement about one of the rules. The younger one was cheeky, confidently mocking the older one. The older one, already frustrated, stood up to leave.

I asked him to stay—not because I wanted the game to continue at all costs, but because I wanted him to hold his ground. His reply came quickly: “If I stay, I’ll end up using violence.”

And I understood. I really did. I told him that sometimes walking away is the best thing we can do. Sometimes we need distance to calm down, to find our balance. But I also reminded him of something else: we don’t shy away from what matters to us. From our wants, our needs, our boundaries. We can hold our ground without losing control. We can stay in the conversation without hurting others. That’s not weakness—it’s strength.

And then, almost smiling, I said: “But boys, read the manual! Before you argue about the rules, check the facts.” It was a simple comment at the time, but I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

There is a life lesson in there, isn’t there? In games and in life, disagreements are part of the package. Emotions will run high, voices may rise, and the urge to prove a point—or to walk away from it all—can be overwhelming. But the goal isn’t always to win the argument. It’s to handle the moment with clarity, with respect, and yes, sometimes with a little help from the rulebook.

I’m learning that teaching my boys to “fight well”—not with fists or fury, but with calm confidence, facts, and self-control—is one of the most important lessons I can give them. But even as I say it, I realise it’s not always so simple. 

How do we know when to stay and fight? When is it worth the energy, the discomfort, the confrontation? And when is walking away actually the stronger, wiser choice?

These aren’t questions with easy answers. But I think it starts with learning to listen to ourselves: are we walking away because we’ve thought it through—or because we’re afraid? Are we staying to protect something that matters—or to satisfy our ego? Fighting well means choosing your battles with care, not out of impulse or pride, but out of clarity. It means asking: Is this aligned with my values? Am I being true to myself? Will this serve growth, or just deepen a wound?

Standing your ground doesn’t mean winning. It means being able to look at yourself afterward and say: I showed up with honesty and respect. And that’s the kind of strength I want my boys to carry—not the kind that overpowers, but the kind that knows its power and uses it wisely.

That board game became a small rehearsal for real life: a moment of frustration, emotion, disagreement—and, hopefully, growth. I hope they remember that moment. That keeping your ground isn’t about dominance, but about dignity. That even in disagreement, we can choose respect.

And that before launching into battle—whether in a board game or in life—it’s always a good idea to read the manual.

PS: AI was used for language editing.