Parenthood is full of moments you never quite anticipate. Some are loud and chaotic — the first scraped knee, the first soccer goal, the first time your child looks you straight in the eye and tells you they know better than you. Others are quiet and sneak up on you like a whisper. This particular moment started with Taylor Swift, of all people.
My nine-year-old daughter is a devoted Swiftie. She sings along to every album, has memorized entire bridges of songs I couldn’t name, and has transformed her bedroom into what looks like a carefully curated fan exhibit. Posters line her walls, a neat row of T-shirts fills one drawer, and she even keeps her concert bracelets in a little box on her nightstand like treasured jewels. I may not listen to Taylor Swift on my own time, but I admire the fact that my daughter has found someone to look up to who writes her own music, stands up for her work, and speaks to millions of young people with confidence.
And so, when my wife announced that we had tickets to see Taylor Swift perform, it didn’t surprise me that my daughter practically levitated with excitement. The concert fell during spring break, and my wife suggested we make a small adventure out of it — a downtown staycation to eliminate traffic headaches and turn the evening into something memorable. The idea was appealing for many reasons: no racing to find parking, no long drive home afterward, and an excuse to enjoy a few meals out. For me, it also meant a rare chance to spend time with my son while the girls were at the concert. I imagined a quiet evening, maybe catching up on a book, going for a walk around downtown.
Then my son surprised me. When I asked him what we might do at the hotel while waiting for the concert to end, he said something I did not expect: “Let’s play some games.”
This might sound small, but it felt like an invitation into a new phase of connection with him. My son has always preferred screens — video games, YouTube, the occasional movie marathon. He has dabbled in tabletop games with me before, but never with the kind of enthusiasm that would have him actively suggest we bring some along. I didn’t hesitate for even a second. I was ready to capitalize on this opening.
That morning, my daughter and I drove to a local game store to pick up something new for the occasion. I wanted a solo game just in case my son’s interest fizzled after a round or two. After browsing the shelves and remembering a review I had watched weeks earlier, I picked up Urbion. The game was small, portable, and full of puzzly decisions that I thought might keep me busy if I ended up playing alone. While we were there, I also grabbed Bacchus’ Banquet — a social deduction game with a clever theme — and my daughter picked out Sub Heroes, a light and silly card game that I had never heard of but that she seemed excited to try.
Meanwhile, my son raided my collection at home and chose a few games to bring along: Gears of War: The Board Game, Memoir ’44, and Finca. The mix intrigued me. Gears of War is a cooperative tactical game based on the video game franchise, full of dice rolling and strategic movement. Memoir ’44 is a light wargame that recreates famous World War II battles, and Finca is a breezy game about collecting fruit and fulfilling market orders. It was a lineup that told me he was ready for variety, ready to experiment.
When we finally checked into the hotel, I was eager to see how this would play out. After unpacking and settling in, my son asked to try Urbion before dinner. Urbion is a solitaire game at heart, though it has rules for two players. Its goal is to balance positive and negative dreams across city cards to bring harmony to a dream world. The game is clever but abstract, requiring you to manage a hand of cards carefully and make trade-offs between stability and chaos.
I quickly realized, however, that Urbion’s rules were split across two separate pamphlets — one for the base game and one for the expansions — and if you only read one, certain interactions make no sense. We stumbled through our first game, misplayed a couple of key rules (particularly around how to discard Chaos cards), and lost miserably. But we didn’t mind. The process of learning together was its own kind of fun, and my son was engaged enough to ask if we could try again later.
After a quick dinner out, my wife and daughter left for the concert, buzzing with excitement, and suddenly it was just my son and me with the whole evening ahead of us. We decided to break out Gears of War: The Board Game, a title we had tried once before but failed spectacularly at. That first game had taught us a valuable lesson: never split the squad. The Locust enemies are brutal if you try to go solo. This time, we stayed glued together, supported each other’s actions, and managed to mow through enemies efficiently. My son had a particularly satisfying turn where he rolled a fistful of dice and wiped out an entire cluster of Locust with a single well-placed attack.
When we finally won the first scenario, there was an explosion of high-fives. I realized then just how much joy can come from co-op games that encourage teamwork. It wasn’t just about beating the scenario; it was about the shared story we had just told together, the small moments of tension and triumph that we both experienced.
With Gears of War packed away, we decided to give Sub Heroes a try. I’ll be honest — my expectations were low. The game was cheap, obscure, and had zero online presence. But to my surprise, it was… fun. Goofy fun, yes, but fun nonetheless. Each turn, we had to decide whether to play a card as an ingredient or use it to mess with our opponent, forcing them to discard or reshuffle. It was lighthearted, chaotic, and exactly what we needed after the intensity of Gears of War. My son laughed when I sabotaged one of his plays, and I laughed when he retaliated. It was silly and engaging, the perfect kind of filler game for a hotel room session.
Later that night, when my wife and daughter returned from the concert, my daughter asked to try Sub Heroes too. Even though it was late, we played a quick game. She giggled when she managed to win, her face glowing with a mix of post-concert joy and gaming satisfaction.
Looking back, the entire evening felt like a small but significant parenting victory. I had gone into the trip thinking of it as my daughter’s big event, but it turned into something equally special for my son and me. The games gave us a shared focus, a way to spend time together that felt both meaningful and fun. It was as though Taylor Swift had unwittingly helped me bridge the gap between my kids’ worlds — music for one, games for the other — all in the span of a single night.
That night reminded me that parenthood is not about grand gestures but about seizing little opportunities when they come. I could have easily spent the evening scrolling on my phone or half-watching TV while waiting for the concert to end. Instead, we turned the night into something memorable, something that felt like a celebration of connection as much as it was about music.
The Power of Play in Strengthening Family Bonds
After that hotel evening, I found myself thinking about why the experience had been so meaningful. On the surface, it was just a few hours of gaming with my son, an unplanned way to pass the time while the rest of the family was out. But the more I reflected, the more I realized how rare and valuable those hours really were. Life tends to get noisy, filled with schoolwork, sports practices, errands, emails, and a dozen other obligations. Moments when two family members can sit quietly at the same table, look at the same problem, and work toward the same goal — those moments are precious.
Play is one of the oldest and most universal ways humans connect. It transcends age, language, and background. Children play instinctively, and adults often rediscover play through parenting. When we sit down to a board game, we are doing something that is at once structured and liberating: we agree to follow a shared set of rules, but within those rules we are free to express ourselves. This dynamic creates a fertile ground for connection, especially between parents and children.
Board games in particular are a unique form of play. They demand attention in a way that television does not. Watching a show together can be pleasant, but it is largely passive. Even if we laugh at the same joke or gasp at the same plot twist, we are not shaping the experience — we are consuming it. A board game, by contrast, requires us to be active participants. We make choices, roll dice, plan strategies, respond to setbacks, and cheer each other on. Every game becomes a story that we create together, a story we can retell later with a sense of ownership.
That night at the hotel, Gears of War: The Board Game gave my son and me a chance to be heroes together. There is something powerful about shared adversity, even when the adversity is imaginary. We faced waves of Locust enemies, made risky tactical decisions, and relied on each other for survival. When we finally succeeded, the victory felt earned. It wasn’t just me telling my son, “Good job.” It was the two of us, together, saying, “We did this.” That sense of partnership is not easy to replicate in everyday life, where parents are often in the role of authority figure or supervisor.
Cooperative games are especially good at creating this feeling. Unlike competitive games, where one person’s win necessarily means another person’s loss, cooperative games let everyone celebrate together. They turn the table into a team huddle, not a battlefield. That night reminded me of why I keep cooperative games in my collection — they are bonding tools disguised as entertainment.
But competitive games have their value, too. After Gears of War, we played Sub Heroes, a lighthearted card game that encouraged us to tease each other, laugh at our bad luck, and revel in the randomness of it all. Competition, when framed healthily, teaches kids to win gracefully, lose with dignity, and think strategically. It also gives them a safe space to push back against parents, which is an important part of growing up. In a game, a child can block a parent’s move, beat them to an objective, or even outright defeat them, and it is all in good fun. That temporary leveling of the playing field is empowering for a child and humbling for a parent — in the best possible way.
Another thing I appreciated about that night was how gaming provided a natural space for conversation. No phones were buzzing with notifications, no background noise from a TV, no distractions except the occasional knock from room service. We talked about strategy, sure, but we also talked about school, about friends, about things he had been thinking about lately. There is something about sitting shoulder to shoulder, focusing on a shared task, that makes conversation flow more easily. Perhaps it is the lack of direct eye contact that helps — kids sometimes open up more when they do not feel they are under a spotlight.
This is one of the quiet superpowers of board gaming: it facilitates connection without forcing it. When you sit down with your child and say, “Tell me about your day,” you might get a shrug or a one-word answer. But when you sit down with them to play a game, the conversation emerges organically. You are doing something together, which takes the pressure off and allows topics to arise naturally.
That evening also reminded me of the importance of preparation in creating opportunities for connection. It would have been easy to assume that we would just figure out something to do once we got to the hotel. But by taking the time to pick up new games and pack a few favorites, we made sure that when the moment presented itself, we were ready. It is not unlike setting a table before dinner: you are creating the conditions for something meaningful to happen.
The other thing that struck me was how this night helped bridge the gap between my children’s interests. My daughter’s love for Taylor Swift set the whole staycation in motion, but it was my son who benefited most from the downtime. And yet, when my daughter returned from the concert, she was eager to join in. She had been dancing and singing all night, and yet she still wanted to sit down and play a game with us. It made me realize that gaming can be a kind of family equalizer. Everyone can sit at the same table, regardless of age or interests, and engage with each other on equal terms.
This is why I think of that night not just as a lucky break but as a small parenting strategy. If we want our kids to spend time with us, we need to make that time appealing. We cannot simply rely on them to wander into the living room and ask to talk. We have to create spaces — physical, emotional, and even playful spaces — where connection can flourish. For me, that means keeping a variety of games on hand, ready to go when the opportunity strikes.
It also means meeting my kids where they are. My daughter’s love of Taylor Swift may not be something I share, but I can appreciate it and celebrate it with her. My son’s preference for video games may not always align with my love for board games, but when he shows interest in my hobby, I can seize the moment and make it special. These moments are not always convenient, but they are fleeting, and if we do not grab them when they appear, they may not come again in the same way.
That is perhaps the biggest lesson I took from that night: connection does not happen on its own. It is cultivated, nurtured, and often requires a bit of planning. But when it happens, it feels effortless. It feels like flow — that state of total engagement where time melts away and you are fully present.
The next morning, when we packed up to go home, I felt a sense of quiet satisfaction. We had set out to give my daughter a memorable concert experience, and we had succeeded. But along the way, we had stumbled into something just as valuable: a night of gaming that brought my son and me closer together. It was not something I could have scheduled or forced; it was something that happened because we were ready for it.
And maybe that is the real magic of play — it creates little doorways where connection can slip through, often when you least expect it.
Lessons in Parenting Through Play
Looking back on that night and the games we played, I realized that parenting is often about finding subtle ways to connect with your children without forcing those connections. It is tempting to think that we can just sit down with our kids, ask them questions, and have meaningful conversations on demand. But real relationships rarely work like that, especially with children who are developing their own identities and interests. They do not always want to sit still for a lecture or a heart-to-heart. They do not necessarily know how to express what they are feeling, or even what they want. Play gives us a shared language that bypasses those challenges.
When my son and I sat down to play Gears of War: The Board Game, I was not just teaching him mechanics or strategy. I was teaching him something about teamwork, perseverance, and even resilience in the face of failure. The first time we played the game, we had split up our characters, and the Locust enemies overwhelmed us quickly. He had been frustrated by the loss and a little discouraged. But when we tried again and stayed together, we discovered how much more effective we were as a team. That was not just a game lesson — it was a life lesson, one that he learned through experience rather than lecture.
As parents, we are often tempted to tell our kids what to do, to guide them with words. But words can only go so far. Children need to see lessons in action, to feel them play out in a context where the stakes are just high enough to be meaningful but low enough to be safe. Games create those contexts beautifully. They simulate conflict, risk, and decision-making in a way that lets children practice important skills in a forgiving environment.
And it is not just about problem-solving or strategy. It is also about emotional regulation. In a game, things rarely go perfectly. You draw a bad card, roll a bad die, or watch your best-laid plan fall apart because of someone else’s move. Those little moments are training grounds for bigger disappointments in life. Watching my son react to setbacks during our games was a reminder that kids are constantly learning how to handle frustration — and that parents can help guide them through those reactions in the moment.
Sometimes, that means gently encouraging them to try again. Sometimes, it means letting them lose gracefully without rushing in to “fix” the outcome. I have found that my instinct as a parent is to shield my kids from disappointment. But board games remind me that a little disappointment is not only inevitable but valuable. When my son loses a game and then asks to play again, he is building persistence. When he wins after a tough loss, he feels pride that comes from effort, not entitlement.
My daughter, too, got her own lesson from our hotel game night. When she came back from the concert and joined us for a quick game of Sub Heroes, she had been buzzing from the music and energy of the evening. She could have easily gone straight to bed, satisfied with her night. Instead, she wanted to sit down and spend a few minutes with us. That small choice spoke volumes about the role that play can have in building family rituals. It told me that, even after a big night of excitement, she still saw value in sitting around a table with her family and laughing over silly card plays.
That is something I want to nurture — the idea that games are not just about competition or even entertainment, but about togetherness. When my kids are grown, I hope they will look back and remember these moments not just as individual nights of fun but as part of a larger tradition of family connection.
Another aspect of that night that stood out to me was how games can encourage empathy. Cooperative games are obvious vehicles for this — they ask players to think about the needs of the group, not just their own goals. But even competitive games can foster empathy, because they teach players to anticipate other people’s decisions and emotions. When my son tried to guess which move I would make next, he was putting himself in my shoes. When my daughter laughed and played a card that sabotaged me, she was not just thinking about her own gain but about how that move would affect me and the group dynamic.
This is no small thing. In a world where kids are constantly distracted by screens and digital content, sitting at a table and reading each other’s faces, tones, and body language is a powerful exercise. It helps them develop social awareness that is harder to cultivate in purely online spaces.
It also gave me a chance to practice empathy as a parent. When my son was frustrated after a bad turn, I had to resist the urge to dismiss his feelings or rush to reassure him. Instead, I could sit with him in that moment, acknowledge the frustration, and encourage him to channel it into the next turn. That is a microcosm of good parenting — not solving every problem for our kids, but equipping them with the mindset to solve their own problems.
I also noticed how playing games with my kids changed the rhythm of our evening. Without screens to distract us, without the constant pull of work or chores, time felt slower and fuller. We were not just killing time — we were inhabiting it. That is one of the great gifts of tabletop gaming: it creates a physical and mental space where time expands. You are not thinking about what is next on the agenda or scrolling endlessly through your phone. You are right there, fully engaged.
In that sense, gaming is not just entertainment but a form of mindfulness. It pulls you into the present moment. You are paying attention to cards, dice, boards, and each other. You are listening, reacting, and thinking ahead. That state of focus is rare in modern life, especially for kids who are bombarded with notifications, videos, and quick-hit entertainment designed to fragment their attention. Giving them an hour or two of focused, shared activity is a gift — one that I think will serve them well as they grow up in a world full of distractions.
The other realization I had was that gaming gave me a window into my kids’ personalities. Watching them make choices at the table is like seeing their thought processes laid out in front of me. My son tends to be cautious, planning several moves, but he also gets excited when he sees an opportunity to take a big risk. My daughter, on the other hand, is more impulsive and playful, often making a move just because it will make someone laugh. These differences are fascinating, and they give me insight into how to parent each of them more effectively.
Of course, not every moment of gaming is perfect. There are times when tempers flare, when someone gets upset, or when a game simply does not land with the group. But even those moments can be valuable. They teach us patience, negotiation, and how to reset when things go sideways. They also remind us that connection does not have to be flawless to be meaningful.
That is why I keep coming back to this idea of play as a parenting tool. It is not a magic solution, but it is one of the most reliable ways I have found to bring my family together. And it often works best when it is spontaneous — when it grows out of an unexpected opportunity, like a night in a hotel while the rest of the family is at a concert.
I think a lot about how fleeting these opportunities are. My kids are nine and still young enough to want to spend time with me, but I know that will not always be the case. There will come a day when their schedules are full of friends, sports, schoolwork, and eventually jobs. If I want to build a strong relationship with them, the time to do it is now. Nights like that hotel evening are investments in our future relationship — investments that I hope will pay off when they are teenagers and young adults and still want to come home to play a game with their dad.
Building Family Traditions and Lasting Memories
As I reflected on the impromptu hotel game night, I began to think about how these moments, though seemingly small, weave together into something much bigger — the fabric of family memory. We often imagine “big” traditions as elaborate rituals tied to holidays or milestones: the annual trip to see relatives, the way we decorate the house for certain celebrations, or the meals we prepare on special occasions. Those traditions are important, but the quieter ones we build around shared interests can sometimes be just as powerful.
When we set up a board game in a hotel room, we were creating a ritual that had no holiday or special date attached to it. It was born out of convenience, curiosity, and the desire to spend time together. Yet I suspect that years from now, when my kids look back on their childhood, this might be the kind of memory that surfaces unexpectedly — the night when Mom and sister went to a concert, and Dad and brother stayed behind to fight off waves of Locust in a cooperative game, laughing and planning their next moves.
Family traditions do not always need to be formalized or carefully planned. Sometimes they arise organically when we recognize that a shared experience is meaningful and we choose to repeat it. If we find ourselves traveling again for a concert, tournament, or event, I can easily see us packing a few games to recreate that same atmosphere. Those moments might evolve into something my kids anticipate and look forward to, giving them a sense of continuity even as life changes around them.
Another reason I value these gaming moments is that they give me a glimpse into my kids’ developing tastes and preferences. Every time they choose a game to play, they are expressing something about what they enjoy, what challenges they want to take on, and what experiences they want to share with me. My son’s choice to bring Memoir ’44 and Gears of War told me that he wanted something cooperative and tactical — something that would make us think together and work as a team. My daughter’s choice of Sub Heroes told me she wanted something light, fast, and playful, where she could laugh and experiment.
These choices are little windows into who they are becoming as individuals. They also give me opportunities to introduce them to games they might not have chosen for themselves, but could enjoy once they try them. One of the quiet joys of being a parent is watching your children discover something new and fall in love with it. Sometimes that happens with music, books, or sports, but for us, it often happens around a game table.
Games also create opportunities for shared storytelling, which is one of the oldest and most powerful ways humans connect. Every game session becomes a kind of story that we tell and retell later: the time we barely survived the last wave in Gears of War, the time someone made an outrageous play in Sub Heroes that turned the game around, the time we misread a rule and played an entire game “wrong” but still had fun. These stories accumulate, creating a shared history that is unique to our family.
What strikes me is how these shared stories give us a common language. Weeks after our hotel stay, we can reference an inside joke from one of the games and instantly be transported back to that night. That shorthand helps knit us closer together, reminding us that we are not just a group of people living under the same roof but a unit with a shared culture.
Another benefit of these moments is the way they give kids a sense of agency. In many parts of a child’s life, they have limited control — adults make the decisions about school, meals, schedules, and rules. But in a game, they get to make meaningful choices that have immediate consequences. That can be incredibly empowering, especially when they realize that their decisions can shape the outcome of the game for everyone.
This sense of agency can be a valuable confidence-builder. I saw this with my son during our Gears of War session. He had a turn where he made a critical choice to position our characters defensively and then go on the offensive together. His move led directly to our win. When we celebrated, he beamed — not because I told him he did a good job, but because he could see for himself how his decision mattered.
These experiences are also building blocks for resilience. Games are a safe place to experiment, make mistakes, and try again. When kids lose, they get a chance to process the disappointment and recover, often within the span of minutes. That practice in bouncing back can carry over into other areas of life, whether it’s school challenges, friendships, or later, jobs and relationships.
What makes gaming unique is that it is interactive and relational in a way that other forms of entertainment are not. Watching a movie together can be enjoyable, but it is largely passive. Everyone is taking in the same story, but they are not actively shaping it. In a game, everyone is engaged in a shared activity that requires attention, thought, and communication. That level of interaction deepens the connection between participants.
Another layer to all of this is how gaming nights help slow down the pace of family life. In a world where we are all rushing from one obligation to another, it is easy for evenings to be consumed by homework, chores, or simply collapsing on the couch. Sitting down to play a game forces us to pause, gather around a table, and focus on one another. It turns an ordinary night into something memorable.
It also allows for moments of silliness and laughter, which are just as important as lessons in strategy or teamwork. Humor has a way of defusing tension and making experiences memorable. Some of my favorite moments from our hotel game night were not about winning or losing but about the unexpected jokes that arose from the games. Those laughs bonded us just as much as the shared victories.
I also see these moments as seeds for the future. When my kids are older and facing their own busy schedules, I hope they will remember how satisfying it can be to slow down and connect over a game. Maybe they will invite their friends to play. Maybe they will introduce games to their own families someday. In that way, what we are doing now is not just building memories but potentially passing down a tradition.
This is why I think it is important for parents to be intentional about creating space for play. It does not have to be elaborate. You do not need to plan a big family night or buy expensive games. Sometimes all it takes is pulling out a deck of cards or a small box game and saying, “Let’s play.” Kids notice when we make time for them, and those little gestures can mean more than we realize.
When I think back on my own childhood, some of my fondest memories are of playing games with family and friends. It was not about the games themselves so much as about the feeling of being together, of being fully present with one another. That is what I want to give my kids — not just the mechanics of playing but the sense that they belong, that their presence matters, and that spending time together is a priority.
In the end, what Taylor Swift gave us that night was not just a concert but a gift of time. The staycation idea created a pocket of space where normal routines fell away, and we had a chance to connect in a way we might not have if we had stayed home. That is why I look back on that night so fondly. It was not about the music, the hotel, or even the games themselves. It was about the connection we built in that space.
Conclusion
The entire experience reminded me how powerful it can be to seize small opportunities for connection. A Taylor Swift concert might have seemed like just another event on the calendar, but it became the catalyst for one of the most memorable gaming nights I have shared with my kids. Those hours spent huddled over game boards and laughing together in a hotel room were more than entertainment — they were moments of genuine bonding.
What struck me most was how naturally it all happened. There was no grand plan, no perfectly organized family night. It was simply about making space for togetherness and being open to whatever came next. In that space, we discovered new games, celebrated victories, learned from mistakes, and strengthened our relationship.
I think that is what makes these experiences so valuable. They remind us that connection does not always require big gestures or perfect conditions. Sometimes it just takes a deck of cards, a shared table, and the willingness to be present with the people who matter most. If nothing else, I am grateful that one concert gave us a reason to pause, play, and create memories we will carry for years.