Have You Tried This No-Winner Game For Kids Who Struggle With Losing
The rain streaked the 2nd grade classroom windows Friday afternoon, and the kids were begging for board games instead of the quiet math worksheet I’d pulled out for early finishers. I’d just set out a new bin of puzzles and card games when Milo hung back by my desk, hands stuffed deep in his jeans pockets. Last week, he’d turned over the entire Jenga tower 10 minutes into a round, because the kid next to him knocked the last block before he got a turn. He wouldn’t apologize, just sat in the corner hiding his face for 20 minutes. “I don’t wanna play,” he mumbled, staring at my scuffed white teacher sneakers.
I remembered a trick my sister-in-law, who works with little kids who struggle with big emotions, had told me about a few weeks prior. I pulled a half-used roll of poster board out of the supply closet (the sticky backing was half peeled off from being shoved behind my reading nook for a year) and grabbed the shoebox of broken, half-stubby crayons we collect from lost and found. “Actually,” I said, “let’s try a new game first. No winners, I promise.”
The four other kids who’d clustered around immediately perked up, and Milo peeked up from his sneakers. The rules are so simple I can explain them in 10 seconds: One person starts by drawing any line, squiggle, or shape on the paper. Then the next person adds whatever they want to it. You can’t erase anything anyone else drew. There’s no point system, no time limit, and no end goal. We just stop when everyone says they’re done adding. That’s it. No special supplies, no prep, no fancy equipment. You can play it on a scrap of notebook paper at the kitchen table if that’s all you have.
Lila went first, drawing a big lopsided circle in the middle of the paper. Javi went next, adding four lanky stick legs sticking out the bottom. I added a wiggly tail curling off the side. Then it was Milo’s turn. He stood there for a full minute, twisting a loose string on his hoodie, before he grabbed the dark green crayon and drew 12 tiny uneven spots all over the circle. Halfway through the game, Javi leaned in to add an eye and accidentally drew a thick blue line right through the middle of three of Milo’s spots. I held my breath. That’s exactly the kind of thing that would usually set Milo off—his shoulders would hunch, his jaw would tighten, and he’d knock the whole paper off the table before anyone could say anything.
But this time, Milo just blinked at the line for a second, then grabbed a black crayon and drew a little jagged crack around the end of it. “Now it’s a broken spot,” he said. “The giant got hit with a dodgeball.” Everyone laughed, and Lila added a pink band-aid right over the cut. By the time we stopped 20 minutes later, we had a spotted giant wearing a top hat, with a playground slide coming out of his side, a slice of pepperoni pizza in one hand, a goldfish swimming in his pocket, and a mini rollercoaster looping around his head. No one won. No one lost. Milo asked if we could tape it to the wall by the classroom door, right where everyone who comes in can see it.
I’ve had so many parents and new teachers ask me what to do with kids who melt down every time they lose a game. I see so much advice online that says you have to force them to keep playing, that losing is a skill they have to learn, that coddling them won’t help them in the long run. But for kids like Milo, that just doesn’t work. He doesn’t act out because he’s spoiled or he wants his way all the time. He gets stuck. His brain latches onto the idea that the game is only fun if he comes out on top, and once that’s not going to happen, all the fun disappears, and all he can feel is that hot, tight frustration.
This game works because it pulls all that pressure out of playing. There’s no finish line to cross, no title to earn, no one going home with a metaphorical trophy. The only goal is to mess around and add something silly together. I’ve started recommending it to parents who have kids that fight every time they pull out a board game at home, and I tell them three small rules to stick to: First, don’t sneak competition in. Don’t vote for the best add-on, don’t rank anyone’s drawing, just keep it collaborative. Second, if someone messes up another person’s work, don’t step in to fix it. Let the kids turn it into something new, like Milo did with the broken spot. Third, stop whenever anyone wants. If someone gets bored or frustrated, just fold the paper up and try again another day.
I tried it at home last weekend with my own 6 and 8 year old, who bicker over every turn of Candy Land. My 8 year old always cheats to win, and my 6 year old ends up crying in the other room. We drew for 45 minutes and ended up with a dragon that eats only ice cream cones and lives in a treehouse made of marshmallows. No yelling, no crying, no pieces thrown across the room. It worked better than any fancy therapy tool I’ve ever bought.
It’s not a magic fix. Milo still melts down sometimes. Last Tuesday he got out of four square in the first two minutes of recess, crossed his arms, and sat on the bench pouting for 10 minutes. He still refuses to play Uno with the other kids because someone always gets out before him. But now, when he says he doesn’t want to play any games, I just pull out a fresh piece of paper and the shoebox of crayons and ask who wants to add on. More often than not, he’s the first one over, grabbing his favorite blue crayon, ready to add something no one else would think of.
The first giant drawing is still taped to my classroom door. Sometimes a new student will point at it and ask who the best artist was, and the whole class yells “all of us!” It’s just a small, silly game. It doesn’t solve all the big problems that come with teaching kids how to handle big feelings. But it’s free, it’s easy, and it gives kids who struggle with winning and losing a place to just play, without any pressure. I haven’t had anyone flip a table over it yet, so that’s a win in my book.
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