How Do You Play?

NaBloPoMo asks: 

“How do you Play as an Adult?”

       When I was a kid, I played to win.  I danced around and offered high fives when I won, and bawled my eyes out when I lost.  It was all or nothing back then.  Nothing but a win would do. Victory was the sweetest feeling and defeat was just unthinkable.

        As soon as I became a mom my whole perception of the gaming experience changed.  All of a sudden, I didn’t play to win; I played to teach.  Somehow I became the referee and the encourager.  I became the one that gently reminded that it doesn’t matter whether you win or lose; it matters if you have fun playing the game.  Games should be fun.  If they weren’t meant to be fun it wouldn’t be called playing the game.  


  

      Before I even realized it happened, I metamorphosis into this person who no longer cared if she won but sure did celebrate the victories of others and encouraged those wallowing in the depths of despair of defeat that all is not lost.  Why, simply because we can always play again.  If you didn’t win this time, maybe next time you will until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

Candy Land or Chutes and Ladders?

         Ever since I was a little girl I have been fascinated with the world that existed on the game board depicting Candy Land.  I first encountered Candy Land when I was a mere preschooler at my babysitter’s.  It was so colorful, and the idea of following the rainbow road through the Candy Cane Forest and over Gumdrop Mountain and reaching King Candy’s castle before anyone else was invigorating for the preschooler in me.

          When my daughter was born I could not wait until she was old enough to play Candy Land with me.  While some parents waited with baited breath for their little darling’s first word and first step, I added the day when my little one could finally join me in a rousing game of Candy Land.  The box says the game is for ages 3 and up, so as soon as my daughter approached the age of 3 you can bet your last buck I rushed out and bought Candy Land for her.

             Amazingly enough, I had never played Chutes and Ladders as a kid.  I wasn’t going to have my kids grow up without having experienced Chutes and Ladders, so I made sure I had that game too.  To be honest, I have quite a collection of children’s games.  After all these years of playing alone, I had playmates!  Willing participants to play whatever games I wanted anytime I wanted.  Although my son will occasionally agree to play games, it is my daughter who is the game playing kindred spirit of my heart.  She is always up for a game with mommy and for that I will always be eternally grateful.

           Since I have grown up I like games with a lot more challenge than Candy Land and at this point, if I had to choose between the two I would go for Chutes and Ladders.  I love the unpredictability of the game.  It is entirely fate whether you land on a space that sends you up, up, up or on one that sends you sliding practically back to start.  I love the challenge of getting to the top.  My son throws a fit if he lands on a slide, and does everything in his power to cheat.  He is 6 and all about winning and doesn’t consider a game fun unless he does win. 

             I am glad I grew out of that!  I love the thrill of the game.  Still, Candy Land will always have its charm with its colorful graphics and engaging characters.  The powers that be have even created a very entertaining computer game and animated movie based on the classic game.   I discovered a video on You Tube announcing that a live action full feature film is in the works starring and directed by Adam Sandler.  Very few details are available from what I could find, but it is in the works.  In my opinion Adam Sandler would make a perfect Mr. Mint!  Naturally, my kids can’t wait to see any movie about Candy Land.  I may be 44, but the kid in me would love to see Candy Land brought to life by the magic of Hollywood.  So, the question is…“what’s your poison, Candy Land or Chutes and Ladders?” until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

Celebrating the Win

       How do you celebrate a win?  It can’t be much different than the way I celebrate.  There is a lot of screaming, jumping around, a few high fives, and maybe the occasional butt bounce.  During all this commotion I have to clap my hands.  That is a given.  To say I go completely ape $hit if my team wins is an understatement.  If you are going to go to the game or watch it, you might as well make the most of the experience.


      

        When I was a senior in high school I attended all the sporting events.  I was a professional spectator.  That particular year my high school football team played one of our major rivals at their football field.  I had been panting after the quarterback of the football team since the previous year when I had got an eye full of him in those tight a$$ pants they used to make the boys basketball team wear.  Those were the days!!  These days the powers that be do not want anyone drooling over any of the junk in their trunks so not only did they make the regulation basketball trunks baggy as hell, they also now hang clear to their knees.  It is a tragedy.  Everything is left entirely to the imagination.  It was one of those pathetic crushes from afar that in hindsight you simply look back on and wonder “what the hell did I see in THAT guy?”  Anyway, I am off track!  Because of my infatuation, you can bet I had myself at that game jumping up and down and cheering with the rest of the student body.

        When the clock ticked down and our team won, I celebrated and took advantage of the opportunity given me.  I jumped the fence, took the field, and body slammed that hot quarterback to the ground.  It was a moment that will live forever in my memory.  When else would it be acceptable to jump his bones and get away with it?  Our team had won!!  Everyone jumped the field, so I took the opportunity by the balls and literally jumped the guy’s bones.  It was a stellar night.  He was so pleased about winning, he hugged me back and life went on for me.  I was floating about on cloud nine much as Charlie Brown floated after kissing the little red haired girl.

         I have found in my experience, there is no better way to celebrate a win.  I have found no high five, a$$ grabbing, screaming like a banshee celebration before or since quite has ever compared to rolling around in the mud with that quarterback on that particular long ago night.  It was a moment that rocked.   I have never done it since, but it is the extreme of celebration that few people experience.  I am happy to say I have went to the extreme, and yes, all these years later; I admit I enjoyed it until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife. 

Kid’s Feelings When they Lose

      When I was a kid I felt like the end of the world had come when I lost a game.  Didn’t matter if it was a game of Monopoly or UNO, if I lost I could feel my cheeks heat up, my throat choke up, and my eyes sting with tears.  I wanted to cry.  I was pi$$ed and wanted to shout the cruelty of life to the masses.


       At the time, I couldn’t celebrate the fact that my Dad took the time to play with me when he came home.  All I could focus on was the fact that I lost and somehow I had failed.  I had come up short…again.  The frustration would overwhelm me and I would demand of G0d “Why couldn’t I be the one winning, why not me?”   Losing absolutely sucked!  I often wondered if that is why my sister always told me my Dad loved her and not me.  She took great joy in rubbing that piece of information in my face any chance she got.  I was unworthy.  Losing a game only seemed to underline that fact.  I felt like everyone was looking at me and either feeling sorry for me or laughing at me.

        I have a very vivid memory of playing Monopoly at the kitchen table with my parents.  Mom would bring out the air popcorn popper and we would snack on hot freshly popped popcorn drizzled with butter.  My Dad always was the banker.  It didn’t matter what set I started; before all was said and done everything was mortgaged to the hilt.  At that point, the dice would roll, and my turn would take me to one of my Dad’s hotels.  I could have a couple hundred dollars sitting in front of me and I would grab my large stack of one dollar bills and begin counting those babies as if they held the answer.  It used to crack my Dad up to see me going for my ones first.

        My Dad was the grand pooh-bah of game playing.  He was competitive and played to win always.  He even made up his own intricate card game that he and his friends gathered together and played often.  He taught me that game and we played it often.  He would often stop by my house in the evenings to play cards and share supper.  We would play everything from his game to Skip-Bo.  It was really mind blowing after he had a stroke and struggled to play the simplest children’s game with my daughter who was only 3 at the time.

     Fortunately I grew up.  Like my Dad before me, I have carried a deep love of playing games all through my life.  By the time I was older I discovered the joy of playing simply for the sake of it.  It no longer matters if I win or lose, it only matters now that I play and have fun doing it.  I love playing games with my kids, and while my oldest loves the thrill of playing like I now do, my son struggles with losing much as I did when I was a kid.  Even though I once agonized about why it wasn’t me who could win, now I am just as happy to play again and give winning another go until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.
    

Rejection and Abuse Doesn’t Equal Sisterly Love

     The NaBloPoMo writing prompts for yesterday and today asked me if there was a toy I broke as a child and if there was someone who ever refused to play with me. The only person who I remember refusing to play with me or have anything to do with me at all was my big sister.  I think it had a lot to do with the huge 7 year age gap between us.  She was too old and entirely too cool in her opinion to be bothered by the likes of me.  

      I remember her coloring in color books with me on rare occasions but hardly anything else.  It was always “Get out of my room you little slop hog!!” or “Go away!!” with her bedroom door being slammed in my face.  She could be right down mean.  Fortunately for me she wasn’t around much, and when she was I tried to steer clear of her.  I always had the impression she hated my guts and over the years I realized the feeling was mutual.

         I can only recall ever breaking one toy while growing up.  It is a very vivid memory and once again it involved my sister.  We have never got along and I don’t remember why I was so mad at her or what she had done to me, but I do remember her sitting on the floor in the hallway talking on the phone.  In those days, if she was home and not behind her closed door she was on the phone.  I can remember the rage that possessed me.  Armed with a pint size toy broom I ran out into the hallway and broke that toy broom over her head.  I then remember turning tail and running hell bent for election back to my own room and slamming my door.  I remember crying, not for being sorry for hitting my sister but for breaking my toy broom.  Did she deserve it?  Well, knowing my sister, probably.  Never fear, she managed to get even with me many times over the years.

          I have always felt bad that my sister and I could never get along.  Unfortunately she has always hated me and resented my very existence.  After my parents were gone I found I didn’t have to take her crap anymore.  I always did it for their sake.  With their deaths I was freed of my responsibility to her.  People who are close to their siblings and who come from families less dysfunctional may never understand how I could live my life without her in it knowing she is out there somewhere.  Like a married couple who no longer get along, the deaths of my parents effectively divorced me from her. 

       It makes me sad, but it is not something I dwell on anymore.  I can only hope the life she has chosen for herself has made her happy.  At least she doesn’t have to be tormented by looking at me and vice versa.  Unfortunately she is a person who finds misery wherever she goes.  I choose to find happiness wherever I can.  I no longer have to suffer her constant wrath.  I no longer have to suffer her abuse.  I choose to not let her make me miserable.  She can not help the person she is.  To move on with my life,  I had to let it go and realize I can never make her like me.  Life goes on.   I am free to enjoy my life, enjoy my family, and be happy until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

Recess

     It always amuses me when I ask my kids what happened at school they begin and end by telling me they had recess and lunch.  OK, you had recess and lunch and then came home?  I am not buying it!  I have to literally drag what else they did out of them kicking and screaming.   When I think about it when pressed at that age, I probably would have said the same thing.   Let’s face it; kids live for food and recess.  It is the best part of the day.  It is fact.

         Even if they did enjoy school and learning it would be a rare kid who would actually admit it to an adult and go into elaborate detail.  
 At the elementary school I went to the playground was in a huge dusty field with room to get up a rousing game of no rules soccer or perform a top of your voice recital to the audience of trees that lined the back of the property.  The playground was filled with everything a person could hope for: slides, swings, a teeter totter or two, monkey bars, and a merry go round.  

        One time one of the boys in my class convinced me to try the teeter totter with him.  I had always been a little leery of the teeter totter but didn’t want to look like a big chicken to him.  I bravely got on and for all intents and purposes made it appear I knew exactly what I was doing.  You would have thought I was in a hall of fame somewhere for my expertise of riding teeter totters.  I was the female version of Joe Cool personified.  All was going well until he jumped off sending me crashing to the ground.  My chin slammed against the handle I was holding, HARD.  An explosion of pain engulfed me, my eyes filled with tears, and blood poured from my chin.  If I had been a cartoon, little animated stars would have been swirling over my head.    I began screaming and wailing as only a little girl could do.  Before I knew what hit me, the teacher on recess duty was rushing me into the building to see the nurse.  I got a bandage the size of an elephant’s a$$ for my trouble that day.

        I would like to say that I rushed back out to recess and had the balls to climb right back on the teeter totter.  That would be a lie though.  From then on I walked a wide circle around the teeter totter and never was persuaded to mount one again.  My fear of the infamous teeter totter continues to this day.  Playgrounds can be a wonderful place when you are a kid.  They can also be equally dangerous.  Just last week my son fell off the top of the tallest slide at school plummeting to the ground below.  He received a severe concussion which resulted in swelling to the lining of his brain and an infection which elevated his temperature to fever pitch for days.  To this day, he isn’t quite sure what happened.  If it weren’t for eye witness reports from the teacher on playground duty actually seeing his horrific fall take place I would never know what really truly happened.

      Let’s face it survival on the playground in elementary school can be compared to surviving the jungle where the natives are restless and anything goes.   Somehow a person survives the bumps, scraps, and bruises from the playground.   Even then, when remembering the recesses of the past the times when I left the playground bloody or hurt take precedence over any other memory of the countless games of hopscotch, kick ball, or Chinese jump rope until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

Playmates

      When I was a kid my most frequent playmates were me, myself, and I.  When I wasn’t otherwise engaged with myself I occasionally got to play with my cousins Tony or Connie.  Eventually they both moved away and playtime stopped.  Of the two, my favorite was my cousin Connie who I could play Barbie’s with.  As we grew older we would pretend we were Laverne and Shirley from TV and have dates with Donny Osmond and his brother Jay.  We would double date and pretend they were coming over for dinner.  Then we prepare food in her play kitchen for the date.   Sometimes we would simply baby sit baby dolls and pretend we had our own business.  It was a blast!
       

      
      Both cousins had swimming pools and lived at houses with big garages.  Both of their dad’s were truck drivers like mine.  My dad often took me with him when he was planning on working on his truck so I could play with my cousins or go swimming.

        Once I got into school playmates came and went depending on whether we were in the same class or not.  Normally you tended to cling to someone in your class.  Once they were no longer in your class, those playmates drifted away.  My mom was not big on inviting friends over so having playmates from school come over for the afternoon or night was never an option for me.

        Because of this, I believe I learned to enjoy my own company best.  I knew how to keep myself entertained whether by playing with my dolls, playing in the playhouse out back, or swinging on the swings that were a prominent feature in the backyard.  I loved to read and could often be found lost within the pages of a book in my room.  Because of my allergies, I didn’t rush outside to play often.  I don’t remember being lonely.  I don’t ever remember wishing I could have my playmates over from school.  I would play with them at school, and then when I went home the relationship stayed at school.  If someone invited me to a party or over for a play date then my mom was more than willing to let me go.  Asking to have someone to my house was out of the question.  She never said it was not allowed.  I simply knew not to ask.

         In retrospect I honestly believe that after a while the invitations quit coming because they were never reciprocated.  Home was an escape from those who taunted me at school.  I certainly never grew up having the notion I wanted to invite anyone in.  Like my mom, I view my house as my sanctuary.  I rarely have guests.  It would be just too weird!!  When guests come I feel as if the house has to be immaculate, and in my opinion that is entirely too much stress for a lady who has never felt cleaning was a treasured hobby.  I never had friends that were at my house so much that they seemed like they were part of the furniture.  

     
     Back then I couldn’t understand why playmates avoided me like the plague.  In retrospect I think it is because they were never invited to my house.  They would invite me and I would go.  At that point the interaction would end.  I always kept people at arms length. I learned early you can really only truly rely on yourself.  Pinning your hopes on others just brings to many disappointments and heartaches until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.