8-08-02, Lisa Laird

Lisa's Lair
By Lisa Laird
IPS Features

THE GAMES WE PLAYED

 There are many pastimes I reflect upon here and there.  Some of them, I haven’t done in years, such as playing tag, running bases, or hopscotch.  Then again, isn’t dating actually a game in which the objective is to catch someone else?  And running bases is symbolic of how we often run back and forth between two destinations, but never seem to go anywhere else.  Sort of like going to work and then back home each day, never breaking the monotonous cycle we each sentence ourselves to.  As for hopscotch, adults don’t throw rocks or sticks into boxes made of chalk and then jump and hop around avoiding lines.  Although, for a substantial career move, they’d leap like frogs.

I recall a game we often played, commonly referred to as “super heroes.”  Very simply, we’d shout out the character we each chose to become for the next hour or so.  Or, until we all tired of the game.  I always opted for “Wonder Woman.”  She was strong, smart, and looked better than anyone should in the cute, little, outfit she fought for justice in.  And she carried a gold colored lasso that caused villains to tell the truth when wrapped around them.  Every wife should own one to use on her husband.  I’m sure many women would be the ones ultimately fit to be tied as a result.  I’m not exactly Wonder Woman, but I am the perfect prototype of a very wondering woman; close enough for me.

Then there was the “hot potato” game.  He or she left holding the potato when the music stopped was deemed the loser.  I suppose that game is the childhood version of “passing the buck.”  Similarly, in a business setting, no one wants to get the blame, to be the scapegoat.  Eventually, someone gets stuck taking the heat, whether or not he or she rightfully deserves to.  And it’s usually one hot potato. 

We energetically played on swing sets and climbed on monkey bars.  Two brothers, who lived down the block, had a spectacular tree house in their backyard.  It wasn’t actually built in a tree; rather, it was a square-shaped, wooden house, elevated by several sturdy structures.   There was also a stationary ladder providing an easy climb.  I often wished I could live in that house, as it was peaceful, cozy, and in its own way, separated from conventional civilization.  My idea of a sanctuary hasn’t changed too much since then, I’m happy to admit.

As an extremely imaginative child, I once had a slumber party and transformed the basement into my vision of a haunted house.  I cooked spaghetti, with my mother’s help, of course, and placed it in a bowl.  Next to that bowl, was another, containing pieces of chalk.  I blindfolded the girls and when they reached into the bowls, I told them they were touching George Washington’s brains and Abe Lincoln’s fingers.  Although we can’t fool all of the people all of the time, their high-pitched screams proved to me that a creative mind has the ability to fool some of the people some of the time.  

Nowadays, while walking through the local park, I sometimes stop at the playground and swing as high as I possibly can, while staring into the limitless sky.  It makes me feel childlike and carefree, if only for a few moments.  I recapture a little bit of what seems like so long ago.  I’ll even hang upside down on the parallel bars when no one is around, just to prove to myself that I still can.

I never realized until now how much the games we played as children have taught us.  We learned imagination, abiding by rules, and endless possibilities.  We were able to be the people we were, and also, the people we weren’t.  And both were okay.  Perhaps children are unknowingly wiser than adults, and we lose that basic wisdom as we become tainted by our perceived expectations attached to maturity.

I’m content with holding on to some of my ancient ideals and recapturing a few of the highlights of my younger days, once in a blue moon.  But the present is where I prefer to reside; it’s where I belong.

Although, I often miss the tree house.

-30-

Return to Current IPS Features

Return to Catalogue