the Game of LIFE
My daughter loves to play games. Clue. Battleship. Uno. (She totally cleans up with the last one, so we’re sending her to Vegas when she’s 21.) And we love to indulge her, being players of games ourselves. But when she pulls out the Game of LIFE, I’d rather play the game of hey-let’s-chose-something-else.
Darn you, Hasbro.
LIFE is hard. (just like the real deal.) I always need the players’ manual at the ready because the rules are so complicated. (If only actual life had one of these.) And I don’t like the stakes. Whoever retires into fabulousness (chose either “Countryside Acres” or “Millionaire Mansion”) with the most stuff wins: the most kids, the best house, the biggest collection of experiences (“action” cards). These are not the rules my husband and I want our kids to live by. Materialism isn’t the road to success, we often say, it’s pursuing what makes you happy.
Which, for my daughter, is playing the Game of LIFE.
Not that the Game of LIFE is all bad. There are choices to be made that are like ones in reality. You can choose the “college path” or the “career path.” And I love that deciding on “Film Star” as a career doesn’t mean you make millions out of the gate (it’s 100K). You then can choose the “family path” or the “life (no kids) path.” But the latter is no guarantee you won’t end up with kiddos (whoopsies happen!). Players can decide down the road to go back to school. So decisions grounded in reality pepper the game.
Trouble can strike (not the game Trouble, but actual trouble…). If you mismanage your cash, you must take out a loan (with 20 percent interest…ouch) that you pay back by the end of the game. You may have more kids than your car has space. And the dog could eat your children.
Wait. Modifiers matter. That should be “the children” not “your children.”
The plastic ones, that is. Our dog has an affinity for plastic people. Once he shredded a mini-version of my daughter’s American Girl Samantha. And the last time the kids and I played the Game of LIFE, he nosed his way in and nabbed my daughter’s car (every player is gifted one…perhaps this is where Oprah got the idea?), with it’s Full House-sized family. Yikes.
LIFE (real or otherwise) doesn’t usually end with a labrador the size of Clifford terrorizing cars full of children (in this case, art doesn’t mimic life), but this was how our latest game ended. We laughed our heads off (sickos we are) and retiring into fake fabulousness we finger-swept people-pegs out of our canine’s mouth and took him for a walk.
After all, enjoying each other is what life is all about.
And ultimately, what the Game of LIFE is, too.
Not only does he like to eat cars, he wants to be a “lap driver.” Fortunately, we didn’t have an accident when he curled up on me while I was driving!
