Twenty Questions
There is a game I play with my 9 and 7-year-old. I first played the game my Freshman year at Baylor.
It was Collins Dorm in the wee hours of the morning and Old Testament, Exam Two, loomed 7 hours in the distance. There is a certain beauty in knowing you only have to memorize information and regurgitate it once. So much for higher level thinking skills. Minds numb from a cookie dough hangover, Betsy and I decided a study break was in order.
"Twenty questions?" She asked as the closing of my $80.00 textbook made a loud thud. She threw out the first one; "If you had only one day left to live, how would you spend it?"
As I fully reclined on my bed, my back burned from its' two-hour 90-degree pose
"Hm...I thought. Just one day? How would I spend it?" I pondered. Maybe it was the junk carbs talkin', but I came up with sky diving down a volcano in Hawaii, being serenaded by a very cute boy who had written original songs about how great I was, a trip up the Eiffel Tower for dinner and dessert on a gondola in Italy. It's my perfect day, who cares if it makes no sense? Step off.
For a few moments I was transported into another world. This world was ions removed from Bedouin Tribes and the JEDP theory like I would be grilled on in a few hours. My perfect day had nothing to do with time lines or nomadic people. No, that would've been my professor's perfect day if he were sleep-deprived in that dorm room at 2 a.m. answering our goofy questions. Now, wouldn't that have made The Baylor Lariat?
Twenty questions gave me a buzz then and it still does. As marriage has schooled me, however, not everyone revels in it. I've tried to drag my husband into participating and discovered an important fact: men don't highly regard the act of full emotional disclosure in a group setting. They get beaten for less. Since we women don't know how we feel about something until we hear ourselves discuss it, for us it's a horse of a different color. Or, camel of a different color if you are a Bedouin.
And, so, this game that used to provide an escapist study break is one I now play with my kids. When the pressure is on and 98% of my questions are 'Why did you leave your left shoe at Andy's?" "Where is that permission slip?" or "Can you prove you brushed your teeth by breathing on me?" we play it. As a parent, you serve as the boundary to funnel your kids in the right direction. Sometimes you feel like a NASCAR track. Tracks can get beaten up and you can too, emotionally, if you don't take an occasional nag break.
We've done twenty questions long enough now that my 9-year-old, Maggie Lee, likes to come up with her own. It's amazing what you can learn from a person's questions and hers are always fascinating. For a transcendent moment we are on level ground. I am in the racecar there with my kids, laughing all the way.
'What kind of earring would you be?" she asks.
I respond, "The one in Oprah's head so I could meet all of the interesting people she does. Or Bono's. No, does he even have an earring? OK, Oprah. Final answer."
She thinks my answers are funny. They hold their own against any crazy question she can dish out. Jack just thinks any reference to Oprah is humorous. In fact, he likes saying Oprah just for the way it makes his mouth move, especially when you hold the "ah." Go ahead and try it. It's ok.
Amid homework, T-ball and gymnastics, we take a few minutes to rest and enjoy each other. I am not concerned with any cheese-wad teachable moment but rather simply listening to the wheels turn inside my children's minds. These brief moments are a post-it note for me, a marked reminder of how fleeting these ticking-away days are.
Through this preposterous, hypothetical game one's mind is opened to "what if?" The paint brush is in your hand, no rules attached, and you can string scenarios together to your exact specification. We enter into a world where nothing is too silly, no answer is too candid and no time is more well-spent.
I don't get to choose the moments my children will remember forever but as I mentally record their precious giggles, I know this silly game is something their mother will certainly never forget.
It was Collins Dorm in the wee hours of the morning and Old Testament, Exam Two, loomed 7 hours in the distance. There is a certain beauty in knowing you only have to memorize information and regurgitate it once. So much for higher level thinking skills. Minds numb from a cookie dough hangover, Betsy and I decided a study break was in order.
"Twenty questions?" She asked as the closing of my $80.00 textbook made a loud thud. She threw out the first one; "If you had only one day left to live, how would you spend it?"
As I fully reclined on my bed, my back burned from its' two-hour 90-degree pose
"Hm...I thought. Just one day? How would I spend it?" I pondered. Maybe it was the junk carbs talkin', but I came up with sky diving down a volcano in Hawaii, being serenaded by a very cute boy who had written original songs about how great I was, a trip up the Eiffel Tower for dinner and dessert on a gondola in Italy. It's my perfect day, who cares if it makes no sense? Step off.
For a few moments I was transported into another world. This world was ions removed from Bedouin Tribes and the JEDP theory like I would be grilled on in a few hours. My perfect day had nothing to do with time lines or nomadic people. No, that would've been my professor's perfect day if he were sleep-deprived in that dorm room at 2 a.m. answering our goofy questions. Now, wouldn't that have made The Baylor Lariat?
Twenty questions gave me a buzz then and it still does. As marriage has schooled me, however, not everyone revels in it. I've tried to drag my husband into participating and discovered an important fact: men don't highly regard the act of full emotional disclosure in a group setting. They get beaten for less. Since we women don't know how we feel about something until we hear ourselves discuss it, for us it's a horse of a different color. Or, camel of a different color if you are a Bedouin.
And, so, this game that used to provide an escapist study break is one I now play with my kids. When the pressure is on and 98% of my questions are 'Why did you leave your left shoe at Andy's?" "Where is that permission slip?" or "Can you prove you brushed your teeth by breathing on me?" we play it. As a parent, you serve as the boundary to funnel your kids in the right direction. Sometimes you feel like a NASCAR track. Tracks can get beaten up and you can too, emotionally, if you don't take an occasional nag break.
We've done twenty questions long enough now that my 9-year-old, Maggie Lee, likes to come up with her own. It's amazing what you can learn from a person's questions and hers are always fascinating. For a transcendent moment we are on level ground. I am in the racecar there with my kids, laughing all the way.
'What kind of earring would you be?" she asks.
I respond, "The one in Oprah's head so I could meet all of the interesting people she does. Or Bono's. No, does he even have an earring? OK, Oprah. Final answer."
She thinks my answers are funny. They hold their own against any crazy question she can dish out. Jack just thinks any reference to Oprah is humorous. In fact, he likes saying Oprah just for the way it makes his mouth move, especially when you hold the "ah." Go ahead and try it. It's ok.
Amid homework, T-ball and gymnastics, we take a few minutes to rest and enjoy each other. I am not concerned with any cheese-wad teachable moment but rather simply listening to the wheels turn inside my children's minds. These brief moments are a post-it note for me, a marked reminder of how fleeting these ticking-away days are.
Through this preposterous, hypothetical game one's mind is opened to "what if?" The paint brush is in your hand, no rules attached, and you can string scenarios together to your exact specification. We enter into a world where nothing is too silly, no answer is too candid and no time is more well-spent.
I don't get to choose the moments my children will remember forever but as I mentally record their precious giggles, I know this silly game is something their mother will certainly never forget.
posted by Jinny Henson @ 10:21 PM
1 Comments:
At 2:04 PM,
Scott & Cheryl said…
Great idea! I hope to use this idea with my kids tomorrow...I need a good "break" from the routine.
Cheryl
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