Monopoly Kids

I loved Monopoly as a kid. I had three other friends who did too. We played a lot. We cheated a lot. Cheating was an understood part of the game. If you forgot to ask for your money before the dice were rolled, tough luck. We would stash money under our legs or rear ends to hide our wealth, then spring the trap on an unsuspecting victim. Alliances made and broken was not something coined by Survivor. And finding someone who would be banker was never hard. We were a bunch of embezzling, Fortune 500 nightmares. Ah, such fun.



Now I'm a sobered-up adult and I'm delighted to be playing with kids again--mine. So far, I've found them to be upright players of the potentially shiester-ridden game. I taught them from the rules, crazy me. In doing so, I learned a lot about how far I had wandered from the truth, then repenting, have enjoyed the clean life. Did you know that you have to add 10% to the mortgage price to reclaim a property?

On top of all the good that it has been for me, it has been a great opportunity to apply or learn lots of math, reasoning and strategy for my kids. They're hooked. I love having two kids who can sit down to play a game with a bit of strategy.

And I swear that I've mended my ways. I was even so generous to Shakespeare when he wanted to buy Boardwalk from me for $4000. I let him. I don't understand how he went bankrupt so quickly after that.

Nothing Better Than Making Them Scream

Well, maybe making them cry.

My last post reminded me of one of my childhood torture techniques. This particularly good one was, "Animal".

Do you remember the muppet on the Muppet Show that played the drums? We had a puppet of him. Emily was seven years younger than I and was terrified of the thing. I routinely made her scream by popping it around a corner or making it stare at her and move its mouth open and closed. Sometimes I would add a monster noise for added drama, but it really wasn't necessary.

When I was eleven and she was about four she was still scared of the thing. One day, as a gesture of fained pity, I coaxed her near to "Animal" and showed her how he was only a puppet. I turned his face away and showed her the hole at his back. She tensely watched as a put my hand in and took it out time and again. Eventually she relaxed and even laughed a little. I turned him over and showed her his lifeless face. I stuck my hand in his mouth and picked him up by his beedy eyeballs. Now she was really convinced.

"Here, touch him." She timidly reached out and touched his fur quickly. "See, there's nothing to be afraid of. Now why don't you touch his nose?" She was more hesitant. She lifted her finger and slowly approached, then backed away, approached, then backed away (The bait was working). Finally, she slowly, deliberately, inched her finger close enough to feel his breath -- yes, he was alive now.

I'd like to interrupt this horror suspense story to tell you that I have mastered the art of perfect timing. This was accomplished early in my life and at the expense of many wet pants--none of which were mine.

Let's just say that Animal didn't hold back monster noises for this one. He even bit the unsuspecting victim and chased her to the stairs.

I might have gotten a very well deserved spanking, but I have to say that the satisfaction deftly outweighed the pain.

Poor Em. She is coming to visit this weekend. Despite this incident, and too many others to mention, she still pretends to like me.