We received notice around 7:30 last night that school would not be in session today due to inclement weather. This resulted in a relaxation of bedtime and a “can we play a game?” request. There was some disagreement among the two older children as to what game should be played. Then Daryl brought out Loaded Questions and Jane got on board.
Neither Daddy nor I were particularly interested. For a couple of reasons. First, we are accustomed to playing with an older crowd, and often at least a little bit of alcohol is involved. Playing with our children… hmm… But the other reason is that it’s just truly more fun with more people. Four is the bare minimum and isn’t fun.
Or so we thought.
For those of you that don’t know the game, I’ll give a brief explanation. On a person’s turn, they read a question on a card and everyone else writes down their answer. Then the answers are collected and read aloud. The person tries to guess who answered what. Each one guessed right moves the person ahead on the board.
One question read by my husband asked “How many times a day do you check your answering machine?” He thought this was funny and would be easy to answer since… well… no one actually has an answering machine anymore. (Actually, I know a blogger who does but still…) These were the answers he got:
On average, probably 3
Only when it says I have a message
He got them all right but rolled his eyes. I pointed out that his children were too young to understand what an actual answering machine was. To which Jane responded, “No! I’ve seen them in old movies. You know the black and white ones?” To which Daryl quickly muttered “racist.” Which prompted Jane to say he wasn’t funny while his Dad laughed and I struggled to catch up on what just happened.
While sitting on the winning square, needing only to correctly identify all three answers to win the game, I chose the question, “Who is the worst musician or band?” Jane is a rabid One Direction fan so some jokes were made along those lines. And then they read the choices:
“I think I just won the game,” I said smugly as I sat back in my chair. Jane has a tendency to say “Your Mom” at random, nonsensical times. Daryl has a tendency to poke his sister whenever he can. And Daddy was the only one old enough to have a clue who Milli Vanilli was.
What I failed to consider was that my children a) are insanely competitive and b) have no compunction about lying. Jane had listed her favorite band and Daryl had used her favorite catch-phrase. All without coordinating with each other. I have to admit, I was impressed.
Daryl was easily the best entertainment of the night, though. It was kind of refreshing to not be the most naive person at the table. Near the beginning of the game, he had responded to a question by stating that his greatest phobia was a fear of embarrassment. That made the game a bit rough for him since he found himself embarrassed several times over.
At one point, he was to read a question from the “No-Brainer” category. He read the question and exclaimed, “I don’t know any of this crap!”
At another point, my husband made a comment about the “Happy Trails” paths on the game board, reminding Jane and me of one of my more embarrassing moments of naivety. As Jane giggled, Daryl asked what Happy Trails were. I shook my head. He insisted he wanted to know. (If you don’t know, go check out Urban Dictionary. Or don’t. Your choice). He then asked if it was a State Park. Jane nearly fell out of her chair.
Another time, we were to say what the greatest height was that we would be willing to dive into a large pool of water. My husband offered that it didn’t matter how large the pool was – it was how deep it was that mattered. I said to assume the pool was as deep as it needed to be for the height from which he was going to dive. These were the answers that Daryl had to choose from:
6 miles with a parachute
Daryl pointed at his Dad and said, “You are the parachute.”
“No,” his dad said. “I’m the person who said I’d have a parachute.”
“Oh. Um.” He turned and looked at Jane. “You are the parachute.”
“Daryl!” I said. “Daddy said that he was the person with the parachute.”
“You!” he pointed at me. “You are the one with the parachute.”
“Are you listening? You got it right the first time. Daddy had the parachute. Now guess the 4 feet and 6 feet!”
The worst moment (or the best, depending on your perspective) was a question about magazines. Specifically, what magazine have you been intending to get a subscription to.
After the questions had been answered and the answers guessed, Daryl told his Dad, “I bet you have a subscription to Playboy.”
“Not currently,” his Dad said.
“Oh, yeah?” Daryl adopted his show-offy tone. “Well… I’ve been on the cover of Playboy.”
His dad stared back at him. My eyes went wide. Jane fell out of her chair and began to turn red as she struggled for oxygen.
“Yep,” he said, as he pulled his shirt up to expose his torso. “My shirt was up and my six-pack was showing.”
“Actually,” my husband interjected. “They are more interested in two packs.”
I joined Jane in the laughing-too-hard camp as Daryl continued, unaware.
After we had had our fun watching Daryl carry on, Daddy finally explained to him that Playboy usually had naked women on the cover.
Daryl turned bright red. “Oh,” he said. “I thought it was one of those for dudes with tattoos all up and down their arms and chests and stuff.”
“Well,” his Daddy said, “I’m sure many dudes with tattoos read the magazine but they don’t tend to make the cover.”
Needless to say, when we later had a question about a hobby you had always wanted to pick up, it was easy to guess who had said “Not saying stupid things like being on Playboy cover.”
I love this kid. He’s an incredibly intelligent young man. Who happens to have some holes in his knowledge base. I know he hates to be embarrassed but I hope he comes to understand some day why I treasure moments like this in my heart.