“Be Prepared”

As a kid I used to play a game I called, “Be Prepared”. I suspect this had something to do with my placement in the family: the eldest child usually carries the parent’s best expectations and is, in varying degrees, held responsible for sibling behaviour.

But, as we all know, kids can do the most unexpected things like dusting each other down with Ajax cleanser after the talcum powder has run out or competing for the highest number of pussy willow buds shoved up their nose. One time when my younger brother became trapped inside a neighbour’s garbage can, I was called upon to assure my parents that neither had I taught, nor had I encouraged, this dangerous and unacceptable behaviour. Apparently they just didn’t know that kids don’t need to be taught or encouraged when it comes to anything bizarre. To any kid, weird just comes naturally.

In any case, since I was the oldest it became my job to set an example for the others. With all that responsibility, I was never too sure what situation might present itself or how I would respond. It’s hard to appear competent at age seven. And so, my secret game was born.

Before I go any further, perhaps I should tell you that I am the product of a mother who managed to lose the toilet paper while unpacking the groceries. After an exhaustive search throughout the entire house, the toilet paper was finally located in the fridge. Without hesitation, my mother, the woman who gave me half of my chromosomes, pronounced that chilled toilet paper might be just the right thing on a hot summer day. Enough said.

Be Prepared, as the name suggests, required that a problem situation be designed and the object of the game was to master the challenges involved. For example, one day I was blind and so spent an afternoon acquiring bruises beyond my daily quota. Another day I dragged my foot and refused to bend at the knee in order to live up to the demands of my imaginary cast. I even learned how to write with my toes, just in case. Of course the magnificence of this game was that you didn’t need other players or paraphernalia and it could be played anywhere at anytime. My best times I always felt, were when I had an audience. Suddenly, while shopping with my mother my brisk gait would dissolve into ‘The Limp’. Back then, people were least likely to suspect child abuse and most likely to tell you to quit acting like a “dumb kid”. Today, that same dumb kid would be called “gifted” or at least, “creative”. That’s how times change.

I’ve often wondered about the hint of morbidity associated with this game. Especially now that sensitive parents are questioning the sado-masochistic theme of the Road Runner show. But when you consider the average day for any typical child, when their own mother commands “Stop that or you’ll poke somebody’s eye out,” or, “Keep it up you’ll break your neck.” It’s only natural that a game like Be Prepared would evolve; simply a matter of self-protection.

My own mother, the inventor of chilled T.P., used to scream, “Shut up or I’ll murder ya.” I know how that sounds but it never worried us. Mum was a lot of fun. Really.

Much more fun than my friend’s mum who would tell her kids to, “Go outside and play and don’t come home unless you’re bleeding.” Now that’s cruel. We all knew what bleeding was and it wasn’t a heap of laughs. Murder, on the other hand, happened all the time on television and was only a temporary inconvenience.

My concern now is that today’s parents are getting too soft. It started with bumper stickers asking, “Have you hugged you kid today?” Then came the less-than-one-gram of sugar Cherrios, Parent Effectiveness Training and now courses on how to play with your toddler. Just yesterday I drove past a sleek, new Jag with the license plate, “Kid Kab”. Now that’s going too far.

For all our good intentions and Yuppie trinketry, we’ve pushed our kids to be super serious, over-achievers. Tomorrow’s image makers. Future Rolaids consumers. In fact, my concern as so great that I spoke directly to my eight year old daughter, the swimming, tennis playing, chess whiz who is almost fluently bilingual. She assures me that kids still do silly things. In fact she admits, all the bruises on her shins are the result of ‘The Hopping Game.’ That’s the game where you have to only use one leg to climb the ten foot ladder at the park. “Of course, “I said, fondly remembering my own childhood, “and you do that because you like to prepare for any possible problems right?”

“Naw,” says she, “We just do it ’cause we’re bored out of our wits.”