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Key points
- “Sorry!” sums up our existence even more accurately than the game “Life,” which is why psychoanalysis will never go out of style.
- Don't underestimate the significance of the games your family played when you were a child. Reviewing them leads to self-knowledge.
- Video games now permit personalized avatars. Those of us over 60 could only be represented by an iron, a car, a dog, a top hat, or thimble.
- Identifying as a "winner" or a "loser" starts early in life; in some families, those designations remain locked in place.
What board game best describes your life? Which sums up your personal situation, family life, or emotional focus: “Risk”? “Trouble”? “Mystery Date”?
Most people answered the question by saying, “Sorry!” Apparently, “Sorry!” is the game summing up our existence even more accurately than the game “Life,” which explains why psychoanalysis will never go out of style.
“Sorry!” says it is designed for players aged 6 and up, which is about when most religions declare that human beings reach the age of reason. The first thing you do once you are a fully functioning and independent being is to apologize for anything you do that helps you achieve your goal.
Guilt and success become forever intertwined. What fun!
Board games still feel like rare and exotic items for me. When we were living in Brooklyn with my Sicilian relatives, we weren’t a board-game family.
The adults played cards. Kids sat under the table. We were taught exceedingly early on to keep our mouths shut and watch the cards. These are good lessons.
All over the world, you see people playing cards. No matter what country you’re in, people play cards; card games are the games of the poor. Card games teach you lessons about luck and skill; they also teach patience and how to learn when somebody is bluffing.
These games were usually segregated by sex: I never saw the women play cards with men, but that wasn’t because the women lacked skill. It was the mothers, grandmothers, and aunts who taught all the kids how to play, and they were as fearless and merciless as their male counterparts.
Such early tutoring meant both my brother and I could handle an inside straight by the time we were in first grade.
But in those days packaged board games were regarded as exclusively for children. You could not have convinced an adult who had exactly one day off from work that he should spend it with Milton Bradley.
The idea of my Sicilian family being expected to sit down at the table in the basement kitchen in Brooklyn to play “Yahtzee” is like the framework for an absurdist drama written by Samuel Beckett and directed by Quentin Tarantino. It would be like a cross between “Waiting for Godot” and “Reservoir Dogs.” The only thing left by the end of the hour would be the blue plastic cup.
Other families, healthier and more modern families, often enjoy board games. I loved playing Monopoly when I could find a game, but whereas video games now permit personalized avatars, those of us over 60 could be represented only by an iron, a car, a dog, a top hat, or a thimble. We had more limited choices in terms of what we could employ as evidence of our public identity (me: thimble).
Identifying as a "winner" or a "loser" starts early in life, and in some families, those designations remain locked in place.
Depending on the day, my life’s game varies: Some days are all “Concentration,” and some are “Aggravation.” I avoid “Operation” (funny bone excepted) and have abandoned “Miss Popularity.”
Given one game, I choose “Chutes and Ladders.” As I move around the board, one year at a time, the more clearly I see the interplay between undeserved luck—both bad and good—and earned achievement.
You never know what unexpected moment of grace will raise you up or what surprising act of sabotage will put you down. It’s only when you’re at the bottom of the ladder that you ascend.
So, roll the dice; hit the spinner; take your chance. Don’t skip your turn; who knows when it will come again?
