It’s humbling to consider which of the many words we speak to acquaintances will be remembered decades later. Like the room mom who told eight-year-old me I was a complainer on a field trip (I was and I am, God forgive me). Or the pastor’s wife who informed me that my problem is I didn’t know how to share (I’m not sure exactly what she meant, but I’ve been pondering it for twenty years). Or the women in Latin America who pleaded with us (American teenagers) to take their babies back to the U.S. Often the words we remember are heart-wrenching or critical, but sometimes they are beautiful and inspirational. Like the grandma who said through a translator that kids whose fathers hold them a lot have better dispositions (no official study to cite, but I think she’s right). Or the new friend who described time with our family as “life-giving”. Or the border officer who smiled as he said, “Welcome home” when our swollen feet finally planted on American ground after forty hours of travel. I
I don’t like games. There. I said it. Board games. Card games. Video games. I find them tedious and fractionating. Moreover, they tend to keep conversation from going below the surface. I do enjoy athletic games as exercise and demonstrations of incredible human capacity. And lawn games are a happy compromise between a nature walk and a real sporting event. But in general, when given the choice between doing dishes and keeping score among friends: I would choose the dishes. With an audio book or witty companion, ideally. In college and medical school, I often organized game nights because it’s what people who didn’t want to go out to bars or clubs did. It’s what “my people” (nerds) did. I made sure we addressed at least a couple of important issues between turns and had plenty of good food for those of us who showed up for company rather than competition. My dislike for mock combat has only deepened with each child; motherhood has turned my brain into a minefield of queries and co