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Giants,
wizards and dwarfs was the game to play.
Being
left in charge of about eighty children seven to ten
years old, while their parents were off doing
parenty things, I mustered my troops in the church
social hall and explained the game. It's a
large-scale version of Rock, Paper, and Scissors,
and involves some intellectual decision
making. But the real purpose of the game is to
make a lot of noise and run around chasing people
until nobody knows which side you are on or who won.
Organizing
a roomful of wired-up gradeschoolers into two teams,
explaining the rudiments of the game, achieving
consensus on group identity--all this is no mean
accomplishment, but we did it with a right good will
and were ready to go.
The
excitement of the chase had reached a critical
mass. I yelled out: "You have to
decide now which you are--a GIANT, a WIZARD,
or a DWARF!"
While
the groups huddled in frenzied, whispered
consultation, a tug came at my pants leg. A
small child stands there looking up, and asks in a
small, concerned voice, "Where do the Mermaids
stand?"
Where
do the Mermaids stand?
A
long pause. A very long pause.
"Where do the Mermaids stand?" says I.
"Yes.
You see, I am a Mermaid."
"There
are no such thing as Mermaids."
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