Manchurian Monopoly?

Around this time of year, my thoughts turn to China. Both because the flood of inexpensive toys has changed childhood and because of my Nobel nominated plan to save the economy through the purchase of said toys.

Again this year, my thoughts turn to the Panda and its efforts to drive Santa's Workshop out of business. Elves don't work cheap and there is real price competition from Keebler. The Chinese Santa on labor costs every time.

My mom noticed my son really liked playing Monopoly with his grandfather - probably because he kept winning. Just as my son regularly bests me at Risk even though I study international affairs, he beats his real estate attorney grandfather at Monopoly. So that game jumped to the top of the gift list.

Little Goof got the new-fangled version in which players buy cities instead of Atlantic City real estate and an electronic device registers transactions and keeps track of the money. One of the great advantages of board games over video games is the limited level of beeping - the new version of Monopoly however is as noisy as a Gameboy.

I couldn't help but notice that everything in the box was made in the USA - except the electronic banker. I'd love to say that this does not bode well for America's future - that we make the cardboard and the Chinese make the complex electronic component. But I'm not sure that's the case, since the intellectual property - the game itself is - was invented here in the US and that's where the action is.

Still, I worry a bit about America's future. I remember a short story by the great science fiction writer Alfie Bester. Earth was in a cold war with another planet and the story was about the government unit that examined toys imported from this planet, to make sure that the toys did not hide something dangerous. In the story the unit was focusing on a robot that built things on its own, certain it could turn violent. They quickly looked over a futuristic Monopoly game (thorium mines on Mars, colonies on Venus etc.) and decided it was harmless, still focusing on the robot. One of the team members brought the game home for his kids - who took to it right away. But their parents didn't notice the object of the game was lose money as quickly as possible.

My son's new Monopoly could also be part of an insidious plot against America - it eliminates the need for any skill at arithmetic. Is this a similar devious plot (and do the Chinese read Alfie Bester?) In fairness, this may be a self-inflicted wound, the game-maker merely asking the Chinese to build a device to make the game easier on slothful Americans. In the game itself, the cities that can be purchased are not grouped by any logic I can detect - thus simultaneously undermining American's already shaky hold on geography. Fortunately, we have still have Risk to balance this out.

Accidental Veterans Day

I regret to say that the Goof clan did not do anything special for Veterans Day. There is no excuse. America’s veterans made great sacrifices to ensure the freedom that we enjoy every day. We didn’t even go to a Veterans Day sale – and truly our Veterans made their great sacrifices thinking that their children, and their children’s children could enjoy the opportunity to purchase discount mattresses and kitchenware.

But I did take the little Goofs to the bookfair at their school. Each of them was permitted to purchase two items. I didn’t look at their purchases carefully (it was the school bookfair, so I wasn’t really worried about the appropriateness of the material.)

But at bedtime, my daughter dropped her current book and had me read the new one, introducing me to Piper Reed: Navy Brat (by Kimberly Willis Holt). Piper’s dad is a Navy NCO who fixes jets and is called Chief. His family has to move a lot because that is the life of a navy family. And sometimes he has to go away for long stretches on ships.


Goofgirl found this fascinating and asked if I could join the Navy and then we could live in different places, have adventures, and get a dog (because Piper has one.)

First and foremost, there is no military service that could make use of me – I am allergic to responsibility and require a lot of naps. But, putting that aside, I explained to Goofgirl, “If I were in the Navy I would have to go away on ships for a long time and you’d miss me.”

“No, we could all go with you.”

“No sweetheart. In the Navy, the daddies or the mommies go away on the ships for months. The kids don’t come because it can be dangerous. They are protecting us and sometimes to do that they have to go away for a long time.”

Her eyes got a little wide as it all sunk in. She didn’t know it was Veterans Day, but she did get an inkling of their sacrifices.

Meanwhile, Piper has taken her rightful place in the pantheon of my daughter’s literary heroes, next to Ramona, Junie B. Jones, Cam Jansen, and Judy Moody.

Wisdom of Eight

I was asking my son about an after-school activity. He hadn't been able to decide if he wanted to participate or not.

Finally, after a couple of days he told me he didn't want to do it.

"You like the activity, don't you?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"So why don't you want to do it?"

"Because," GoofBoy explained, "It's on Thursday. That's the day of my easiest homework and I just like to finish it up and relax."

What a great answer. This is one wise kid.

Carpool Intrigue

As I put her to bed tonight my daughter cried miserably about tomorrow.

"What's wrong sweetie?"

"I don't like school."

"But you do like school. You always tell me that. You are friends with everyone in your class and your teachers are really nice and love you."

"I know. But I don't like carpool!"

"But you get to hangout with your friend 3C*."

"I know, but I don't like it how you do whatever CarpoolGirl tells you to do!"

"What does she tell me to do?

"She is always telling you to put on the air conditioning and you just do it for her! It isn't fair"

"Can I tell you a secret sweetheart. I tell CarpoolGirl I am doing it just to get her to be quiet. I don't really do it!"

"Oh Daddy! I love you! I am going to tell 3C about this."

"No - if you tell your friend she will tell her sister, that will ruin things. Let's just keep this our secret. Can you do that?"

"What if I whisper it?" she whispers.

"No, that isn't a secret - put this one in the vault!"

Even though I haven't let her watch Seinfeld, she mimed putting something in her head and turning a key. So she doesn't get the concept of secret, but she gets "the vault?"

I need to find out what she's learning in kindergarten.


*Names are changed to protect the innocent. Our two kids are in a carpool with another family. GoofBoy and CarpoolBuddy have been friends since birth as have GoofGirl and 3C - CarpoolGal falls between her two siblings and thus has no one to talk to in carpool but me. Much of our conversation takes the form of orders.

A Quantum of Solace in the World Series

As a home of devoted Yankee-haters we are unhappy with the World Series outcome. But there is one small point of satisfaction. GoofBoy was becoming convinced that he was the cause of the losses. I let him stay up late and watch games 3 & 4. Through tears he told me, “Whenever I watch a game the team I root for loses, always, always!”

He blamed himself (he gets that habit from me.) I calmly told him that this was unreasonable. He began citing examples. He marshaled qualitative and quantitative data supporting his position. He noted the many instances of times when he rooted for the favored team and it lost, whereas when he made predictions about possible winners but did not watch the game he was very accurate. He had many specific examples going back for most of his life. The raw numbers were impressive and the findings were statistically significant.

The dad in me wanted to offer comfort, but the grad student in me was getting excited. What if my son were a living demonstration of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle who affected events just by observing them? Think of the groundbreaking research.

I tried to convince my son that this was a super-power.

“But dad…” he looked miserable.

“I know it’s a sacrifice, but that’s how it is with special powers. You think Spiderman has it easy, or Harry Potter, or Shazam?”

He had to go to bed early Monday night and the Phillies won. GoofBoy was pleased because it meant the Yankees lost, but it did nothing to relieve his concerns for his curse. He envisioned a long future of rooting for losers. I tried to console him with the lessons to be learned in loss. I told him how Toots Shor used to make his son watch the Mets because, “I want him to know life. It’s a history lesson. He’ll understand the depression.”

The cultural references were lost on him. Meanwhile visions of fellowships were dancing in my head.

Then the Phillies lost the series Wednesday night. He didn’t watch. The next morning when I told him, GoofBoy was pretty upset.

“Hey Buddy,” I explained, “Think on the bright side. You weren’t watching. They lost without you. It wasn’t because of you.”

GoofBoy looked at me gravely (well, as gravely as a little boy in spaceship pajamas can) and said, “I’m sorry dad.”

“For what?”

“Well, if I had the power to make teams lose by rooting for them, I would have learned to love the Yankees. I know you would have disowned me as your son for being a Yankees fan, but you would be so happy because then the Yankees would always lose.”

“Buddy, no…” I began.

“It’s ok dad, I thought about what you said, about Spiderman. With great power comes great responsibility. If I could make the Yankees lose, then I have to do it.”

“But we’ve proven it buddy, you don’t have the power so don’t worry about it. A little boy shouldn’t have that much responsibility. Harry Potter only had to fight Voldemort – not the Bronx Bombers.”

Flu Fun

FatherGoof has the flu. I like it more than I should because MamaGoof takes such good care of me – making me soup, bringing me tea, fluffing my pillow. I may never get better. I know I’m lucky, but I’m also not used to this. My mom didn’t do sick. She would always say, “I’m no Florence Nightingale.”

True enough, more like Florence Meaningale.

Schools wouldn’t let us attend with fevers. So, forced to keep up home, my mother would leave us home, with nothing but broadcast television and flat gingerale. (The healing powers of old episodes of Bewitched and My Three Sons have not been adequately explored in medical research – after a couple hours of that I couldn’t wait to get back to school and fail a couple of quizzes.)

I believe this kind of treatment would now, in these gentler and more civilized times, result in the children being placed in the productive custody of social services. The irony being that my mother was a social worker with social services. But, as a good Trotskyite, she no doubt felt nursing ill family members was a bourgeois affectation. Her children, with the many advantages of their class had no need for extra treatment, whereas her impoverished charges at work required her ministrations. Besides, it was a chance to do some fieldwork for the cause. (I’m sure exposure to the Marxist dialectic helped a lot of kids get better, I’d guess 10 minutes of Marx equals an episode of The Little Rascals in healing properties).

Besides, mom would tell me, all illness (clearly the product of poor proletariat working conditions) would be eliminated after the revolution came.

So being sick as a grown-up is better than it should be. But because it is the flu I am trying to stay away from my kids. I really miss them and my daughter is upset that she can’t hug me. That really makes me want to get better.