She intended to participate, wherever Mermaids fit into the scheme of things. And was not about to leave the game and go over and stand against the wall where a loser would stand. She did not relate to being a Giant, a Wizard, or a Dwarf. A small child stands there looking up, and asks in a small, concerned voice, “Where do the Mermaids stand?”Ī long pause.
While the groups huddled in frenzied, whispered consultation, a tug came at my pants leg. I yelled out: “You have to decide now which you are–a GIANT, a WIZARD, or a DWARF!” The excitement of the chase had reached a critical mass. 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. 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. It’s a large-scale version of Rock, Paper, and Scissors, and involves some intellectual decision making. “ Giants, wizards and dwarfs was the game to play.īeing 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.
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