I was first introduced to Monopoly from the swivel bar stools of my family’s kitchen, and it was there on Mama’s yellow Formica bar that I learned about making deals, taking chances, and how one never wants to go directly to jail.
The memories are as fresh as wintry dew on a cold January morning. Daddy kept the bank, of course, and with his cunning smile proved to be one tough banker. Few things made my heart beat so fast as the idea of tiny dollars in the same colors as the mints in Mama’s candy dish. Perhaps the fact that the pastel colors of the money interested me more than its actual value was a prophecy foretelling how my life would go.
Most often I chose the silver car as my token; sometimes, the top hat. The thimble interested me not at all, probably because cars go fast, top hats are glamorous and thimbles represent tedious labor. The game was late starting every time because Mama could never decide between the wheel barrel or the thimble, causing Daddy to frown and roll his eyes and giving Uncle Wayne time to eat another Martha Washington Ball.
Years of playing Monopoly taught me many valuable things: how to spell Mediterranean, Connecticut and Pennsylvania. I learned that going to jail should be avoided at all cost and that chance has a way of rewriting our best laid plans.
I loved buying property, especially if it meant I could color the board with red and green plastic buildings and take all my brother’s money when his silver shoe token landed on my Boardwalk.
I don’t know whether passing by the corner labeled “GO” with the red arrow and collecting my $200 or finding myself on the square marked “Chance” or “Community Chest” was more exciting. I know I didn’t like to lose even then and that sometimes I could win simply by outlasting my brothers. Battles of will often tend to tilt in my direction still.
One thing is for certain. I can shut my eyes and still see my daddy sipping his Maxwell House coffee, my brothers reaching across the board from Vermont Avenue to get to Reading Railroad, and Mama, who often lost interest in the actual game rather quickly, propping on the side of that yellow bar drinking Yoo-hoo chocolate drinks and eating potato chips, cheering her boys on while we all took turns rolling the dice.
Come to think of it, she and Daddy stood beside us during all our games of chance, both on Dykes Chapel Road as children and when the stakes got turned up later in life. It’s a shame that families don’t play board games anymore and that anyone under 40 reading this column might have to Google “Monopoly” to have a clue what I’m talking about.
The times, they are a changing. Sometimes I wish they would not.
Contact former Columbus resident David Creel at [email protected].
The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.
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