A Question of Road Games

Friday, January 30, 2004

Page 15

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

A Question of Road Games

By J’AMY PACHECO

Few words used to strike as much dread into my heart as those that make up this simple question: “Do you want to play 20 Questions?” The question is frequently posed by my seven-year-old daughter, usually from the back seat while we’re on the road.

In the quiet old days, before I became a mom, I listened to music in the car. I’d open my sunroof, put on my darkest sunglasses and cruise down the highway, the Carpenters or the Mamas and the Papas on my stereo.

Today, if there’s music in the car, it’s usually the soundtrack from “Lizzie McGuire” or “Freaky Friday”, or a Halloween-themed music CD that my daughter insists remain in the CD player.

When we’re not listening to music—her music—we’re playing some kind of verbal game, like 20 Questions.

Playing 20 questions with a second grader can be taxing. Believe me, it’s not the difficulty of guessing what she’s thinking. Our exchanges almost always go like this:

“Is it a girl?”

“Yes.”

“Does she live at Disneyland?”

“Yes.”

“Is she a princess?”

“Yes.”

“Does she have blonde hair?”

“Yes.”

It should be downhill from there. But one of the rules of the game is that you have to ask at least 10 questions before you start naming suspects. So I have to make up questions, like, “Can she fly?” or “Has she ever been convicted of a felony?”

The game can also be tricky when played with a child who believes some characters, like Tinker Bell and Mickey Mouse, exist in the real world, in a concrete, tax-paying, actual-mailing-address sort of way.

I used to ask, “Is this person real?” until my daughter started answering, “What do you mean?” A whole conversation would follow that included discussion of whether it was a cartoon character, like “Sponge Bob,” or a “real, live” cartoon character, like Tink. Oy.

Worried that I might slip and give away the Santa secret before it was time, I encouraged her to bring other entertainment into the car—books, games, toys, small animals – anything to keep me from having to think up an endless list of questions.

But it seems human interaction is the best kind of car-play.

For a while, we switched to a game called “I Spy,” where the questioner picks out an object and then says, “I spy with my little eye something [fill in blank with a distinguishing characteristic].”

The opposing player then scans the surrounding area, trying to determine which objects meet the specified criteria and making guesses.

There are two problems with playing “I Spy” while driving. One is that it’s impossible to look around for objects matching the specified characteristic while keeping an eye on the road. The other is that since the car is usually whizzing down the freeway at a sporty 65 miles per hour, whatever object my daughter has in mind has usually been left behind by the time I start looking.

Games like that can go on forever.

Sometimes we play a game where one player calls out a color. The first person to spot a car of that color gets to call out the next color.

Young players, I soon learned, usually spot a car of the specified color just BEFORE calling out their choice, leading to a constant spot at the top of the color-calling list.

(On the rare occasion when I do get a turn, I always pick orange. A turn can last a long time when you’re looking for an orange car.)

But no matter what other games we try, we always end up back at 20 Questions. Washing my daughter’s hair, standing in line at the grocery store or a theme park, sitting in the bathroom with the door closed—it’s always there: “Mom! Do you want to play 20 Questions?”

A friend recently remarked that her teenaged daughter has entered her surly years, and doesn’t even grunt when they’re in the car. So quiet is the back seat that its sole occupant could succumb to sudden death, and Mom would never know it.

Since then, I haven’t minded the games so much. You could even say the constant chatter has become like music to my ears.

Almost.