by Mark Ball
Just the other night I was finishing up some work while sitting at the kitchen table. When I lifted my head to gaze into outer space, my eyes locked with my wife, Leslie, who was in our bedroom holding our 3-month-old son. There is no image on Earth as kind and gentle as a mother soothing her baby. But for some reason this perfect picture is now a little unsettling for me.
Could it be because this is the same woman who would rather take my last dollar than forego her reckless shopping sprees? Is it because this is the same attentive mother who just the night before was okay with evicting two of her little children onto the streets to fend for themselves? Or, was it because as we locked eyes, I couldn’t help but recall the cold and heartless stare that recently dismissed my pleas for some token of mercy?
That’s right. Game Night is back at the Ball house, and Leslie is hooked on Monopoly.
The idea behind Game Night was to encourage quality family time. No working. No television. No video games. No leaving to spend time with friends. We were to all meet around the table and bask in the glow of uninterrupted, glorious family time. We had weeks of UNO, some memory game with plastic farm animals, and even Chutes and Ladders. Our family laughed together, encouraged one another, and shared highlights from our day as we played these games.
And then one night, unwittingly, Molly brought Monopoly up from her room. As she slid the long rectangular box across the kitchen table the front door flew open and a chilling breeze danced through the room. All the lights in the house dimmed and then flickered for a brief second. For some reason, I was the only one who noticed these omens.
Next thing I knew, I was holding the little iron dog in my hand, the counterfeit money was all passed out and Leslie had already purchased Baltic Avenue. As the kids got used to rolling the dice and counting out their spaces, Leslie purchased a railroad system and was eyeing Marvin Gardens. As Riley tried to share a cute story about summer camp, Leslie purchased an entire block. With one more roll of the dice she was building neighborhoods and collecting ridiculous fines from her family when we accidently landed on her imaginary property.
There wasn’t the laughter in the air like on previous game nights. Instead, when my little metal dog was taken away to jail, Leslie belted out a callous cackle. As she pulled more and more money away from her once beloved children, a demonic red glow lit up her eyes. She wiped all of us out, and when we were all out of money, I began to get nervous what she would demand of us next.
“Hey kids, time for bed,” I suggested, to get them out of the room safely.
“Riley still has a property!” Leslie shrieked.
In a moment of unabashed heroism, I crashed my little dog into Leslie’s top hat to create a diversion, allowing me just enough time to usher the kids out of the kitchen and into the safety of their bedrooms. As I secured their doors, I heard the baby crying.
Could she really be forcing him to draw a card from the Community Chest? Please God tell me that our sweet baby boy hasn’t landed on one of her apartments!
As I stepped back into the kitchen, I saw that the game had been put away. Leslie was sitting at the table kissing and cooing and singing to our baby. Her once red, beady eyes had faded and a warm, nurturing aura had emerged. From Boardwalk to Park Place there is no place I’d rather be than at home with my family.
