Childish Games

When I was a kid I loved to dress up in my neighbor's pearls and high heels then pretend to vacuum or cook or perform one of the many household chores ascribed to the lady of the manor. When I got bored with that I would get out my nylon doctor's bag and perform plastic surgery on Cabbage Patch. When the poor baby completed her rhinoplasty / liposuction two-fer special I'd tuck her in bed and let her rest while I went outside to wreak havoc on my Huffy. Oh, the days of youth. . .

As an adult I am freakish about a tidy house (though I prefer to clean in pants not pearls), and anal about yearly check-ups. I chalk this aptitude up to my early childhood games. The things I am inept at are considerably less fun -- arguing with my partner, dealing with death. When one of these predicaments arise I tend to smile and act as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening. When we are young we are encouraged to play house or doctor, and from this we learn our roles as functional, happy adults. But what about our roles as the betrayed cancer patient? We, as learners, are not shown how to deal with ugly divorces or terminal diseases. So, how do we know how to play the game of difficult situations when we were never taught the rules?