The Flying Parcheesi Board

I mentioned before how my mom taught me how to play chess when I was in second grade. She said it was because I couldn’t concentrate on anything and games seemed to keep me from flitting around.  I don’t understand why we just didn’t play Candy Land. I mean, we did play that game a lot, alongside Chutes and Ladders, but to throw chess in the mix seemed strange. The only thing I can think of is that I must have acted like a moron and my mom wanted to show moron-pointers that her child was bright, because, after all, she could play chess at 7 years of age.  Yeah, that will show them.

My dad took a picture of me one time playing chess and entered it in one of his photography contests. He was a pretty good photographer and was always entering and winning contests.  It felt weird seeing a photograph of myself hanging on an easel, with a ribbon attached to it. I even remember the caption- “Checkmate.”  Was this guy creative or what?  I have no idea how he won with that picture, because your eyes didn’t go to the chessboard, or even me,the young child playing the game. It was straight to my little white anklets I had on with my peddle-pushers. My socks were filthy!  I mean, the only thing I can figure out is that there weren’t any other people in the contest that month.

 I didn’t like chess.  I guess it did keep me from climbing the walls. And I guess it kept my mom from cleaning and washing clothes because she was busy playing games with me.  ”I need to help Vickie concentrate so she will do well in school”, she always told my dad.  I sat daily and played games with her, all the while taking in second hand smoke from her Salem cigarettes. No wonder I have the lung capacity of a worm. I finally told her that I didn’t want to play chess anymore.  That’s when my dad stepped in. Found out that he was the real chess whiz in the family.  He made it as fun as chess could possibly be for a hyperactive wall-climber. I finally tired of chess and decided I never wanted to play it ever again. Burn-out at age 7.

Well, the years passed and so did the types of games we played. When I was a teenager,  we played Yahtzee, and 500 Rummy and Gin a lot.  We used nickels when we played Gin. I never heard her tell my dad that she needed to help me play games  to concentrate in school anymore. She was using real money. We were bonafide gamblers now.  We added Tripoley to the mix and had an ante and a pot and a kitty. Learning new gambling terms every day. Mom thought of it as Vocabulary growth I guess.

“Vickie, wanna play Gin?” ………”Well, what kind of homework do you have tonight?”………”Is it due tomorrow?”……..”Vickie, let’s play just one game.”……..Vickie………”It doesn’t take long to play one game.”……..Vickie…..

So, I had to fit a game of some sort as part of my homework, I guess.  I would work on Math and then play Bunco, because Mom justified that Bunco is Math based.  Well, gees, so did Monopoly. She would make me be the banker to practice Adding and Subtraction. Now she was happy… Games curriculum.. 

There was one game that I would gladly give up homework for….. Parcheesi. I loved to play Parcheesi.

Flying Parcheesi Board

The object of the game is to be the first player to move four pawns from START to HOME. I am not going to get into how to play, because it is a bit complicated to explain. All I will say is that on one particular day, my mom had a melt-down while we were playing Parcheesi.

We were playing the game and I made a blockade. Here are the rules pertaining to blockades.

BLOCKADES:

17. When two pawns of the same color rest on the same plain or Safety Space it is called a BLOCKADE and may not be passed by any player, even though made up of his own pawns.

18. A BLOCKADE may be held by a player as long as he can move another pawn. It must be broken, however, if the full number spun cannot be completed otherwise.

This next rule is the most important of all. Well, it was in my case.

21. While there is no rule governing the breaking of a BLOCKADE, It is not in the best interest of the game to hold one too long.

Well, I had a blockade and she couldn’t move. And I laughed. I was able to take my other 2 pawns all around the board and into home. And I laughed again.  She was stuck. And I laughed again.  She had to roll the dice, but it didn’t matter, she couldn’t move..and once again, I laughed at her predicament……Well, she must have had enough of me, and the next thing you know, she quickly stood up, and aggresively shoved the board off the table, pawns and all.

“GO TO YOUR ROOM!!!”  She was pissed to high heaven.  I was stunned.  I  guess I wasn’t done laughing. I laughed at her absurd response to  losing big time. I mean, who does that?

I was a teenager, so it was in my nature to talk back just a bit.

“You are sending me to my room for blocking you? Are you kidding me?”

She just stood there. Her face was beet red and she was mad.  All she could do was point in the direction  of my bedroom.  She reminded me of that finger-pointing  Ghost of Christmas Future on A Christmas Carol…I couldn’t believe it. The Parcheesi board went flying and the pieces did too.  Momma just had a hissy fit.

I went to my room and slammed the door.  I didn’t care if I got sent to my room. I had books to read. I had a tv. My dog had followed me when I was exiled from the family for Parcheesi laughing.  And it was on that day that I realized that my mom was crazy.

An hour later, there was a little knock on my bedroom door.  It was my mom. “Whatcha doin?”

???????????????? Well, crazy lady on a broom, you sent me to my room for playing Parcheesi with you. She had the nerve to act like she had no idea why I was in my room. I heard them eating dinner. Wasn’t invited. “Vickie, want some angel food cake?”

Sure, Mom, feed me dessert and no dinner. And you played games with me to help me concentrate. Well concentrate on this, Mother.

“I ‘ve decided I’m never playing games with you again……. Well maybe 500 Rummy…… And maybe Yahtzee. But, I will never play Parcheesi with you ever again, Mom.”

And I never did. Last night I played 2 games of Scrabble, Crazy 8′s and Spades with my 23 year old daughter. I beat her at all of them.  I laughed. Called her a loser.

She laughingly called me a slut. 

I can’t win. I mean, I can. But, I can’t.