I decided to revisit childhood inspired memories in a fresh light after the success of "A counting game" [link] amongst my readers. I guess there are some really powerful images all buried in our memories that I can tap into as an adult in my writing.

I wrote "Your turn" because I'm up really late doing even later assignments that don't make me feel so great. I'm reflecting on my strengths and weaknesses as a people helping professional in one such assignment that requires journaling. I'm going into a lot more detail in to some of these weaknesses than maybe I need to. I dunno, maybe I think making it as laden with emotion as possible will help to make up for the fact that it's uberlate and that I'm only doing it now because I'll fail if I don't.

When really little children play, I'm thinking kindergarten and preschool type ages here, there are few rules. Balls can be thrown but it doesn't matter if you don't catch them. They can also be rolled, sat on, dressed up like a doll and pushed around in a pram. Play has no rules enforced by the watching adults except things like "share" and "stop hitting her!"

We fast forward only a few years and all of a sudden there's a lot more rules. We as children didn't make them, didn't choose them. Adults, whom we're taught to obey and respect unquestioningly, tell us that the stakes have suddenly gotten higher. There's merit in certain actions in a game and failure in others. There are also different teams, now. Otherwise equals become adversaries. (You know, it's largely the fact that Europeans told the Hutu and Tutsi people in Rwanda that they're different that made them believe so, and that ended in genocide.)

More years pass. I prove myself the shortest/fattest/slowest/least coordinated/least desirable for the team time and time again. It's not enough, however. I've got to do it several times a week. My peers start enforcing the rules with more fervor than condescending clipboard wielding physical education teachers. If I don't catch the ball, I'll not only get an E for rugby but a beating on the way to my next class.

Now I don't play sport anymore. But the dirty faced little children come up and thrust other things in to my chest. Assignments, degrees, jobs, favours, lovers, responsibilities, ethics, belief systems, life. Do it! Your turn. But I'm tired. I don't like this game. We all already know my great capacity for both success and failure in various arenas, why must I prove them again and again? I don't want to play anymore.