Playing House
© 12.02.06 By Rory Peterson
I pushed open the grocery store door and let in a blast of icy December atmosphere. That kind of thing must be hard on the heating bill. Sorry, Mister Albertson. I made my way to a mob of shopping carts and managed to choose one that had a strong attachment to its neighbor, so after a few moments of attempted separation I gave in and settled for a hand basket.
Browsing the aisles in the grocery store can be an interesting experience; one often finds things one never knew existed in a grocery store. It is doubly interesting when you are in a state of absent mindedness and unsure of what you are looking for in the first place. People began to glance your way with strange looks when you stare at the pickled pigs feet for a full ten minutes, apparently in deep concentration over the one solitary brand available in the store.
On this particular occasion however, I was attempting to remember exactly why I had come to the store and what I was actually running low on when I landed a few (too) short feet from what appeared to be an impromptu romance session just around the corner from the baked beans. Above the music issuing from Mr. Albertson's speakers, I was able to make out some of the conversation:
"I love you, baby . . . " (kiss, kiss)
"I love you too . . . What are you doing tonight?"
"I don't know . . . Do you want to come over to my house? We can watch some movies, and . . . stuff."
"Sure, (kiss, kiss) what time?"
Much to my chagrin, the couple began to round the corner. Not wanting to be seen as an eavesdropper I fiercely examined the ingredient listing on a can of Van Camps. As the couple retreated, I could hear the continued conversation.
"When are your parents leaving for the movie?"
"Oh, about seven . . . "
Parents? I turned about to view the pair. Ah, but of course.
Several minutes later, I again noticed the couple at the cashier line. They carried on in a slightly less aggressive manner than previously but still made a scene. Really though it's not as if they stood out; there were no fewer then three other sets of children doing almost the same thing within view of where I was standing.
Yes children. Their dress was enough to reveal that. The boy, apparently after a few minutes of careless browsing in the clothing store had managed to procure a pair of pants capable of maintaining levitation between his waist and knees. Fortunately his shirt spared the innocent passerby from a full view of his boxers. One of these days he may get a job; he may find the real world of responsibility rather different from the one he lives in at the moment. But then, there isn't much to learn past the age of seventeen.
The girl, probably nearing the ripe old age of fifteen, wore pants tailored for her sister several years younger and twenty pounds lighter than herself. Unfortunately, her shirt did not spare the innocent passerby from a full view of her navel piercing. I sensed she was as gullible as she was cute.
Most little girls play "house." I have found that while most little boys will sometimes tolerate the game, they aren't interested in playing that kind of thing until they reach puberty. After that, it's just about the best pastime in the world.
What do I mean by "playing house?" It's what little children do when they want to imitate adults. It makes them feel grown up, responsible, and accomplished. Are they? No. Will they learn to become so by pretending along such themes? Not really.
Play is play, no matter how you slice it. Perhaps certain recreational activities can encourage an interest in a particular adult life parallel, but merely pretending to cook, build a bridge, or paint a house does not teach one how to do so. Or how to maintain a successful relationship, for that matter.
Specifically I am referring to the relationships teen-aged children cultivate with members of the opposite sex in imitation of married adults. It's a game. Some of them realize it (usually the boys do; they get what they want, free of responsibility), and some don't. As long as their desires are satisfied, at least to some extent, they don't really care one way or the other.
I briefly knew one girl in particular who didn't really have a clue why her boyfriend was her boy friend.
"He keeps telling me he loves me . . . I think I'm almost starting to believe him."
What she didn't know was that his definition of love was the physical desire he felt when he was around her. Yeah, buddy, lust equals love - in this day and age anyway.
I also knew the boy. It should be no surprise to say that he was extremely immature. Yet, the girl was as pretty as she was misled, and so he liked "playing house." They were "together" for a generous three weeks. You don't play my way and I'll go find somebody else to play with.
Of course, children eventually reach adulthood. Most learn how to keep a job at least. Yet it doesn't take much to exist in today's society.
Sadly no one is teaching these youths how to be adults. Apparently pretending isn't as good a teacher as we had hoped. Most of them are still playing.
Regardless of ones convictions, a strong marriage between one man and one woman remains the backbone of our society. Its tough to actually follow through when all you've ever done is pretend.
But damn! It sure makes you feel grown up, playing this game.
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