Rick Barron writes: One of the fond memories of my childhood is riding in the back seat of one of the many cars Dad had when I was growing up (or at least, young and getting older), sitting beside my older brother and sister, and playing car games among the five of us. Usually word games, like Ghost, or Twenty Questions, or Who Am I? We recently took a long car trip (well, with Interstate speed limits up to 75 now, which means average of 85, it’s shorter than before but still several hours) and played a few of the games my 5- and 7-year olds could play. But I wished I had more ideas. Spotting alpha characters only goes so far, and in the sparse country of Wyoming only around cities. Got any pointers?
Major FUN responds: Boredom is the mother of playfulness. Desperation, the father. This is one truth that you can explore, in depth, while traveling with kids on the Interstate. Or in deed, on any trip lasting longer than 30 minutes. The particular joy of this realization is the attendant realization that almost anything goes. The longer the trip, the lower the criteria for gamish acceptability. Even games that are just barely games. Even games that you have to make up as you go along. I agree that Twenty Questions is a perfect example of a roadworthy game. I have explored it and at least 30 miles worth of related variations in my article Twenty Questions
If We Were
Story-building can be made acceptably gamelike. Especially if people take turns adding to the story. You can build a story a paragraph at a time, a sentence at a time, or even a phrase at a time. Sometimes it helps to pick a particular theme. One variation of story-building is a game I call If We Were. If we were, for example, driving in an ant instead of in a car, then, well, the highway would be maybe no wider than the curb on a sidewalk and those telephone poles toothpicks and that big truck a ladybug and that roadsign a matchbook cover, and on, and on, and on. Or if we were, for another example, flying in an airplane, then the road would be maybe a mile below us, and that hubcap that we just passed on the side of the road would really be an airport…well, you get the picture.
Colors
Creativity, however, can only take you so far. As the miles ooze by, the brain dries, and you sometimes find yourselves needing to go beyond reason and creativity, into the fickle joys of sheer serendip. Colors is one such game. Simultaneously, call out any color that comes to your individually collective minds. Then, simultaneously call out any other color, the only rule being that you can’t say the same color you said on the last turn. Then call out another color, and another color, until everybody says the same color. Then you can play Shapes, or Numbers, Animals, Cereals, and on, and on, and onwards.
No, No, You Mean
The first player begins with a word, and a definition of the word. Only the definition actually defines a rhyming word. Thusly: “A hatter is something you need when you make a cake .” Someone else responds: “No, no, you mean a batter…” correcting the previous player, but then continues with something like “a batter is that thing you use when you play golf.” Then someone else replies, “No, no, you mean a putter. A putter is thing you get in the mail.” To which you might respond, “no, no, you mean a letter. A letter is a that thing with rungs that you use to get to high places…”
And on, and on, each player supplying the correct word for the previous definition and then coming up with a new definition for a more-or-less rhyming word. Do note that the words don’t have to rhyme exactly. This makes the puzzles more interesting as well as easier to create.
This is my Nose
Kids still antsy? Time for something completely different. A rather silly, but conceptually alluring game, sometimes called “This is my Nose.” One player starts by pointing to her, for example, elbow, and saying “this is my nose.” The next player points to his nose and says “this is my elbow” and then points, for further example, to his head and says “this is my foot.” The next then points to her foot and says “this is my head,” and then points, perhaps, to her knee and says “this is my eyebrow.” And on and again on. All the way home.