“You buy things’, said the then 7-year-old Son as he tried to describe what he’d been doing at the house of his newish friends. I thought maybe they had some toy shop of sorts.
He wasn’t so good at mentioning the pertinent facts about whatever he was going on about, which left us guessing more than necessary. Once he’d elaborated a little more, it sounded like he might actually have been talking about Monopoly. Yes, you do buy things, don’t you?
This tells you one thing about us, however, and one I’m not terribly proud of. We had been depriving Son, and we had failed to play this classic game with him. In fact, we played very little. Bad parents.
It’s worse, considering how much I had loved it as a child, and how much I craved owning a set of Monopoly myself. I never did. It was yet another unnecessary thing we couldn’t afford and besides, games in Sweden cost a lot more, relatively speaking.
Anyway, as an only child I would have had a hard time finding enough companions to play with. But I enjoyed it whenever I was at someone’s house and we could play. And that time when I was about 16 and was the only one of my cousins who’d been invited to our aunt’s birthday dinner in a restaurant, I was sufficiently enraged over the unfairness, and elected to spend the day with the unwanted cousins. (And I did love restaurant meals.) We ended up playing Monopoly all afternoon, and there were at least five of us, so it was a great game. Must have been, since I still remember it so vividly.
So why I hadn’t bought Monopoly for Offspring is a mystery. That day when Son enthused about it, it dawned on me that I could, actually, buy a box. We could afford it. So we did. Not that I went about it the easy way. I asked Mother-of-witch to buy the Swedish version, so that it’d be a little bit different.
It certainly was different. No one else could read what was on the cards. First not the children, though they learned after a while. And definitely not their friends. So at the school fair one year Son finally bought an old battered British Monopoly set, and now we are the same as everyone else. Except I still don’t know the addresses very well. There is nothing like Norrmalmstorg.
And when someone says they quite fancy a new version, Manchester or whatever, I point out that we barely use the ones we do own. Offspring are still deprived of quality game time with the old people.
Happy 75th, dear Monopoly!