September 29, 2013
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The Very Important Game of the Man and the Chicken
This picture will hopefully make more sense after your read some of what I’ve written below:
When Simon was two years old, just a few months before his brother Evan was born, I was feeling very sad.
It was a lovely sunny Saturday morning which would have been been great for doing family stuff — but I had to go do some work thing or other. Consulting is like that. Plus you get no dental plan.
I really wanted to hang out with my son that day. I knew it was a special day and that we weren’t going to get it back ever. Simon was playing with his Fisher-Price farm and Noah’s art sets at the end of the bed — while I was getting in some reading before I had to hit the road.
Simon had Noah in one hand and another figure in the other.
He handed the figure to me.
It was a big chicken.
“MAN!” cried Simon.
“CHICKEN!” I replied.
We both laughed because we realized that the Noah (the man) and the Chicken were the same size. Either people were really small back then or that was one honking big chicken.
Never mind these anotomical details. It was time for the Game of Man and the Chicken to be invented and for play to begin.
First Simon (the weilder of the Man) would chase me (the weilder of the Chikcen) all across the bed. Then, just before the Man would catch the Chicken, the balance of power would suddenly reverse and Chicken would chase Man all around the bedroom. This cycle of flip-flop pursuit would continue for what seemed like three (rather fun-filled) hours during which Simon and I would say poingant things like:
“I’m going to get you! ”
Man! Man! Man!
“Here comes the Chicken!”
“He’s going to get you!”
“Chicken Chicken Chicken!”
With each cycle our cries got more musical until we were singing ad-lib songs while the toys chased each other back and forth. Later Simon would play Man and the Chicken with Helen and she composed lyrics and an actual melody that she would sing to him.
Man and the Chicken had “legs” as they say in the advertising industry. It became a regular game in our home and came to include Evan (when he finally got around to getting born) and generated quite a few stories and adventures.
The Game and its associated narratives became a part of family folkore — and if I happen to mention “Man and the Chicken” or even “Fisher-Price” to Simon today I will usually get an exasperateed sigh…but I also get a flash of recognition and a trace of a smile.
I wonder of literature started this way?
