There are times when life sucks you in its vortex and spits you out on the other side; a side where everything is backwards. It’s confusing and nothing makes sense. As weird as it sounds, it’s such a common phenomenon that there are plenty of examples in pop culture: The Wizard of Oz, Through the Looking Glass, The Twilight Zone, and White House press conferences all share this “What the heck? Is anyone else seeing this?” type of feel to them. So does being the only girl in a house of boys. It’s just so foreign, like living with the Beatles in Pepperland.
Take, for example, The Circle Game. This has got to be an invention by boys for boys. I can’t imagine me and a group of girlfriends playing The Circle Game. I don’t know the actual name of this game, but apparently you catch someone off guard, show them the OK symbol and then punch them in the arm. Maybe this is just weird to me.
I learned about this game the hard way. At dinner, my oldest son, Jake, said nonchalantly, “Mom, look” and I looked and he pulled his knee up to his chest and on his knee he made a circle with his fingers over his kneecap.
“Huh?” is what I thought, but instead I just sat there confused, and in doing so I somehow gave my son permission to hit me in the arm.
“What was that all about?” I asked incredulously.
The answer I got was even more dumbfounding: “You looked at the circle.”
OK, yeah, are you feeling The Looking Glass now?
“Yeah, you looked at the circle so I get to punch you.”
He must have noticed the steam trailing out of my nostrils because he promptly dropped his knee and turned his attention to his broccoli.
To avoid getting pulled further into the vortex, I let it go. I’ve learned that some things boys do you can’t question and come away with all your neurons intact. It’s just not comprehensible.
The game wouldn’t go away, however. It appeared a few days later in a movie my husband and I were watching on TV. One guy formed a circle with his fingers and held it down low and the other guy tried to stick his finger in it, missed, and got punched in the arm by the first guy.
My husband started laughing out loud. “Remember that game?” he asked. The thing is, I don’t. Somehow I grew up on the other side of the vortex where you only got punched if you did stick your finger in someone’s circle.
“That’s what Jake did to me!” I yelled.
“Jake did that?” he asked and then he started a new round of laughing. “Yes. What does that mean?”
I asked.
Here is what I was told:
“Someone makes a circle with their fingers and holds it in a way that you see it. When you see it, you have to put your finger in it before that person punches you,” Ron explained.
“I don’t get it,” I said.
“Well, you just have to be fast,” he said.
“No, I mean I don’t know why,” I said.
“Why what?” Ron said.
“Well, why anything. Why a finger in the hole? Why a punch in the arm? Why form a circle in the first place?”
This only prompted more laughter and I realized it’s one of those “Haha, she’s a girl” moments. So I wouldn’t get an answer.
I don’t know why the concept of the game surprised me. Guys have some odd fascination with stuffing things in holes. No, that’s not a crude double entendre. Think about it: Long shots, perfect putts, slam dunks, holes-in-one, they’re all concepts derived from the need to make a sport out of getting a ball in or as close as possible to a hole. (And, yes, I realize that can be a double entendre whether I mean it to be or not.)
Regardless of how it came to be, why it exists, or what enjoyment comes from the game, The Circle Game became the running joke in my house. At dinner: “Mom, how was your day?” Jake asked holding up his fingers in the shape of a circle next to his beaming face.
“Hey, mom,” Chase said right after, “this is good juice.” Then he took a drink of his juice and formed a circle at the bottom of the glass.
Then Jake again: “Mom, I love you this much,” and he formed a circle and held it up to his chest laughing.
Then my 3-year-old, Sebastian, my tiny beam of purity and light, seated next to me at the table, turned to me, brushed a few long strands of hair off his adorable little face, and with a smile, silently but deliberately—and clearly not understanding what the circle invites—brought his little baby hand to his face and formed a circle around his eye.
Of course, all of these actions took place before I could even try to make a move—and safely on the other side of the dinner table. Still I got a punch to the shoulder, repeatedly.
There are a surprising amount of things my boys do that I don’t understand. Ironically, it was The Circle Game this time that sucked me into that vortex. Next time it may be a yellow submarine.
Jump through the looking glass with Arts Editor Shelly Cone on her blog www.shellycone.com. She can be contacted at scone@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in May 19-26, 2011.