Play. Lose. Play.

Aqaba

Summer evening. A dinner party at my father's friend's home. Large beautiful porch. Huge barbecue on. Fragrant, spiced, and sweet black tea. Lots and lots of kids - mostly rambunctious little boys. I am one of the oldest at 7 or 9 years old and one of the three or four girls. My goal was to stay away and read somewhere in a corner. Had brought along a good, fun storybook.

But no.

Boys were playing a random game with sticks. Throwing them around and jumping a few times and playing tag. It was a rowdy activity with no rules. I was forced to join in because the teams were uneven. Frankly, there were no teams. 

There was another happy little girl in the group. She was just thrilled to be running around barefeet, sneaking olives and raisin breads and pitas and hummus snacks. Bringing me some in her grubby little fingers. I welcomed the food. I was obviously distracted from a pointless game I had no interest in to begin with. I didn't pick the right stick or throw it in the right direction. 

I lost. Rather my team - I didn't even know who they were - they lost. There was an uproar and suddenly the group of boys looked in my direction and shouted, "Loser!!!" It stung and I was all ready to thrash them with those precious sticks.

The little girl, seeing me upset, asked me why I was angry. I told her those boys called me a loser. Her face shone with joy! "Loser? Game over? New game then? Come. Play!"

I went. I played. (Only with her.)