So I did what any grown-up worth her salt would do in such a situation. I kept walking alongside the group, feigning disinterest, and I eavesdropped as hard as I could. The most interesting conversation, after it had been determined that the babysitter would bring all three children to the park, was about what they would play at the park. The two girls wanted to play "family," a game Lily is a big fan of that has many variations but is basically role-playing. At any given moment about half of the children are animals, pointing to a latent desire for a 50/50 ratio between humans and pets in a household.
The boy, however, wanted to play a different game: "fight." I have seen versions of this, as well. It's not as bad as it sounds. If the "family" crew wants to pretend they are making dinner and walking the dog, the "fight" crew really just wants to chase each other around while yelling. The girls negotiated. "We can play "family," and just do the "fight" part too," Lily explained. The boy looked skeptical.
I don't know what actually happened at the park. Liberated by the other children's babysitter, I ran home to play a game I like to call "work." If I'd asked, I would not have been given an accurate answer. So I didn't ask. But I did find myself thinking how funny it is--odd funny, not humorous funny--that children this age like to form little mock-family units and play out mundane situations taken from their actual lives or run around pretending to capture or blast each other's heads off.
Or maybe it's not actually that odd funny at all.
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