MARY ANN FITZMORRIS

Guessing games should be reserved for television My life is a game show. I am a permanent contestant, but I don’t like it nearly as much as the participants on television. In fact, if I ever start to jump up and down and lunge at the host, it will be to choke her. Conversations with my daughter resemble a typical interchange only in that each of us takes a turn to speak, but her part of it is always the same word: “guess.” My job is to guess, remember what I already guessed, and, after a while, remember what it is we’re even talking about. Yesterday I picked her up from art class. In an unusual twist, she didn’t want me to see her work. “It’s a surprise. Guess what I made today, Mom.” I like to hear the word “surprise” in these set-ups, because sometimes I can get released from this torture by saying, “Honey, if I guess it, it won’t be a surprise.” No such luck. Her response was, “Guess.” I was pondering all the elements of the universe, which took too long. She jumped in, “I’ll give you a hint; it’s something you do too much.” While I was considering which food would look good as a ceramic, she helped, clearly bursting with anticipation. “I’ll give you a hint. Everyone uses it, but it’s not food. It has to do with talking.” My son offered assistance. “Is it a phone?” “Correct! It’s a phone!” she gasped, with delight. I kept my sigh of relief to myself, thinking we would now switch to regular conversation. Wrong. It was time for round two. “Now, guess what I put on it,” she continued. Fortunately the spectrum of possibilities was limited to what one might see on a telephone. My son again came to my rescue. “Well, that would be buttons.” “Excellent!” she exclaim-ed. “Now, what else?” I stifled a groan. Her brother became a willing contestant. “Is it letters?” “Yes!” she thrilled. The conversation resumed the more standard path, and the three of us talked about the usual things in the usual way. Around dinner time, though, my daughter reclaim-ed her position as self-appointed game show host. “Mom, one of the kids in my class substitutes the word biscuits’ for trespassers’ whenever we say the Our Father. Who do you think it is?” I shrugged, not yet realizing where this was going. “Well, guess.” Questions like that really make me want to lunge for the host. In addition to guessing, remembering what I already guessed and remembering what it is we’re talking about, I also have to remember the entire class roster. This mental overload can blow the circuits on a 46-year-old brain. She the host, and I, the unwitting and unwilling contestant, begin a rapid fire exchange, not unlike the lightening rod bonus rounds of a game show. I am required to endlessly guess the outcome of the conversation, to finally hit on the right name which will trigger her cease and desist button. My son is not in the room, so audience assistance is not available. Fortunately it is later in the year, which means I am more familiar with her classmates. And common logic dictates that I immediately eliminate half the suspects. Any child that would tamper with the Our Father would almost certainly be a boy performing for any female in earshot. Sometimes when we do this classroom version of the game show, familiarity with the student body is completely useless. Like the time she approached me with, “Mom, guess who my new computer partner is.” I responded, “I don’t know.” “Guess,” was her reply. “Gee, I can’t imagine,” I mumbled, hoping she would become bored and let me off the hook. “C’mon, Mom. Guess,” she insisted. Realizing there was no way out, I ask, “Boy or girl?” “No clues,” she giggles. This host loves her job. After going through the entire class, she announces, “No, all your guesses are wrong. It’s no one. That’s the answer. I have no computer partner this quarter.” I’m a little old to whine, “That’s a trick question!”, so I laugh along through clenched teeth. She reminds me of my seventh-grade teacher, only more sadistic. One of these days I’m going to make it through the bonus round and win big, something more valuable than a car or a trip. Guess.