Family Game Night

Last night our family had a wonderful time playing the game of "LIFE." David has never wanted to sit and play games—he's a very active child—but last night he actually asked to play the game. We had a great time. He was still very active and antsy, but we all made it through a game!

"LIFE" has changed since the days that Rich and I played as children. When we were young everyone playing this game had to stop on a square that determined how many kids you were going to have in the game; that is no longer the case. Now you only have children if you land on a space that says so. This upset David, since he wasn't landing on a space that gave him a son or daughter so we allowed him to adopt a daughter. He then carefully placed her in the back of his car, when Rich joked that she was banished to the rear away from her parents David explained that she was there because it was safer for her to be in the back of the car. Now that warmed my heart (maybe we aren't doing so bad as parents after all).

Unfortunately, I think this change in the game is just a reflection of today's culture. The spaces with children are no different than the space for booking an online cruise—both spaces simply mean that you'll end the game with less money. Children as a whole are not thought of as an important part of our lives. They are now made to "fit into my schedule" not that we are responsible for their spiritual and secular training. We have abdicated our responsibilty to our childcare workers, schools and even the church. I have photographed babies (as young as a few weeks old) who are brought to childcare centers at 5:30 or 6:00 in the morning by parents who are driving Land Rovers or Jags, only to be picked up at 6:00 in the evening (sometimes by the nanny.) Many of these children are brought to their childcare centers even on days when their parents are not working, because they need a break. These parents will tell you they have to work in order to make ends meet. Maybe we should value our children more than our cars. I feel great sorrow for these children who will reap what their parents have sown.