We don't stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing.
-- Attributed to George Bernard Shaw
Trapper John and three of his closest fraternity brothers from Southern Methodist University get together every year and play three days' worth of an inebriated version of the card game Hearts. They often played cards together in college, and when they graduated, decided it might be fun to keep "The Game" going as an excuse to see one another at least once a year.
Their play, however, is not for the faint of heart (pun very much intended). They have a constitution setting forth the rules of engagement, and a rigorous amendment process to adapt those rules as necessary. No other persons can be admitted entrance to The Game -- that means no wives or girlfriends accompany them on their travels and no other players than the original four have ever played a hand. And they never play in the same state or international country twice.
From Amsterdam to London to Laramie, the guys have played -- and drank -- all over the world. A scrapbook holds the evidence -- ahem, "memories" -- of their excursions. With a turn of the page, the four fellas get a bit longer in the tooth, a bit wider around the middle, and a bit snowier on the roof. They've seen each other through marriages, divorces, career changes, parents passing away, you name it. The ritual of childhood play has remained a regular part of their adult lives for 33 years and counting.
A similar story was chronicled in The Wall Street Journal in 2013, which was later made into the film "Tag," about a group of childhood friends who continue a game of tag for over 20 years. Every year, during the month of May, the men go to extraordinary lengths to tag one another by popping up at ballgames dressed as the mascot or showing up in delivery rooms when babies are arriving. And much like "Tag," the goal of The Game is clear: you don't need to win; you just need to not lose.
I think one of the more dire traits of adulthood is the absence of uninhibited play -- the kind of play that doesn't run on batteries or gasoline or anything other than imagination. Watch clouds float by, wish on a star, connect freckles on your arm, sing as loud as you can while on the toilet, wear costumes in public for no reason, or do absolutely nothing and feel no guilt about it.
While I admit to acting like a kid at times -- I'm quick to make a snow angel in the slightest dusting of snow or dance while shopping in the supermarket aisle -- I'm resolving to be more intentional about incorporating play into everyday life. I might drop the first digit in my age and try acting a bit more like the last number. Today, I shall be 8. Perhaps I'll put streamers on my bike. Care to play along? Tag; you're it.