One of my favorite psychological concepts to misuse in everyday life is the idea of “parallel play.” When children are very young—say, one or two years old—they aren’t entirely capable of playing with each other, and will instead play their own individual games, side by side.
I think this is a great idea. I use the term “parallel play” to refer to situations in which a friend and I are doing things simultaneously but not together, acting companionably but not necessarily interacting—watching TV episodes on our laptops, checking Facebook next to each other, etc. I think it’s important to consider the value in this way of being with other people; you don’t need to talk with someone constantly, and friendship continue to exist throughout silences.
The next step in child development after “parallel play” is “play.” As in, playing games. Before the age of ten, it is almost unthinkable to hang out with another person and not engage in a concentrated activity. I used to notice that my parents would just sit and talk to their peers, a unfathomably grown-up activity on par with drinking coffee or liking to get up early (two other things I still haven’t mastered).
We all have fond memories of the ridiculous games we played as children with our close friends, things that barely make sense now: one of my weird pastimes during the 1996 presidential election was to imagine that we were Bob and Bill, the kids of Clinton and Dole, and we would go to different places in a friend’s yard and raise money for the campaigns by moving dirt around. You all played games like that, right? Most pre-teenage years are spent, as my friend Yosefa would say, gaming.
If we don’t do enough parallel playing in our lives these days, we as an age group, a generation, certainly don’t do enough gaming.
Yosefa gets bored easily. During middle school she could always be counted on to have some challenging and specific way of passing the time. Word games for walks across town, lists and challenges for long drives, matching people to roles when falling asleep at each other’s houses. We had a specific schedule of Super Smash Brothers and foosball that we kept to on weekday afternoons, between school and “Sabrina The Teenage Witch” reruns.
Nowadays, when we only see each other on holiday breaks and long weekends, Yosefa will show up at my house with a fierce glint in her eye. “Gaming, Shira. I’m here to game.” Over Thanksgiving, what my dad thought was someone being attacked in our cul-de-sac was in fact a particularly intense round of Mario Kart. We played so much foosball and N64 that we had to switch to Trivial Pursuit to give our thumbs a rest.
I brought Trivial Pursuit with me to school, where, alas, it remained on my shelf. I look forward to a rousing, lengthy game of Monopoly on one of those Saturdays where no one wants to go outside and even Leo’s seems far away. One of my friends swears by Axis and Allies, which I might devote a week to some time, and I think Twister might even work on those days I just can’t make it to the gym. Recent evenings spent with newly made and slightly uncomfortable friends have turned into long nights of drinking wine and playing charades.
Games, in addition to allowing us to regress to that ever-elusive childlike state, provide all the ingredients for a good time—a common goal, mistakes you feel all right about laughing at, competition and fraternity, props and rules and carefully set limits. Games rein in your brain and stop you from thinking about whether you’re talking too much or your friend’s friend is giving you a funny look. Let go. Have fun. Game on.
