Dear Solomon, Have You Ever Played the Ungame?

Dear Solomon,

According to you, I should seek understanding. Understanding is a fuzzy concept. How do I know I’ve achieved it? Let me tell you about things I understand and things I don’t understand.

I understand why placeholders are used in a multi-digit multiplication algorithm and the need for both explicit phonetic instruction AND exposure to a rich vocabulary to develop strong decoding and comprehension skills. These two “understandings” were birthed from years working as a teacher and studying how kids learn. In educational pedagogy there are other things I don’t understand like theories of Cognitive Development, Social Cognition, and Control Theory. I’ve studied these ideas, took and passed exams relating to them, participated in group discussions, and even wrote essays about them. So why is it that I still don’t “understand” them?

I understand how to ski and snowboard. I’m not advanced in either pursuit, and there are times my body doesn’t cooperate with the theories that my brain is attempting to execute. I’ve swooshed all the way down the mountain on skis (repeatedly) and transversed across the slopes slowly on a snowboard. Due to my outstanding efforts I awarded myself an “understanding” merit badge – not a blue ribbon or an advanced award, but a badge nonetheless. I also awarded myself a “THANKGODIDIDN’TGETACONCUSSION” badge for nursing a throbbing headache from smacking it on the ground repeatedly (while learning to snowboard) and later earned a “SERIOUSLYYOUARETOOOLDFORTHIS” award when fear of experiencing additional soreness led me to give up in the middle of my fifth snowboarding lesson. I don’t understand moguls, half-pipes, rails, and terrain parks. My lack of understanding contributes to the pleasure I experience while oooh-ing and ahhh-ing the Olympic endeavors of athletes like Shaun “the Flying Tomato” White.

One reason I enjoy watching sports, whether I fully understand them or not, is that I understand competition. I grew up in a “game playing” home. I remember learning to sort my cards according to suit and number. There were also opportunities for instruction in attentiveness; Dad had little tolerance for distraction. When it was my turn, I was to be ready. Intensive training in concentration took place at the cribbage board. Occasionally, when I finished counting a hand, Dad would ask, “Is that all?” That was my cue to re-examine. Just as often, he would give a quick nod, rattle off what I had missed, and march his peg closer to the skunk line.

As a teen, I didn’t understand the UnGame. Why would its manufacturers make it look just like a game when it’s so Un-EVERYTHING? Setting it up required a paradigm shift. 1) Agree upon the length of the game. I examined the instructions for clues and found the following rules: “No Challenging,” “No Probing,” “No Sarcasm,” and “Remain Silent.” I immediately determined that this was UnFun and UnWorthy of any length of my time. My hostess, on the other hand, had received this as a Christmas gift and had an intense desire that it be opened and played. More importantly, one of her guests was a gentleman of interest. The accompanying surge of hormones clouded her judgment and made the stack of “lighthearted” and “serious” topics exceedingly appealing. Despite the fact that I managed to break all of the rules during the set up period, I caved in and agreed to play for the suggested game length (45 minutes). I, along with several other “players” suffered in silence while the red and blue markers bared their souls and spouted off tender and encouraging affirmations on cue.

The UnGame had one lofty purpose that I’m beginning to appreciate. By playing it, participants developed understanding. They practiced listening, communicating, respecting, and reflecting. Mastery of the Ungame could have been beneficial. I recently read an explanation of how children learn to solve problems from their parents. In one study, children who saw their Mom and Dad attempting to understand each other, tended to value and use cooperative strategies in problem solving; whereas children who observed competition and fighting between their parents tended to argue and strive for their own ways. As I read this I gulped out loud. Did my competitive habits explain the years of scrapping and jostling I’ve refereed?

Am I getting closer Solomon? Can I understand things I don’t experience firsthand by following the rules of the UnGame? Can I understand people and events? Here are my understanding strategies for 2010 inspired by you and the UnGame. Listen. Spend quality time with others. Create a loving and caring environment that is a safe place for others to open up and be honest. Do not criticize, use sarcasm, judge, or compete. Remain silent.

Thanks again for another dose of your weekly wisdom,

-bw-