The Thanksgiving games

Like many families on Thanksgiving, we partook of the bounty before us as though we were the original Pilgrims: overworked, underfed, and unsure of when -- or if -- we were ever going to see so much food in one place again. We therefore loaded up on turkey and gravy and dressing and vegetables and four kinds of potatoes, and just to be sure our bodies would have enough to see us their through the long, difficult Black Friday ordeal, we consumed several pies and numerous cookies. (Technically the latter were the Little Persons' desserts, but in a society where food is so uncertain, everyone needs to share.)

But after dinner, the Little Persons extracted their revenge for the forced sharing. Taking advantage of the adults' brain-deadness, they hosted a magic show, which we were all urged -- indeed, compelled -- to attend. The magic involved was, er, less than magical, unless one considers the difficulty of accommodating five young egos on the same stage.Truly, THAT was magic.

When a large ball materialized, the action heated up. The magicians were transformed into two teams fiercely trying to keep the ball away from each other. Perhaps it was our brain-deadness, but it was difficult to follow the action, what with arms appearing where legs should have been and heads sometimes disappearing altogether.

Within the space of several minutes the game was forfeited by both sides, owing to the number of injuries that left too few players able to play. Sadly, the injuries also overwhelmed the onsite clinic, which was caught embarrassingly short on ice packs and had to rotate them among the patients, enforcing a strict 2-minute limit per patient.

The non-injured Little Persons, resourceful and quick thinking, hastened to put on a skit wherein both players played multiple parts as animals, or possibly fairy godmothers. It was hard to tell sometimes.

First a duck appeared. It seemed to be overly influenced by A Christmas Carol, as suggested by its urgent message:

"I am the Duck from the Future. I am here to tell you what will befall all ducks. (Pause.) It is not good. The ducks will die if you feed them. Do NOT feed them!"

Here the duck disappeared, to be replaced by an elephant who looked at us gravely. "The ducks are lying. Feed them! And feed us too! Otherwise we will starve!"

The elephant had scarcely left when the duck flew in again, squawking, "Don't listen to the elephant! He's the one who's lying! The food in the future will be ... " -- the duck searched for an apt description of the food of the future -- "poisoned! Do not feed it to the ducks!"

The pace quickly accelerated until we could scarcely tell the duck from the elephant, and were further confused by the appearance of a fairy godmother whose role seemed to be to grant wishes to cowboys who longed for a horse. We did not know whom to believe. Did we want to have our conscience burdened by dead ducks if we fed them poisoned food? We did not. Thus we continued in our brain-deadness, which we found pretty convenient. We were too tired to feed anyone.

Who knows what heights of drama and theater may have been reached had not the excitement been cut short by the father of several injured Little Persons, who declared it time to go home. Yet the possibility of further injuries remained: On the way home, they were stopping at Old Navy.