By Salvatore A. Barcia Jr.

Posted August 30, 2023

Patrick’s moment had arrived.  At last it was his chance to be . . . the imposter (cue dramatic music).  How would he handle his newfound glory?

Shutdown Lag

Soon after the world closed its doors in March 2020, my wife Nori and I realized the difficulties of cloistering a nine-year-old.  After a week inside we noticed our son Luci’s pale skin; board games and other indoor activities provided limited mileage; physical movement was almost nil.  As a result we started a daily ritual of heading outside for a catch and/or bike ride, no matter what the circumstances (even having catches in the rain).

Sometimes we ran into friends and made the questionable decision to associate with people outside our “bubble.”  We justified our transgression with his need for peer associations to boost mental health.

“Only throw the ball to each other, you can’t get close,” was my cop-out response.

Every Saturday or Sunday was our weekly day out.  Food shopping plus a stop at Target or Walmart (somehow safer than independent businesses); dinner at the car; sometimes a drive to see barren city locations.  It was the most exciting part of our week.

Open the Door

By late-May 2020 we felt the rut.  Luci needed other kids.  His school barely offered Zoom calls (frustrating since I ran multiples daily with my class).  It was time to take a chance.  Nori and I cautiously asked fellow parents about meeting outside.  I texted the group and we nervously awaited the response, hoping nobody saw us as careless or ignorant.

“Oh yes, finally!” was the gist of the replies.

After a sigh of relief we made plans for a day in the park.  A resounding success, we scheduled additional park days, inviting others to join.  The parents were relieved to give their kids time with peers and also take a break from constant apocalyptic news.

Rainout, or Not?

One summer evening brought plans for a picnic.  Everyone set up in typical fashion with chairs in a wide circle, coolers of drinks and snacks, Frisbees, water guns, etc.  Flashbacks of childhood summer evenings churned through my head, when kids played on the street while adults chatted on porches.

The first drip arrived and we disregarded it.  Brief, mild rain had been in the forecast.  Then the next came.  Additional dripping, like a faucet slowly opening.  We tried to explain it away, hoping our claim it was “nothing” would make the rain decide to pass.  Our words were left unheard, perhaps even angering the clouds, and within minutes a downpour infiltrated our gathering.  We grabbed our things and ran for cover, and the kids acted like . . . kids.  As we gathered in a huddled mass, the kids ran around joyfully in the deluge.  Youthful exhilaration was on display.

When the rain suddenly stopped and the sun retook its position, the parents decided it was time to call it a night since everyone (and everything) was soaked.

“Awwwwwww,” the kids collectively groaned, accessing a common mantra from the child’s protest playbook.

As we started to pack up, the kids continued to play.  One parent placed a chair back down.

“Maybe we can stay a few more minutes.”

“OK but we should go soon.”

“Everything is still soaked, so just one game and then we go.”

“He needs a hot shower but I guess they are having fun.”

One at a time more chairs and coolers escaped back to their spots, and we grudgingly returned to our seats as if pulled by magic magnets.  Despite our insistence, we didn’t have the heart to make the kids go home – especially after their dismal spring.  Hours passed in the park on a cool summer evening, my mind once again flashing back to the summer nights of my childhood.

School Daze

Fast forward to September, and school was haphazard at best:  staggered cohorts; various shutdowns; limited activities.  Continuing our use of the park as the kids’ getaway from the Great Indoors, we began meeting every Thursday (often with hot beverages to sooth on chilly afternoons).  Others were invited and the group expanded, guaranteeing social and outdoor time at least one afternoon a week (even brief outings in freezing temperatures).  By the following spring it was ingrained in our thinking, and often other kids joined the festivities as they saw the weekly convention set up shop.

Revisiting a bygone era, the kids displayed creativity we often stifle in our ultra-planned modern schedule.  One such game was an adapted version of the game “Among Us” to play in the park, with two imposters who reveal themselves at the end (or when found out).  Kids looked forward to their turn as imposter, but would Patrick ever get his chance?

Choose Wisely

The kids appointed me to select imposters.  To start each round they would kneel in a circle with heads down while I secretly chose two eager participants.  I tried to vary as best as I could.

Martin’s younger brother Patrick was unfortunately too young to grasp the game.  The kids let him play but didn’t want him to take on a big responsibility (kid rules don’t allow it).  Each time imposters were chosen, he vocally displayed his displeasure with the decision.  Finally we decided it was time to give him his moment.  Following a sidebar with the older kids, we agreed to select Patrick as a faux third imposter.

The kids bowed their heads, and I slowly circled to demonstrate the weight of my pending decision.  I selected one, then a second.  Finally, I went to Patrick and hovered a moment to let him foresee what might be coming.  Soon he was given the signal.  Watching the smile creep across his face would thaw even the hardest heart.

I quietly returned to the parents’ chat circle.  After taking an extra pause to build additional tension, I announced the completion of my task.  We watched as the kids arose from imaginary slumber.  Slowly they stood up, peering at each other for a tip-off: mischievous grins; suspicious looks; quiet whispers.  We held our breath wondering how Patrick would handle his grave responsibility, shivering with antici . . . pation.  Suddenly, he revealed his cards.

“I’m the Imposter!!!” he loudly exclaimed, unable to guard his secret.

The kids smiled.  Parents laughed.  Nearby spectators grinned.  Patrick danced in celebration to accompany his declaration, finally feeling like one of the older kids.  He chose to embrace this honor in his own way, and nobody seemed to mind.  The game continued and all briefly felt right with the world.

When we reminisce about the COVID year, a silver lining was our Thursdays in the Park helping us get through this difficult period.  We recall the fun, silly moments, and we remind ourselves that kids just need to be . . . kids.