Together with Ding, i lead a math workshop for geniusy kids: a "crack these christmas math-nuts" kind of course, over two days. we filled out stars with magic square-like number patterns, solved riddles of symmetrical snowflakes, learned how to count in Chinese and built origami cubes. in the pauses between the lessons (during which ding and i tried—often struggled—to gather their chaotic mind energy and focus it toward the prepared tasks) they invented and developed a strategy game called Islands. The game was at least as interesting and, I thought, just as thought-provoking as any of the christmas-themed word problems or geometrical figures we were trying to present. So it was hard for me to tell them to stop working on it and do whatever math game was next on the list since, honestly, I considered the skills entailed in Islands more valuable than figuring out how many toy trucks johnny could have bought with his santa money if x equals 7y and the economy weren't a black hole.
The game, which worked a little like Risk, involved holding, building up, and defending one's own Island—and its interests—while exploring, conquering, trading or making alliances with other Islands and their owners. The routes were complex, the potential wares (ships, large and small weaponry, all manner of accessories) were meticulously priced, and the game board—begun as a simply curving pen drawing on graph paper— was transformed by the end of the workshop into a fabulously colored archipelago paradise.
The most amazing part of the process was how matter of factly a couple of the kids took on roles of authority, which other children simply accepted, whether or not they had been originators of the game. if two children doing their own individual development of the game were unsure about something, they would turn to another, one of those possessing this mysterious authority, "can we do this?" they would asked. the Author replied with immediate assurance. with a 'this you can do, this you cant do' as though dictating a preestablished method and form, instead of guidelines he has just that moment determined. No one challenged, if it was a good ruling, the game simply went forward, slightly more defined than before. There were few disputes (such as over how many other game players one could form a peace treaty with)which were settled as quickly and logically as possible.
How are these Rulemakers made? There are the dreamers of dreams and then there are those that decree what is no longer dream. Determiners of Reality perhaps.
If we could all remember how to be so.
on the other side hand, I wasn't sure whether to be impressed by this one boys self-assurance, or to fear it (maybe fear what it would/could become), or to resent that I was never, and probably will never be, quite that dictatorial. its hard to imagine my word as law. yes, of course I navigate a range of relationships and embodiments of power dynamics, but still, whether by choice or chance leadership roles are not my lot.
its worth mentioning that this one boy with inexplicable authority (the Authors seemed to have authority based on age and the fact that they had started the game) was also one of the least controllable kids in the room. he was the joker, high energy, kept trying to sneak the answers to the problems, had little patience for the any of the tasks and often asked favors of us (teachers) in an exaggeratedly wide eyed, head cocked to one side with a tragically endearing smile way. his voice became adoringly pleading as he beseeched us "oh just one more minute, please..."
I forgot for a moment the ten year old standing in front of me, eyelashes batting away.
Manipulator, i thought.
