I have a confession to make. I never cheated at Pick-up Sticks. But don’t ask my daughter – she won’t believe you.
When my daughter was younger (translated – more than a week ago), we would play this game called Pick-Up Sticks. Maybe you remember it. It’s an actual game that you buy at the store and everything.
The object is to pick up the sticks, one at a time, without moving any other stick. There’s one black stick. If you get that one, you can use it to help you move the sticks.
So how could my daughter think I cheated at such a simple game?
Well, I might have given her that impression . . .
At the beginning of the game, when you first dump the sticks on the table, there are a few easy ones to get. So there was no problem.
But then it would get trickier and trickier . . .
When it came time to try to get some of the hard sticks, I went through this routine. During that time, I was writing a lot of newspaper stories. My daughter knew this. So when we were playing Pick-Up Sticks, I would interlock my fingers, stretch my arms waaaaaaay out (Pop. Pop. Pop, went the knuckles), then I would wiggle my fingers in front of me, my hands hovering just above the pile of sticks.
And then I would do the worst thing of all . . . I would say, very tauntingly, “I’m gooooinnng to use my Tyyyyyypinnnng Fiiiinnnngers . . . ”
Like as if that was an advantage.
But it didn’t matter – my daughter thought it was.
Then I would either pick up a stick or end up losing my turn. All the while, my daughter would be wailing, “That’s not fair! That’s not FAAAAAIR!”
Ahhhhhh. Those were the days . . . the days when I could annoy my daughter with such easy and simple techniques.
Now I have to do things like siphon the gas out of her car or wash her reds and whites together. In hot water.
Yes, we may not play Pick-Up Sticks any more. But I still have my Typing Fingers.