Vinnie Asks His Mom a Hard Question

4

Vinnie’s Mom and Dad sit at the table. Vinnie’s in his room getting the game he invented. Vinnie’s mom whispers to his dad, “Dear, I think we’re walking on thin ice. You know how Vinnie thinks. Be prepared. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Vinnie’s dad says, “What could he devise? It will be a silly game. Let’s pretend it’s a lot of fun and it will get over quick. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Please don’t take this wrong, Dear, but you’re a slow learner. Do remember when Vinnie wanted to choose the restaurant?”

“How did I know he was going to choose a place with a D health score? You have to admit he has a good heart. He said he chose it because anybody who gets a D needs a friend.”

“How did you feel after we ate there? As I recall, you kept making trips to the bathroom all night,” says Vinnie’s mom.

Vinnie interrupts the conversation, “Rupert wants to watch. He’ll sit next to me to make sure everyone plays fair.” Vinnie sets Rupert on the table against a Captain America lunch box.

“Where’s the game, Vinnie,” asks his mom.

Vinnie points to the lunch box. “Right here, Mom. The game is inside Captain America.

Vinnie’s dad gives Vinnie’s mom a confident, reassuring smile, “Tell us how to play the game, Vinnie.”

“It’s easy. I made up a bunch of questions, folded them and put them in my lunch box. Since I invented the game, I get to ask the questions. I have one die in box and you role it. If you get a one or a two, you get an easy question. If you role any other number you get a hard question. When you’re finish answering I tell you how many points you get.”

“This sounds like fun,” says Vinnie’s dad.

“Dear Lord, don’t let me fall into the dark side,” Vinnie’s mom silently prays.

“Who wants to go first?” asks Vinnie.

Vinnie’s dad says, “Why don’t you go first, Dear?”

“I didn’t volunteer,” says Vinnie’s mom.

“Too late, Mom. Dad already volunteered you. Role the die.”

Vinnie hands his mom the die. She shakes it in her hand and says, “Give me an easy one. Give me an easy one.”

Vinnie’s mom roles a four. 

“Looks like you got a hard one, Mom,” says Vinnie. 

“Mom’s really smart, Vinnie. She graduated with honors from college. She only got A’s. You won’t be able to stump her,” chimes in Vinnie’s Dad.

Vinnie pulls out a folded slip of paper, looks at it and tosses it back in the lunch box. He does the same to another folded piece of paper. As he tosses it back in, his mom says, “Vinnie, what are you doing?”

“The first two had the number one and two on them, Mom. I have to keep drawing out questions until I get one with a three, four, five, or six on it.”

“How many questions are in your lunch box?” asks Vinnie’s mom.

“About one hundred. The game’s not finished until we answer all the questions. If the game ends in a tie. I have three tie breakers,” says Vinnie.

Vinnie’s mom touches Vinnie’s dad forearm, “Do you think we’ll be done before bedtime?”

Vinnie’s dad says, “I think we’ll be done in a half hour. Want to make a small bet on who wins the game?”

Vinnie’s mom looks at Vinnie, “Are there any sports’ questions?”

“No, Mom.

“Okay, if I win, I get a full day at the spa. If you win, we’ll go out for pizza on Friday.”

Vinnie’s dad decides this is the best deal he’s going to get. He agrees to it, and says, “Looks like you have a question in your hand, Vinnie. We’re ready to play.”

Vinnie unwraps the question. He glances at his Mom, then back at the slip of paper he’s holding. He reads it, “Where did I come from for four points?”

Author: Ray Calabrese

I am an optimistic, can do, and never quit guy. The spirit of hope indelibly marks my DNA. My research at The Ohio State University helped people discover the best in themselves and change their personal lives, public organizations, and whole communities. I bring the same spirit and enthusiasm to my blog to help those who grieve who find themselves suddenly alone, navigate their grieving. Join my more than 24,300Twitter (@alwaysgoodstuff). I promise my tweets are always good stuff. Please feel free to email me at ray.brese@gmail.com.

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