Cry Me a River That Flows Past Park Place

I never cry, even if I drop the last bite of brownie in the kitty litter where the five second rule doesn’t apply,

I don’t cry at baseball, even though my team manages to lose in creative and expensive ways each season.

I don’t cry when I’m picked last for teambuilder activities, even though I was the acknowledged and celebrated Red Rover champion in the fifth grade and the only girl on the First Baptist softball team who could catch a pop fly.

I don’t cry at tearjerker movies that are written for the express purpose of generating tears (unless it’s Secondhand Lions and that’s the law).

But there is one thing that makes me cry like a newly crowned Miss America with the cameras rolling.

I’ll clue you in, but you have to promise not to tell.

Pinky swear.

It’s. . .

Monopoly.

I’m not sure if that’s why I’m banned from playing it at my house, but there’s a reason that during the last game we ever played, Son I, William the Conqueror, gave me an extra life and called it Monopoly: The Bailout Edition.

All I know is that if someone that I carried in my body for nine months can charge me $1,200 to stay at his hotel for five minutes without even considering an AARP discount, he wasn’t raised right and I’m a failure as a mother.

Son I regularly takes top honors in Careers, Sorry, Uno, and The Barbie Game and I live to fight another day even when he insists on playing by the rules on the box instead of House rules.

Son II (The Pokemon Master, for those of you in the know), has reigned as the Connect Four champion since he was eight years old. I would brag about him in my knitting circle if I could knit.

But Monopoly is personal.

Anyone who can refuse his mother bail when she’s been behind bars for more than three turns is a menace and shouldn’t be allowed to pass Go.

I can’t catch a break, or break even for that matter.

I can’t hop a freight train. (I have all the railroads, Mom. You owe me extra.)

I have poor design sense. (None of your colors match, Mommo. If you get any money, try to buy properties with the same color.)

I need magic dice. (Motherrr, I own all the properties on that side; you need to roll 15.)

I regret the days I let this kid win at Candy Land.

The money was still wet when we put the game away for the last time and passed around bandages to the competitors. Everyone agreed that the additions of Senior discounts and Buy One Get One Free offers enhanced game play.

The family Monopoly game still looks like new. My guys are grown now and life is busy.

But I can always find a way to start a conversation.

I say, “Hey, does anybody want to play Monopoly?”

Then I sit back and watch the fun.