All My Children

Most adults find it easier to involve themselves directly in complex and adult games, like chess or baseball, than in play on simpler levels, such as stacking blocks or riding a hobbyhorse or toy car. Although the terms “play” and “game” are often used interchangeably, they are not identical in meaning. Rather, they refer to broadly distinguishable stages of development, with “play” relating to an earlier stage, “game” to a more mature one. Generally speaking, “play” refers to the young child’s activities characterized by freedom from all but personally imposed rules (which, unless the child is compulsive, can be changed at will); by freewheeling fantasy involvement; and by the absence of any goals outside the activity itself. “Games,” on the other hand, are usually competitive and are characterized by agreed-upon, often externally imposed rules; by a requirement to use the implements of the activity in the manner for which they are intended and not as fancy dictates; and frequently by a goal or purpose outside the activity itself, such as winning the game. Early on, children recognize that there is a much greater opportunity for pure enjoyment in play, whereas considerable stress may be felt when playing games. A four-year-old, for example, when confronted with an as-yet-unfamiliar play situation asked, “Is this a fun game or a winning game?” The attitude with which he approached the activity depended on the answer he was given.

An easy distinction between play and games can be seen in these two typical examples. There is a clearly defined difference between a play activity in which a small boy’s toy automobile flies through the air, knocks dow_ntall block buildings, and then becomes the recipient of his whispered con. fidences and a game such as Monopoly, in which a piece of metal is a marker, all moves of which are dictated by an elaborate set of rules covering every contingency and providing for a specific goal—winning. It makes sense to speak of the “rules of the game,” but play has no rules, aside from those the child wishes to impose on his own activities, and which he may vary from moment to moment, as he desires. Actually, it is the child’s spontaneou_sfantasy as expressed through his play which determines what is going to happen next. The play proceeds not in line with objective reality or the logical sequence of events, but as free associations of the moment may suggest. There is, of course, a continuum from the free-play activity to the well-structured game, and some activities partake of aspects of both play and game.

Many languages have only one word for what English designates with the two nouns “play” and “game,” and even English has only one verb— “to play”—for both activities. We play at playing, and we play a game, but there is a difference. As noted earlier, play proceeds on a more primitive level, and games require a more mature level of understanding. Games, with their definite structure and their competitive aspects, are naturally closer to our adult ways of spending time, and thus they evoke more immediate empathy in adults. We enter into their meaning and importance quickly. If we could be as emotionally involved in a child’s play as we are in those games we also play, we would find in ourselves a spontaneous feeling for play’s importance which provides an emotional bridge between age groups.

Relations were probably easier in many ways, and more meaningful and enjoyable for both children and adults, when they played the same games, even though the internal meaning the play had for each was not identical. The same play could signify for the child, for example, an exploration or reconstruction of his world, while for the adult it might be mainly recreation. But what was important about children and adults playing the same way— although with different inner meanings–was that they were equally serious about what playing meant to them, and equally convinced that this play enriched the life of each. That they both played in the same way gave the play a special significance for children, while it permitted adults an inner participation in their children’s activities, which made for a special bond between them.

Today, there are relatively few games which are enjoyed as much by adults as they are by children. More often than not, children are experienced as intruders when grown-ups reluctantly feel obliged to make allowances for the child’s presence and perhaps let him participate. When I was a child in Vienna, things were often different. One of the most common and popular leisure activities of adults was cardplaying (it was Freud’s main recreation, for example, during the working year). My father spent many of his relatively few leisure hours playing cards with relatives and friends. As they played for hours, I watched them, which they took for granted, since I did not interfere with the game—it was too important to them and to me. My kibitzing changed nothing in the way they played and interacted with each other. They played for insignificant stakes, but when my father won, he gave me a share of his winnings. Small as it was, it added to my interest in the game and increased my watchfulness. That these adults were so serious about a game I also played with my friends was important to me, and so was the fact that they enjoyed it as much as I did. Of course, my friends and I knowingly, and probably more often unwittingly, copied our parents‘ behavior during our card games, making jokes and emulating other types of behavior we had observed. It was from my experience of playing the same card game that I spontaneously understood its importance for my father; and it was from his experience that he had full understanding of and empathy with what playing this game with my friends meant to me.

With our common interest in and enjoyment of card games, it was only natural that when the occasion arose, such as a rainy vacation day, my father would play cards with us children for long hours, often the same games he played with his friends. However, this was an entirely different experience, even though the game was identical. When my father played with us, his role and attitude was that of a parent who enjoys what he is doing because it is enjoyable to his children. This made it very different from the experience when I watched him play the same game with his friends—then he was every bit as serious about it as I was when I played with my friends.

It is from experiences like this that I know the difference between a parent playing with his child—important and enjoyable as this is for both when all goes well—and a parent and his child, each entirely on his own, playing the same game with contemporaries. When parent and child, each for his very own reasons, are engrossed in the same play, this can form a bond between them which is truly sui generis.

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