Little Ivy was already wrapping towels around the both of us. This was not the first time one or another of the kids had gotten the swimming pool treatment. The proximity of the pool was one of the main reasons why we held the games in the main hall.
We stripped Alec's wet clothes off of him and had him sit down, wrapped up in three big warm towels. Somewhere there were terry cloth robes, but Little Ivy couldn't find any of them, and it was more important that we continue with the game.
I had all the children sit on the floor now, still in a large circle and Little Ivy dialed the lights down low for a spooky effect. I pulled Alec into the safety of my lap.
Okay," I said. "Now, for this part of the game, we have to think of the saddest things in the world. I'll start. The saddest thing in the world is good old Wag going without any supper. Isn't that sad?"
Some of the children nodded and looked serious. They thought that was very sad. A lot of them liked old Wag.
"Can anyone think of anything sadder?" I asked.
One of the little girls raised her hand. "What about everybody going without any supper?"
"Oh, that's a good one," I said. "That's much sadder. Is there anything sadder than that?"
One of the older boys, said, "How about everybody going without supper because there isn't any food?"
"And nobody knows where Mommy is," added one of the smaller boys, Toby-Joy Christopher.
I had to be careful with this exercise, I didn't want them accelerating into the next stage before they'd finished with sadness. I said quickly, "Oh my, yes, that's terribly sad. Oh, goodness, that's so sad, I want to cry." And I pretended to weep into my hands. Alec looked up at me oddly.
"Let's think of some more sad things," I prompted. "Who can think of something even sadder?"
"My mommy went away," said Toby-Joy.
"I never had a mommy," said one of the little girls. "My mommy died," said another.
Good. Now, they were comparing sadnesses.
"My mommy said she'd come back to me. I'm just waiting for her here," said one little girl in an almost haughty tone. The way she said it, she was setting herself above the game: I'm not one of you. I'm just visiting.
Several disbelieving looks answered this declaration. These children weren't stupid. Everybody knew that if you were here it was because you didn't have anywhere else to go and nobody was coming back for you. That was even true for most of the adults. Popular rumor had it that Jack Balaban was wanted for murder in Ireland. Not true-it was something more like a hundred and forty-seven parking violations in Chicago-but the rumor was more fun than the truth.
There was abrupt silence in the room. All of the children were abruptly alone with their own griefs.
I said, "Okay, everybody think of something sad. If you can't think of something sad, make something up; but think of the saddest thing you can. Now, let's all think real hard about how sad we feel. Close your eyes if you want." Most of them buried their faces in their hands. We'd played lots of imagining games before: This one wasn't so different, just more intense.
"Gosh," I said. "I feel so sad. I feel so very very sad. I think I'm going to cry. Let's everybody cry because we feel sad. If you can't cry, it's all right to pretend. Just make it up. Just let yourself be sad. See how sad you can feel. It's all right to miss Mommy and Daddy and all your friends from school and your favorite teacher or your dog or your cat or your favorite doll or toy or TV show or Gramma and Grampa-anything. Just think of something you miss. Even your favorite food is fine. Now feel real sad about it. Oh, my goodness. I'm starting to cry. . . ."
I put my own face into my hands and made weeping noises. Around me, some of the children began to weep too, some of them pretend, some for real. One or two giggled while they pretended, some of them peeked out between their fingers; but when they saw that we were serious, they went back behind the safety of their hands. In a minute, most of them were crying softly to themselves.
Alec sat in my lap and looked up at me. I looked down at him. Very gently, I took his hands in mine and kissed them, then I placed them over his eyes and wrapped my arms around him. We made little weepy sounds together. His were almost imperceptible, but I could feel them in the cradle of my embrace and it made me feel warm. I couldn't remember Alec ever crying before.
"Everybody cry," I repeated as gently as I could. "Everybody think of the saddest thing you can and just let the tears come out. You're doing fine. Just cry until you're through crying. Just like me. Just like Little Ivy."
One or two of the girls were still giggling. They still thought this was all make-believe; they didn't realize how serious this was about to get.
After a while, the crying ended and Little Ivy began working her way around the room, wiping eyes and noses. We all looked at each other; the children had such solemn expressions on their laces, I had to smile. "Listen. It's all right to be sad," I reassured them. "It's part of missing things. It's all right to miss things and then when you're through missing them, it's all right to smile again. Okay, everybody hug everybody else now," I said. "Don't stop until you've given everybody in the room a big hug."
The children liked hugging games, and in a very few minutes, they were all giggling again. And then they all jumped on me in a big wet cluster-hug and we collapsed in a pile of laughter with me and Alec on the bottom.
After a bit, we continued.
The next part of the game was the scary part.
I had them resume their places on the floor and we began again. "When I was a little boy," I said. "We used to go out in the woods at night and tell the spookiest stories we knew to see how much we could scare ourselves. Who knows a scary story?" I looked around the room. Nobody raised a hand. "Oh, come on-am I going to have to tell the story about the leprechauns and the penguin?"
Little Ivy groaned. "No, no-" she said in mock horror. "Anything but that. Somebody think of a scary story."
"I know one," said a small voice. A little girl we called Crystal because she seemed so delicate and fragile.
"Do you want to tell it to us?" She hesitated.
"Well, when you're ready." I let her off the hook. "Little Ivy, do you know a scary story?"
Little Ivy nodded enthusiastically. "I once saw a great . . . big . . . purple . . . and red . . ." She held up her two fingers about ten inches apart, but her eyes were looking directly into mine. Her expression was impish.
"Ivy!" I started to say
". . . hippopotamus!" she finished, spreading her arms out widely, laughing at me.
"That's not scary," said Tommy. "Besides, there aren't any hippopotamuses any more. Now, if you'd seen a great big hairy red, purple furry catty-pillar, that woulda been scary."
"Have you ever seen one?" He nodded quickly. Somberly. "Was it scary?"
He nodded even quicker. As if he didn't even want to admit it. I lowered my voice and looked around the room. "Who else has seen big hairy red, purple furry catty-pillars?"
A few of them raised their hands. Some of them were probably lying or making it up, it didn't matter.
"Okay," I said, holding Alec firmly in my lap. "Let's make some noises to show how scary we think big hairy red, purple furry catty-pillars are. Now, wait-this isn't about making the loudest noise you can, just the scariest; fraidiest noises, okay? Make the noise you would make if you were really scared."
It was a chilling sound, the sound of fifty children moaning and screaming and weeping. Even pretend-moaning and weeping and screaming was eerie.
"Good," I said. I was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea. But once started, we had to go through to the end. I couldn't leave these kids stuck in the middle of a scary place. The experience had to be completed. "Okay. Who has another scary story. "