Learning to play

In our doctors’ surgery, a place I’ve had the dubious pleasure of visiting many times over the last few weeks, there is a small wooden box that sits in the waiting room.  It is about a metre cubed and is made of a white wood like birch or pine as if it was made by Ikea. 

On each of the faces that you can see there is something interesting bright and colourful.  On the sides there are slots cut out with wooden beads that can be moved around or metal ones that can be dragged with a magnetic pen or Catherine wheels that spin by the magic of gravity.  The forms are simple and the colours are primary, green, blue, red and yellow.

On the top there is a twisted array of coiled and interlocking wires and wooden beads in the same colours that resemble a futuristic city in the sky with skyscrapers and monorails and flying cars.

For the adults there is a helpful sign on the wall that says that this is a children’s play area but no one reads it, especially not the children.  They don’t need to see a sign to know that this cube is a wonderful world of adventure waiting to be explored and a very welcome distraction from the tedium of waiting to see the doctor. 

And it is a distraction for me too as it is fascinating to see how both the children and adults interact with the inanimate cube.  The adults don’t need to be told that this is a toy and the children don’t need instruction on how to play.  The adults find a seat nearby and the children, whether they can barely walk or have been at school for five years, just get on with it.  They don’t need to be told what to do.

If there is one child then they have a go at everything and look regularly to their parents who feedback with words of encouragement and feigned interest.  If there are two children from the same family then, after an initial period of discovery, they fall into a joint game, a race with the Catherine wheels or the magnetic pieces or they see what patterns they can make with the coloured beads.  Their heads touch, they share the game and they easily settle into their understood familial hierarchy.

But it there are children from more than one family it becomes great fun.  The children circle round each other initially in their own groups until eventually one of them becomes daring enough to muscle in on the other’s play.  Minor squabbles break out as dominance is asserted.  The slightest of bumps cause tears to flow in displays of amateur dramatics worthy of a South American football match and parents are called upon to referee.  The adults try to intervene and call out for their siblings to ‘play nicely’ or to ‘let the little girl have a turn’ but it is all in vain.  Children are kissed and made better.  Bonds are broken and reformed.  Quickly a new hierarchy of play is set up and the children once again settle down to the rules that they know instinctively.  Harmony is restored until the television screens call out for one of the group to visit the doctor.

What is fascinating is that there are no written rules, no explanation and no guidance.  They are just not necessary.  Children know how to play instinctively and their interaction helps them to learn the basic interplay of living in a society.  A community of interest is formed around the cube.  Its members may come and go but the rules remain the same.  They are written in our DNA.