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The Belt: Representing Real Power
by Bernie DeKoven
Twenty children on a street in the city. It is Spring, just after
dinner. Suddenly, something begins pulling them together. They cluster
near a wide stoop. There is a cry of "Not It!" One body
is released: a boy, about ten. He has a belt in his hand. He is
running back and forth across the street; stopping every so often
— near steps, a truck, an abandoned car, an apartment door.
He circles around the group. I can hear some giggles, some "hurry-ups."
The boy is now walking on tiptoe towards the group. His hands are
empty. I realize why the group hasn't reacted to him yet —
their eyes are closed. He is right next to them now. "Hot Bread
and Butter," he says, "come and get your supper."
The children scatter like an exploded balloon, screaming. Some stay
close to each other. Others gallop into the frontier, probing the
darkest secrets of the street. A scream. Someone has found the belt
and is hitting everybody who dares be near. Now she is rushing around,
twirling the belt over her head like a lariat. Everyone is running
back, trying to touch base before getting beaten. The last one has
been herded into the cowering mass. Silence. Eyes closed. Darkness.
She hides the belt.
In school, I asked a group of children if they wanted to play "Hot
Bread and Butter." The response was enthusiastic and unanimous.
I brought out a Boffer, which is part of a set of plastic foam swords.
There were a few mutters of disapproval. I asked what was wrong
and one of the boys told me that I was supposed to use a belt. In
my best voice of adult wisdom, I expounded on the Dangers of Belts.
I then rolled up a section of newspaper. More mutters.
"All right," I said, we'll try a belt. But first, whoever
doesn't want to play, whoever realizes how dangerous a belt can
be, move up to the Safe Area." No one moved. "You all
understand what I mean," I said. "It's really O.K. to
watch a game if you want. A belt can really hurt. I'll just wait
a little longer to see if anyone wants to change his mind."
I waited. "I'll go out of the room and come back." I went
and come back. No one had moved. And then we played a game —
with the belt.
This was the first and clearest lesson I learned about the nature
of social games as simulations. I realized the belt was crucial
to the game — not because of tradition, but because of the
real power it represented. The possibility, the potential for danger
had to be there for the game to be fun.
I was impressed, first of all, by the equilibrium of the game, the
justice of the mechanisms for conferring power: whoever was brave
enough to stray away from the base and lucky enough to find the
belt became the master of the game and the next hider. Whoever wished
to be cautious could stay as close to the base as necessary. Some
children never got hit. They also never got the belt.
"Hot Bread and Butter," among other things, represents
an idea of power. To gain power, you must 1) take certain risks,
and 2) be lucky. To use your power effectively, you must not use
it too strongly. Only on one occasion did I see a child hit others
too hard. The next child who found the belt went after the tyrant
— and for the rest of the game the offender never wandered
more than ten feet from the base. Alliances didn't seem to be of
much help. The overcautious don't have much fun. And, finally, when
there are no more worlds to conquer, you set the sword in the stone
and watch.
But what does the game simulate? I suppose, without much interpretation,
we could point out parallel methods for the acquisition and transference
of power in various tribal societies and in certain industries.
But "Hot Bread and Butter" is not played to simulate or
gain insight into other cultures. It is played because 1) it is
fun, and 2) because it simulates a social theme which is becoming
evident to the society of children who play it.
I have learned to see games as social fantasies. They are, to me,
recurrent dreams in which certain themes are being toyed with —
investigated and manipulated for the sake of some future reintegration
into a world view. They are reconstructions of relationships —
simulations — which are guided by individual players, instituted
by the groups in which they are played or abstracted by the traditions
of generations of children.
In "Hot Bread and Butter" you gain power through risk
and luck - not through direct confrontation - but only once the
power has already been abdicated. As a child grows towards adulthood,
he is approaching the time in which adult power is left to him —
if he can take it. It is the opportunity that he must seize, not
the person that he must confront. The power of the adult cannot
be taken from an adult, it must be discovered within the person
of the child.
Most children who play "Hot Bread and Butter" are between
the ages of nine and fourteen. When I tried to play it with younger
children, the equilibrium was lost. Many children didn't leave the
base. Those who found the belt either hit too hard or spent the
round trying to keep the belt for themselves. I had to teach the
game I had to control. I had a lousy time, and so did most of the
children. "Hide and Seek" however, which is related in
structure to "Hot Bread and Butter." was a total success.
In other words, when children chose to play a particular game —
when they establish a contract for what they are going to play with
— they do so because the game is related to other experiences,
because it provides them with a platform upon which they can create
and explore a model which helps them define their relationship to
other experiences, experiences which they are beginning to perceive
as themes in their daily lives. They call this pursuit "Fun."
They play with toys because toys are models in which they can explore
their relationships to their physical environment. They play with
games because games are the only vehicle they have available to
them in which they can explore their relationships to the social
environment. When the problem of the game is solved, when you know
what to do to win, the social fantasy is ended and the game is no
longer fun. Fun is present when the possibility of win is as great
as the possibility of loss; when the challenge is strongest; when
opportunities to learn are widest. When a game is won, it is over.
Winning and fun are not always congruent. When a game is won repeatedly,
it is abandoned. When there is nothing more to learn, there is nothing
more worth playing.
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Major FUN
Major FUN, aka Bernie DeKoven, is the author of
the DeepFUN
Weblog and The Well-Played
Game. a book that helped to revolutionize physical
education worldwide.
He teaches his Lessons from The Well-Played Game to government
and charitable organizations, businesses and individuals in
recovery.
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