THE LIFE SAVER GAME

© Port Whitman Times 2005

Dad was always the family winner of the Life Saver Game. We all played, usually on long trips, when he'd bring packs of Life Savers, Spearmint and Doublemint gum from our store. To play, we'd each take a whole Life Saver squeezed off from the top of the pack, and put it in our furthest mouths to suck. Simply, the one whose LS remained whole the longest won the game. No prize, just the joy of beating the others.

We all tried to keep dad talking, because we knew that was what generated the saliva that wet the Life Saver, otherwise it was no contest. He had some neat little dry pocket where he'd tuck it away, and when the first of ours broke and we all had to show, his would invariably be the biggest - you could still see the raised imprint that said "Life Saver," usually.

He'd conserve & conserve, and we'd try & try to get him talking, only succeeding at doing all the talking ourselves, with you-know-what result. Occasionally he'd talk enough so's it'd even matters up, and we got better as we got older, our mouths deepening. Now I'm the dad, and I get to win, cause my mouth is bigger, er, deeper.

It occurred to me that dad's now playing the same game - more seriously - with his body. Seventy nine, he's going for eighty, then it'll be eighty one, two... got himself tucked away in a corner, not using any more than absolutely necessary, down in some crevice, dry, comfortable happy, taking it one life saver at a time.

Henry Francisco (1987)
The Port Whitman Times