"It's Just Business"

Those might be words you'd expect out of Donald Trump's mouth. Not my dad's. But utter them he did as he drove up the bid for a piece of green-tabbed property on the Monopoly board and watched my son count up every last dollar he had. The property was worth $300. My son had $222 and wanted it bad, since he already had the other two in the set. In the end, Jacob forked over every last dollar and ended up mortgaged to the hilt within minutes.

Dad spent two nights with us this weekend, having just arrived from Arkansas where Mom has spent all but a handful of weeks since June of last year caring for my grandmother. I guess Dad was through being polite.

When Jake proposed a game of Monopoly, I thought back to the board games we played when I was young. I didn't remember much Monopoly time with Dad. But he sure took the opportunity to school us last night.

"I don't care about any properties except the yellow and the green," he said, as he rolled the dice for his first turn. And, true to his word, he passed up on purchase opportunities for every other color on the board. I didn't quite get it, but I pressed on, buying up the blues and reds. Jacob, on the other hand, bought every single property he could afford, including the greens that Dad never seemed to hit.

Soon enough, Dad had purchased the trio of yellows--aptly named after racing sponsors, since this was the NASCAR version of Monopoly. I stocked up on utilities, racetracks and other sponsors. I was a land baroness.

Dad must have tired of Jake's victory whoop and foot-stomping every time he demanded $12 in rent, because he sighed and said to me, "It's time to put a cease to this madness." He proceeded to dedicate every big bill he had to equipping his three yellow properties with garage after garage (no wimpy "houses" or "hotels" in NASCAR Monopoly ... it's garages and race shops, thankyouverymuch). I have NO idea where I got that game.

Within a few rounds of the board, Jacob had been tossed in jail no less than three times and had spent most of his cash (yes, a proud moment for a mother to witness, as she prayed this was not a sign of his teenage years). Jacob rounded the board and waited his turn on the Free Parking spot. He paused just before casting the dice for his next turn and whispered ... "oh no ... the obstacles of terror!" He was facing the side of the board dominated by reds (which I owned and had populated with three garages) and yellows (which now boasted nine garages ... Dad's pride and joy). There was no escaping.

Soon enough, Jacob was mopping sweat off his brow and counting out how many properties he could mortgage to afford the $850 rent he now owed his grandpa.

"And I do NOT give credit," Dad added. When I gave Dad a look that admonished him for stripping his only grandson of all his worldly possessions, he said,"Hey ... I'm teaching him a life lesson. Not being his mommy."

Ouch.

In the end, after Jacob was left with mortgage notes up to his cowlicked hair and I was counting out my own $800 in rent payments to Dad, we agreed to call it quits.

I may have doubted his methods, but his business plan proved to be a winning strategy. What stung the most was that he played the entire game with about 15% focus. The rest was on the Vikings-Saints game.

But you better believe that Jacob and I will be honing our real estate skills before Grandpa visits again. And maybe working out fake fainting maneuvers to move the pieces.