Truth or Dare with kids is comical
Olivia asked me to sit in the backseat with her as we drove to the pool. I obliged. We let Daddy chauffeur us around. She wanted to play Truth or Dare.
I opted for Truth because I didn’t feel like doing something that a nine-year-old would find entertaining, like maybe licking stinky feet. Truth ended up being a surprisingly fun choice. Kids are so innocent that she couldn’t even conceive of gossipy truths to ferret out of me.
The first time I said, “Truth,” she thought about it for a moment, shrugged, then asked, “Well. Is it true that you have a papaya plant growing in your container garden?”
“It’s true,” I confirmed. Let’s keep that a secret from the neighbors. What would people say about a rouge, self-planting tree?!
It was her turn. “Dare,” she picked.
“I dare you to clean your room when we get home,” I issued.
She looked at me in disbelief. I’m not as much fun to play with than her peers. “Mommy,” she huffed, exasperated.
Fine. I came up with a good one: Get a wedgie (from me), then walk from the car to the pool in full view of the public. No hiding it with a towel. Challenge accepted.
Then it was my turn. I selected Truth. Once again, Olivia scrunched up her forehead trying to think of the most daring thing to ask me, then proceeded: “Is it true you think Dad is hairy?” We heard a chuckle from the driver’s seat.
“Yes. It’s true,” I admitted. Boy, talk about a grilling. Today, the backseat of the family car. Tomorrow, National Enquirer. I can see the headline: Wife thinks Caucasian husband is hirsute!
For her dare, I once again tried to trick her into making the droll, fun. “I dare you to finish all your homework.”
“I forfeit,” she countered quickly. Now THAT is no fun for Mommy to hear.
My Plan B was to have her do jumping jacks on the pool deck, which was accepted with bravado in the car and then reduced to some furtive jumping behind the lifeguard stand before plunging into the water.
The last set of questions came to this: She asked me if it’s true one can shave with canned whipping cream (conceptually, yes, I guess); and I dared her to eat all her vegetables at dinner (rejected). The backup dare was to sing at the top of her lungs while backstroking down one lane (accepted and half-executed as with the rest of the dares.)
I’d say we’re not on the same page for this game, yet. We may never be. That’s OK. There are some truths this mommy would rather not reveal… yet.