I staggered down the stairs at eleven o’clock in the morning, blurry-eyed from a long night of cut-throat Pictionary. As I neared the kitchen to nibble on the remnants of our Thanksgiving feast, I froze abruptly. Energetic chatter wafted from the study. I changed my course and slipped into the cramped room. My mother and seven cousins were crowded around the computer, and upon close inspection I discovered that a radio play was in progress.

My mother’s family has a deep-rooted love of words and games, starting with my grandmother. Marge is my grandmother’s name and when it is scrambled, the anagram fittingly spells “gamer.” To amuse herself during the day, Marge would solve logic problems and compose limericks to place in my grandfather Bob’s lunch. On the weekends Marge, Bob, and their daughters would gather around their tape recorder to adlib self-authored plays.

My mother, perhaps through some nostalgic impulse, had revived the old art form and was spearheading the effort. Each cousin had selected a dream role and my mother was struggling to incorporate their demands into the script. Despite her theatrical genius, I could see the group needed direction. I stealthily squeezed my way to the keyboard and began to type.

The plot was already off to a great start. Ham and Luigi, two slow-witted conmen, had stumbled upon a sleazy casino in the Alps. They were attempting to formulate an appropriate scheme while Sweetlips, the talented lounge singer and waitress, sang, served, and quarreled constantly with Cocky, her boastful beau. With ample aid from the cousins, plot prospects were analyzed and integrated until the script was a complete, flawless masterpiece.

The actors had chosen their parts well. Luigi was played by my cousin Dustin, who, at age eight, possessed a natural aptitude for fraud, and Ham was embodied by Cousin Jon, whose sweet temperament would make for a lovable duo. Shelley “Sweetlips” Becker was aching to croon “Fever” in the opening scene, and my brother Devon had perfected Cocky’s swagger. Following Devon’s public announcement of support, Shane, his leading groupie, volunteered to organize sound effects with the help of my five- and seven-year-old cousins. Alex offered his services as a handyman, and we were ready to roll.

Three adjectives describe our effort: enthusiastic, focused, and successful. As soon as the final line was uttered, we rewound the tape and listened, engrossed. Ice tinkled gently as Shelley belted out “Fever,” backed by Cocky’s sexy bass line. Ham and Luigi quietly planned their scam amid the patter from neighboring tables and then began to bicker. The ensuing bar brawl sounded dangerously authentic. Ice cubes smashed against the sides of a crystal bowl to resemble breaking glass, and everybody contributed to the grunts, crashing furniture, and cries of death that accompanied Ham and Luigi’s demise. We were delighted with the performance. Our creation exceeded our wildest expectations, and we were proud.

 This essay was written by Kendall Becker, Garfield Class of 2004, Yale University Class of 2008.

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