Key to the Treasure II

Since we planned a treasure hunt for Gwendolyn's birthday party on Saturday, I thought I'd write a followup post. After the children had shared their tea party and had decapitated the pinata, they returned inside for cupcakes. I'd secreted puzzle pieces under their plates, and set up the rest of the hunt while they were preoccupied. Once they'd finished with Chocolate Time, I told Gwennie to move her plate; she found the puzzle piece, and the rest of the girls discovered theirs as well. They rushed to clear a spot on the table, and to put the picture together.

Initially, they thought that the image depicted a shelf of books, but after a little thought, Gwennie recognized the children's picnic table on our patio. They all rushed outside and found the cutout which I'd taped underneath. After a little more searching, they found the pictures of the three sand buckets which usually live in the sandbox, but which I'd hidden around the yard, each with a rolled-up "scroll" inside.

This finished picture led to a birdhouse in our tree, where they found the final image, a closeup of part of a play structure in the yard. I'd hung a basket with the sewn bags holding the party favors beneath the playset, which the girls swarmed after they'd put everything together. I think that they had a fun time with the hunt; it might have taken them fifteen minutes all told, but they seemed absorbed throughout. (It's impossible to say how much of that is attributable to the hunt itself, and how much is simply the promise of treasure.)

Here's what I found interesting about all of this: we called Mom and Dad tonight to tell them about the party and the past few weeks. When I mentioned the Giant Turnip enterprise to them, I told them about the treasure hunt, and Mom said, "oh, just like your Dad used to make." Now, I've stolen many of the games which Dad invented, from the ten minute game to the dollar game. In fact, it's not uncommon for Gwennie to come into the living room when she's supposed to be sleeping, and ask for me to come and talk with her for a minute or two to help her sleep. When this happens, she invariably asks for a story about when I was a little boy, and I tell her about playing tic-tac-toe with Dad's pipe clamps, or about the wooden rhino pin or model of a California mission we (he) made for my school projects. But I don't recall picture-directed treasure hunts distinctly, much as it's characteristic of his creative games. Andrea may remember better than I do. But I wonder how much of my pleasure in the return to the Key to the Treasure book comes from an unremembered association with Dad's games.