You are either born into a board game family or you are not. 

Some of my earliest and fondest memories with my family are of us playing a variety of board games and card games. My sister and I were pretty young when we started playing Uno together as a family. As anyone who has ever played Uno will know, this simple game of numbers can quickly devolve into a drama filled with betrayal. When I would put down that +4 card, my sister’s eyes would start tearing up before the card landed on the pile. Soon enough, she would break out into a full bawl as she held more cards in her five-year old hands than she could hold. 

Risk was another part of my life that I am unsure how to explain its importance to me to people that I meet today. As a preteen boy, I, maybe like many other boys, developed an obsession with World Wars I and II. As a gift, my parents had bought me a giant colorized history book about each war and I would pore over the pages every day after school. Both books were detailed, covering the events leading up to the war all the way till its aftermath, and had various pictures, like uniforms of each military power. I chose to achieve my delusions of world conquest on the Risk board. I spent countless hours rolling the dice playing that game and strategizing the best way to dominate the world with my own little forces. (If you’re curious, Oceania and South America are critical continents to conquer early in this board game to win.) Last winter, I noticed that my parents still had those two books at home despite significantly downsizing their book collection. I was relieved to see that those relics remained safe and sound. 

I would be remiss to not mention Ppong, a Korean card game played with bright red hwatu cards. In Korea, those cards are generally associated with Go-Stop, a gambling game that has huge cultural significance—similar to what poker would be in the West. Ppong is a completely different game, although played with the same deck of cards. The goal of the game is simple: to find pairs to eliminate from your hand to win. Its significance to me rises from my grandma’s love for this game. Whenever our family would visit Korea, a green blanket would be put out on the living room floor to set the stage. Then, those red cards would appear and my grandmother would begin shuffling, the cards clicking loudly each time she would break the deck. Our family would gather around and we would begin playing in earnest, shouting our pairs as we slammed them down. Ppong reminds me of my grandma and of her creases—how they would fold and unfold as she peered into her hand.  

There is not enough space for me to write about each board and card game I have had the pleasure of playing throughout my life: Rummikub, Scrabble, The Game of Life, Clue, Sequence, Settlers of Catan… They have each taught me invaluable life lessons and are closely connected to dear memories. The act of sitting together, chatting and scheming, planning and strategizing, is something I cherish. I am grateful my parents enjoyed board games and taught me to love them. 

Today, I find myself often distracted, interrupted by my watch or phone buzzing with some notification while doing anything. Sometimes it is a work email, but most of the time, it is a notification that I instantly swipe away. On top of that, it seems that it is increasingly difficult to coordinate time with others to play any of these cherished board or card games. Instead, I am usually playing the NYT Daily Mini or Connections by myself. I miss the connection with others I felt through playing different board games, free from rough notification sounds. Board games are by no means a perfect medium of connecting with others, but the physical pieces of the games remind me of the tangible connections with others created when spending quality time together. 

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