Why we no longer play games
Why we no longer play games
Teaching children is full of surprises.
Some days are filled with laughter. Some days involve tears over things
that make absolutely no sense to adults. And then there are the days that leave
you wondering whether your teaching qualification should come with hazard pay.
Today's story falls firmly into that last category.
It all started with a game.
🎮Games in the Studio
Games can be wonderful teaching tools in ballet.
For younger students, they make learning feel exciting. For older
students, they offer a welcome break from exercises and repetitive drills. Over
the years, we've played musical statues, Simon Says – ballet edition,
hopscotch, and countless games we've invented on the spot when a lesson needed
a little extra energy.
Most of the time, games are a win for everyone. Students learn without
realizing they're learning, they work together, and they usually leave class
smiling.
Dance will always involve discipline and hard work, but children also
need opportunities to play, laugh, and be creative.
Unfortunately, not every game goes according to plan.
Among all the games we've played, there is one that seems to have
achieved legendary status among our students.
The Orange Game.
Please try to contain your excitement.
The rules are simple. Students are divided into two teams and sit in
lines opposite one another. Each team receives an orange. Their mission is to
pass the orange down the line using only their feet. No hands allowed. (Why do
we use an orange? Because it’s heavy, doesn’t bounce and is an excellent snack
between classes.)
When the orange reaches the final student, that student runs behind the
line and joins the front. The process repeats until the original front student
returns to their place.
Simple enough.
At least in theory.
The game develops strength, coordination, teamwork, communication, and a
surprising amount of perseverance. It is genuinely a useful exercise.
In reality, however, it is less of a game and more of a disaster wearing an orange costume.
🎉Grade 1 Chaos Unleashed
On this particular day, we decided to play the Orange Game with our
Grade 1 students.
If I had to describe this age group in one word, it would be chaos.
They possess enough energy to power an entire city and absolutely no
awareness of the destruction they leave behind.
The moment the game started, it was as if every child had suddenly
remembered something urgent they needed to do. They were wriggling, rolling,
bouncing, shouting, and grabbing anything within reach.
This is precisely why I no longer wear my hair in a ponytail.
If I reach thirty with a full head of hair, it will be nothing short of
a miracle.
One child handled the orange as though it were an ancient treasure that
needed protecting.
Another treated it like a soccer ball.
A third simply picked it up with both hands despite her teammates
desperately reminding her of the rules.
Several restarts later, we were still explaining that "no
hands" did, in fact, mean no hands.
Who could have guessed?
🍬Marshmallow Day Drama
Despite every obstacle placed before us, we eventually made it to the
end of the game.
The first team won.
This should have been the end of the story.
Unfortunately, this group has a very special talent.
They are sore losers.
They are also sore winners.
The prize for winning was one extra mini marshmallow.
Which sounds insignificant until you understand Marshmallow Day.
At the end of every month, each student receives four mini marshmallows
after class. Somewhere along the way, the children decided this was the
greatest event in human history.
They sing about it.
They count down to it.
They remind me about it repeatedly throughout the month.
Parents know about it.
Siblings know about it.
Honestly, I suspect the cashiers at the local grocery store know about
it because we buy marshmallows in alarming quantities.
Marshmallow Day isn't simply a treat.
It's an institution.
A sacred tradition.
A monthly holiday.
🎬The Great Marshmallow Crisis
The moment the losing team realized this devastating news, the tears
began.
Not ordinary tears.
Theatrical tears.
Award-worthy tears.
One student dramatically collapsed onto the floor.
Another buried their face inside their tutu.
A third staged a protest.
Meanwhile, the winners celebrated as though they had conquered a nation.
They danced.
They sang.
They jumped around the classroom.
They were completely unaware that an emotional catastrophe was unfolding
less than a metre away.
The contrast was remarkable.
On one side of the room, pure triumph.
On the other, complete devastation.
All because of a single mini marshmallow.
🏅Winners, Losers, and Tears
As teachers, we often encourage resilience and good sportsmanship.
This was not one of those moments.
The losing team claimed separate corners of the room and settled into
their disappointment with impressive commitment.
Honestly, their teamwork during the sulking phase was better than their
teamwork during the game.
Hoping to restore peace, we offered them a rematch.
Their response?
"No."
Apparently, they preferred sulking to potentially winning.
At that point, I realized I wasn't teaching ballet anymore.
I was directing a soap opera starring 12 tiny dancers and one orange.
Frankly, I think I deserved an award for my performance as stage
manager.
✌Round Two: A Tie Saves the Day
At the next lesson, we made the questionable decision to play the Orange
Game again.
Because apparently I enjoy making life difficult for myself.
This time there was no prize, however.
No extra marshmallows – marshmallow day had passed.
No incentive.
No possibility of another sugar-related crisis.
To everyone's surprise, the game ended in a tie.
And the children were thrilled.
Usually, a tie would lead to a rematch, but nobody dared suggest one.
The memory of the previous week's tears was still far too fresh.
Instead, every student celebrated together.
For once, nobody was crying.
Nobody was protesting.
Nobody was creating dramatic floor performances.
Everyone simply believed they had won.
And honestly, it was lovely.
So that, my friends, is why we no longer play competitive games with
prizes.
Not because the children can't handle losing.
Not because they can't handle winning.
But because I simply don't have the emotional strength to manage another
marshmallow-related emergency.
And I'm fairly certain the orange had reached its limit too.
💫Reflections from the Teacher’s Corner
One of the most fascinating things about teaching children is how their
reactions rarely match the size of the problem.
I’ve seen children fall flat on their face, get up and continue running
like nothing happened.
I’ve also seen children bawl their eyes out over a small paper cut.
One extra marshmallow can trigger a full-scale emotional crisis.
And somehow, a tie can bring complete happiness.
The joy is enormous.
The disappointment is enormous.
The excitement is enormous.
And if you're lucky enough to teach them, you get a front-row seat to
all of it.
The Orange Game may not have improved my stress levels, but it certainly
gave us a story we'll be laughing about for years.
💬 Have you ever watched a child turn the tiniest reward into the biggest drama imaginable?
I'd love to hear your stories in the comments.
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