Oh, To Be King!

It was such a good game when we were little, Karin Brynard muses. But what if we could make it true?

- Karin Brynard

If I were king of the world, a blond little guy in the park behind my house tells his minder, we would’ve had ice cream. Lots.Millions-hundreds lots!

The au pair laughs, teeth a dazzling white against her dark skin. “And if I were king,” she coos, “you’d be giving me hugs. Millions and hundreds.”

I catch part of this sunny exchange as I trundle past on my afternoon walk with the dog. And I can’t help but smile. I’m suddenly reminded of the endless hours we played this game when I was little. Especially during the dreaded Sunday afternoon nap. For the grown-ups it was sacrosanct. For us it was a purgatory of boredom. Absolute silence was demanded, not a peep from us was tolerated. My little brother and I would quietly climb out the window and play outside. In the rustling shade of the blue gums in the backyard, we’d build roads for his Dinky Toys in the dry Karoo gravel and drive up and down, revving our cars, vroom, vroom, in muffled tones.

“If I were king of the world,” my brother whispers after a while, bored, “Sunday naps would be forbidden.”

“Yes,” I say, “and if I were king, I would have a horse. In fact, 10 horses. And a tiny one for you as well. We could ride away.”

“I would have a dragon,” he overrules me. “With wings.”