Matching Tracksuits

The Boy found an old SIM card the other day and was convinced it was some sort of memory device. I, of course, played along thinking it might be a good way to transition into an actual treasure hunt.

Last night, K told E it wasn’t a memory card. “It’s from T-Mobile,” she explained. I’d explained that the “T” was for technology, perhaps.

“Why’d you tell him?”

“One day, he might take it to school and tell everyone it’s a memory card and someone will laugh and him and say, ‘It’s just something from T-Mobile.'”

Still, I persisted. Today, I shared with him the message that was buried in the memory card.

I had in mind hiding something in his copy of Green Eggs and Ham with the final half of the clue, an allusion to the ending in which Sam-I-Am promises to leave the protagonist alone if he’ll just try the green eggs and ham.

I hoped the clue I had the Girl plant while we were walking in the park would help solidify the connection: “Agent Rex, are you Sam?”

When we first arrived, E was terribly eager to look for clues; he looked in the unlikeliest of places, convinced that the Game Master would hide clues only in hard-to-find locations. I looked down at his shoes, though, and realized it woudn’t be the adventure I’d initially planned.

“Why did you put sandals on?”

“Because I couldn’t find my shoes.”

So I was constantly telling him to stay away from the remnants of snow, carrying him over spots where a puddle covered the entire path, and asking him, “Are your toes cold?”

When he finally reached the tree to which L had pinned the clue, he completely missed it because it just above his eye level.

When he finally found it and read it, he was perplexed. I knew I’d have to guide him toward Green Eggs and Ham, and I thought he could figure it out if we steered him that way deliberately.

We didn’t succeed.

And then K came home and the Boy explained everything to her.

“Oh, like Sam-I-Am.”

I’d considered texting her the details so she could respond just like that, but it was apparently not necessary.

Soon enough, the Boy was in possession of his third clue of the day:

Agent Rex, your mother doesn’t have an agent name. I can’t communicate with you until she has a name. When she does, send me a message in a manner I will explain at a later date. Until then, be brave, Agent Rex!

By now, though, the novelty of it was wearing off.

“This isn’t a treasure hunt,” he lamented. “It’s a clue hunt.”

True enough: Axel’s dad has set up all sorts of treasures along the way; I’m just winging it with clues I write in Evernote so I can keep track of everything I’ve said for the simple reason that I’m still not sure where we’re going.

“Maybe the Game Master will have us looking for stuff in Poland!” the Boy had said in anticipation of this summer’s trip.

“Maybe!” I replied, wondering if I could string him along for that long. The answer came today: not with clues alone, silly amateur, not with clues alone.

Still, it was great fun, not only because the Boy had fun (at first) but because the Girl enjoyed being in on the secret.