On Christmas day my family from across the country congregates at my house, congesting every single room and hallway. The twenty nine guests, seven to ninety-two years of age, represent a wide range of personalities as well as philosophies creating a lethal combination of conservatives and liberals in our Victorian Georgetown home. A peaceful yet animated meeting ground, our house merges northerners, southerners, westerners and easterners all of whom are Woodson family and friends. Each family and or guest contributes a unique dish to the massive banquet. The unconventional yet somewhat traditional feast fills the guests like Thanksgiving turkey packed with rosemary and cornbread stuffing. The discussions and disputes at the dinner table resemble the debates over the Constitution; we might as well be the Continental Woodson Congress. Repeatedly the volume slowly rises until it sounds like the ninth inning of a baseball game, and then suddenly decreases because everyone finally notices the noise. The fine cuisine is the only thing keeping the invitees at bay. But, the real festivities have yet to begin.
At 8:30, the thirty-three participants of the mandatory game squeeze into the snug living room. The love seat and recliner are used for double their advised occupancy. On the two large couches, hip to hip everyone anxiously awaits while some of the kids glue themselves to the floor while crossing their legs simultaneously. A few of the dining room chairs drag against the wood floors as they are moved so that my grandparents have sturdy support for the upcoming hours. Christmas music promotes the ambience as “It’s Beginning to Look a lot like Christmas” plays softly in contrast to the hustle and bustle of the room. The scent of peppermint and cinnamon combines with the stench of too many family members piled together. The intensity in the living room augments as everyone begins to quiet in anticipation. Suddenly my mom says:
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“Olivia get up here! You and Cooper organized the game this year! Come-on take charge!”
Coop rises and glides quickly into the center of the room, and is swiftly followed by me. Neither of us needs any further invitation. My brother and I were ecstatic when my mom shared that Cooper and I were assigned the task of organizing the game this year. Somewhat of a tradition, every cousin who has turned seventeen has had the honor of assembling the teams, managing the game, and appointing the time and score keeper (the most respected award in the family). With the massive responsibility, the entire Woodson family was not confident that my brother would be successful alone, so seeing as I was only a year behind Coop, I was also nominated.
Together for weeks we tirelessly have labored over the selection of the teams and the keeper. Back and forth, back and forth, we were the two paddlers, front and back, of a canoe going in opposite directions keeping the vessel static. We debated ability, strengths, and weaknesses for days even through the construction of our very intricate gingerbread houses. However, the most important factor in making the teams was the effect of having two loved ones together. The most lethal combination was a husband-wife duo or a sibling duo (for the most part). The teams had to be fair and equal while still maintaining the unpredictability demanded by the Woodson clan. Additionally the participants had to be with some of their favorite people, but not their most favorite. Considering the dynamics and elements of the teams alone was a challenge neither Coop nor I had ever faced. If the teams are not perfect, the uproar alone on Christmas night will cause more commotion than an army raid. The pressure was a weight on top of us. The only chance we would receive to impress the family was quickly approaching. If it did not run smoothly, Christmas 2012 would go down in infamy.
The stakes of the game are high. While the losing team will have to listen to boasts with humility, the members of the winning team will have bragging rights for an entire year. The most sought after prize of all will be theirs: the Woodson Family Trophy, a red and green Santa who sings “We are the Champions”.
After turning the “Rocking around the Christmas Tree” off, Coop and I gaze around the room pausing to assure everyone is listening intently. A bullet like hush rapidly travels across the room. We have all thirty-one people’s attention. And I begin:
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“Welcome to the 45th anniversary of the Woodson Family Charades Cup! Coop and I are so happy that we were chosen as task-masters this year; we are deeply honored. We are quite proud of the teams we put together and know it’s going to be an amazing competition. Let’s get these games started!!!”
Several “woops” and “hurrahs” follow with thunderous claps accompanying them. Cooper announces the teams slowly and methodically beginning with the red team followed by the green. Faces light up as the names are called, with each person creating a mind map of his or her team. Tory leaps to her feet from her small flower on the blue rug; I almost expect to hear a “rib bit”. As it is her first year playing, her excitement infuses the whole room. Cooper finally finishes the list and a common, seemingly genetic grin develops across a majority of the crowd. We are about to start, but I still need to announce the most important aspect of the game:
-“I think we all know the rules, but I am reviewing them so listen closely. Each person must act at least one time. You are allowed to say the categories before you start: movie, book, tv, person, and place. Do not speak, spell out words, make a sound of any kind, or use props- meaning no pointing at objects. Each of the 16 clues will be determined by the opposite team. There must be at least three of each category, and the 16th clue will be a wild card. Red team put your clues in the green stocking, and green team visa versa. Meaning green will pick from green randomly, and red from red randomly. You are allowed to indicate the amount of syllables and words in the clue. Lastly and most importantly: you will have three minutes to get your team to guess your clue. If the clue is guessed correctly, you will receive a point. The teams with the most points will win. In the case of a tie, we will have a sudden death round which will be discussed later. Now it’s time for rock paper scissors to determine home court advantage: youngest members of each team step forward.”
The room quickly becomes rowdy, but just as rapidly settles down in a wind- like hush as Jack and Tory emerge. They stand in the center of the room on this small stage across from one another. High in the air, the tension is even worse than humidity in the D.C. summer.
-“On the count of three. One, two, three!” Coop says.
-“Rock, Paper, Scissors, Shoot!” they repeat thrice as was tradition. The booing and cheering increase as Tory wins, - followed by Jack and then Jack again.
-“Good job Tory and Jack! Jack’s victory means that red team will remain here in the living room while the green team migrates to the basement. When we come back, the red team will start. For the biggest news that you have all been waiting for: We have chosen Uncle Benjie as time keeper this year based on his remarkable performance at last year’s cup and great leadership in adversity when his team was down 5 points. Congrats Uncle Benjie.” I say.
Uncle Benjie’s smile is radiant. He is a thin gangly guy and has a long growing Merlin gray beard. He could have been easily mistaken for Santa Claus this morning when he showed up in a ruby and pearl elf’s hat if it were not for his lack of a beer belly.
Everyone jumps with relief to begin. Travelling to join their respective teams, the room is like a shuffling puzzle. As if queued, together Coop and I yell the yearly tradition:
-“Let the charades began and may the Christmas Spirit be with you!”
***

We have gone through thirty-one clues and performances. The green team, my team, is ahead by one point. The ancient score board, which my grandpa found at a yard sale, reads twelve to eleven. As my Aunt Sheila hesitantly moves to the burgundy stocking hanging next to the score board, I see my fellow teammates’ faces fill with that all too familiar collective grins. The red team’s last chance is rapidly approaching, and Aunt Sheila is not the most reliable.
Aunt Sheila is a plump small sixty five year old who is as sweet as her homemade frosted gingerbread cookies. However, she is not as attentive as most and often does not play with the urgency demanded in the game. Every once in a while she succeeds, but just barely. Hopefully one of the hardest clues is left in the plaid scarlet stocking. She sticks her hand into the bag with a cautious smirk and pulls out a carefully folded piece of paper. While the clue is read the beam across her face slowly vanishes.
-“Are you ready”-Uncle Benjie asks simultaneously as Aunt Sheila nods. He starts the timer and the intensity of the room amplifies as the small click of the timer is heard. When Aunt Sheila begins she traces a massive circle, the diameter of her arms, around herself meaning that the clue is a place. She holds up two fingers with her arm extended indicating the amount of words. Then she taps her forearm with four fingers above her burn from the oven last week when she took the gingerbread people out of the oven. So all we know the first word has four syllables, after fifteen seconds. But suddenly she decides to focus on the second word with two syllables. Almost instantaneously, she starts doing Irish dancing to the count of an unheard jig. Her left heel and calf fling backwards as the balls of her left foot almost stays flat on the floor. Continuing, Aunt Sheila does this complex dance from her childhood, until my cousin Martha, an accomplished dancer herself on Broadway, guesses Ireland. Aunt Sheila taps her nose to illustrate that Ireland is the correct second word as the timer changes from 2:00 to 1:59 left.
She stands there almost frozen like a statue of a dove. Then suddenly she bends down and drops to her knees. Crouching in a ball she sticks her hands together bending them forward and places them in front of her mouth while her teeth sag out creating a terrible overbite. Creatively, little ten year old Matt, cries out:
- “A rat, wait no a guinea pig.” Aunt Sheila nods yes and demonstrates that those are the first two syllables of the first word. Thirty seconds left, and ticking. We are so close to victory, but my enormous anxiety mirrors the mood in the room. In astonishment Uncle Pat yells:
-“Guineaguila. Guineaguila, Ireland.” Aunt Sheila’s face illuminates and she jumps up for joy. The rest of the team joins her simultaneously with the buzzer as they realize they have tied the game. The green team’s faces began to sink a tad, but we keep our heads high. We had all hoped we would escape the gruesome second round.
The volume subsides so Coop and I take this opportunity to take charge. We quietly discuss the second round with all shades of eyes on us. After we make the decision on how to continue I announce:
-“For the first time in three years, we are moving to the sudden death round. Both teams must create six new clues of the same categories, one of which is wild. But this round you will only have two minutes to act out each clue. Go with your teams. Good luck!”