Growing up, the word “game” was something of a dirty word in our home. My earliest memories of playing the only game we had, Mille Borne, with my brothers was of the cards being thrown into the air and lots of yelling and storming around the room. Sports didn’t fare much better. We were expected to be athletic, but not to want to "win" -- another dirty word.

My husband, on the other hand, grew up playing everything he could: Monopoly, little league baseball and football, tennis, golf, Life, Trouble, and Chinese checkers. I could bore you to death with the list. When his extended family would get together, which happened a lot, both the men and women would sit down after the meal was finished and play cards for hours.

It was clear to me that if I was going to marry into this family, I would have to learn how to play games with at least a little bit of self-control and grace. It turned out it wasn’t really that hard. My introduction was around the dining room table with my soon to be in-laws one night after supper. The game was something called UNO. The rules were explained to me and we began. Five or six hands later I finally got the idea that I HAD to say “UNO” before I put down my last card. I had never laughed so hard at a game before. In fact, I don’t think I had ever laughed during a game before. But I did that night.

But playing games with my husband was not always fun. You should know that my husband is better at Trivial Pursuit than anyone has a right to be. It can be very annoying if you’re losing. And my relative was losing. It was one of those rare holiday get-togethers for my family and I’m not sure who pulled out the Trivial Pursuit game or why, but they did.

Things were fairly civil until this particular relative decided he had had enough. He had been glaring at my husband the whole game, unable to believe anyone could have so many right answers. When he could take it no more he said, in a loud voice.“If you get the next question right, then I’ll know you’ve been cheating!”.

My husband is not easily intimidated and simply raised his eyebrows and waited for the question. A slight smile appeared as he quietly but clearly answered it. My furious relative slammed his cards on the table and stormed out of the room. (It must be a family trait). The game broke up after that.

People who play games all their lives don’t understand my family’s reactions. I know it is shameful to behave that way over a game, but it is very hard to control one’s emotions, especially if you haven’t had practice. If you don’t grow up needing to figure out the intense emotions a simple game of UNO can call up, it’s a real challenge to do it when you’re thrown into a competitive game of Trivial Pursuit as an adult. It really is.

When we had kids of our own we had to come to a compromise. It went like this: our boys could play any sports they chose to (except football or ski jumping) and I would not be expected to sit through the all-night RISK games that they all played at various times, and always over Thanksgiving week when my husband’s best friend and his family of five would appear and they would all get out the RISK board.

RISK is the ultimate board game for addicts. It is deadly boring (roll and move your little pieces) to the uninitiated or those disinterested in world domination. But to the believers, it is a game of skill, cunning, and psychological depth. It can reveal if someone is a patient "Hang-out-in-Australia" type, or an impulsive “TAKE EUROPE!” type: A courageous, wily Genghis Khan, or a greedy, betraying Judas.

As someone from the games-are-bad side of the tracks, I have a confession to make; I think they DO tell us a lot about a person’s character. Not everything, but a lot. Maybe that’s why some people insist on not playing them. I don’t really know. I just know that I am grateful to have weathered my game-less upbringing because I really do like them now, in moderation.

When I was just getting to know our son’s girlfriend they asked if we could play a game they really liked. I swallowed hard and said in my best cheery-mom voice, “Sure! Sounds like fun.” During the game, I became so focused on a story my husband had been telling about skiing that when the question was about a winter sport that started with the letter “M” I wrote down Skiing. The really scary part is that when it came time for me to read out my answers, I actually read “Skiing” out loud and looked around, wondering what the silence was all about. My son’s girlfriend very kindly pointed out that I had used the wrong letter for my word; and then the whole table cracked up, including me.

To this day, all we have to do is raise our eyebrows and say “Skiing” and we all laugh. It’s a wonderful memory. A memory that tells us that it’s ok to look like an idiot; That a game is just a game after all; And that we can all play to win, but that winning can look different for everyone.