Some time ago, we started a new game called “slow poke”. You can read about it here. Basically, it involves showing your intended victim your finger, and then poking them – very slowly.

This game quieted down after it caused so many problems in the kids’ classrooms. One day in the car, however, I forgot that I wasn’t supposed to play. My wife was driving, and I was in the passenger seat. I turned back to face the kids and held up my finger in the traditional start of the game. 

My wife’s face instantly transformed itself into her “if you do that, I’m going to beat you with a frying pan” mask.

This left me in an awkward spot. I had my finger in the air, my two kids staring hopefully at me, and my wife glaring menacingly.

“Finger,” I said ominously.

The kids eyes widened. This was not the game they were expecting.

“Of,” I said more loudly.

They looked at each other and at my finger, not sure what to do.

“DOOM!” I shouted and poked the oldest one in the belly. He burst out laughing. Then I did it to my other son. Soon both were giggling, shouting “finger of doom,” and poking each other.

My wife sighed loudly. “And this is better, how?”

As you can imagine, “Finger of Doom” went the way of “Slowpoke.” Once I stopped playing, it just disappeared from our culture. We haven’t seen it in several months now.

This morning, as I was lying in bed trying not to wake up, I heard the door to our bedroom open. I sleep on the opposite side of the bed from the door, so my wife blocks my view of the kids when they come in. This morning, however, I saw my four year old’s hand raised, with his index finger pointing skywards.

“Good morning,” I mumbled.

“Finger,” he said, walking closer and holding his hand over his head.

“What?” his mom and I asked.

“Of,” he said, getting louder and closer, still with that finger raised high.

“Uh-oh,” I said.

“DOOM!” he shouted as he poked at us.

That’s the problem with the finger of doom. You just never know where it’s going to strike next.