Playing was comprised of two general categories:
1. Sports – like baseball (complete with broken windows) or football (on our lawns spotted with metal sprinkler heads), or,
Needless to say, I was never a member of the US forces when we played war. (Oh, how I longed to be Sgt. Rock with his bulging biceps and Thompson machine gun blazing away…fighting for the red, white and blue.)
No, I was always the “J” or the “K”… You know what I mean.
To be killed over and over again.
Like with elaborate booby traps: a wooden clothes pin armed with a cap and taped onto a piece of wood. When I neared the booby trap (countless of times), Steve would pull the cord (countless of times) attached to a little string of metal from a spam can holding the clothes pin open..and “POP!” I would crumble to the ground. Very effective weapon if you ask me.
Or shot with John’s toy Winchester. Wait a minute. Winchesters were for cowboys and Indians. I wonder how that got into our (imaginary) war. Oh, well. We were just playing while building our love for country.
After all, this was only a little more than 15 years after a most bitter war’s end.
Toyota wasn’t even in our vocabulary.
Sony became part of our vocabulary only because of something called a transistor radio.
“Tofu” wasn’t even a gleam in Webster’s eye.
But we were playing. Imagining.
Today, I read this news story.
The gist of it? I hope you will read it and develop your own.
Is this a case of hysteria? Of being afraid of being sued by spotlight-loving lawyers… or CNN making you out to look a villain to support Obama’s political agenda? Just my opinion, of course.
Of what HARM was it? The toy grenade didn’t even have a paper cap… Wait a minute. Was there EVEN a toy grenade? Or maybe it was a fuzzy tennis ball in place of his imaginary grenade?
Don’t punish the kid’s imagination.
Geezus H. Christ.
Maybe he just wants to be Sgt. Rock and save our country.