Growing Up Eighties, Games 1

I’m sure that every generation is envious of the younger generation’s toys. I am. Sure, I had Barbies that combed their own hair and My Little Ponies that had growing tails. But things were different. We relied heavily on our imaginations for every toy and game we played.

Take one of my favorite games: Throw Pinecones at Passing Cars.

At the old house, we had two large pine trees in the front yard. We lived on the corner lot and the favored pine tree rested in the corner. Its branches were low enough that a secret hiding place was inevitable. There wasn’t a stop sign on the road because the road just made a sharp turn to the left. Or, this was before people thought stop signs were necessary. I was six. Details like why there weren’t stop signs didn’t enter my mind. All I knew, and all I cared about was this: the lack of a stop sign made Throw Pinecones at Passing Cars much more challenging.

We weren’t just kids. We were army generals and princesses and kings. Every single one of us had a unique magic power that changed hourly and was always in competition with the super powers of the other kids. Pinecones weren’t pinecones. They were grenades and arrows and other weapons. This story will prove that pinecones can be weapons, even if you don’t pretend they are something else.

So, we’re covered in sap, laying low under the corner pine tree. A car passes. Neighbor One throws grenade and misses. At this point in the game, we are already at war and defending our territory. Things were gonna have to get messy.

Another passes and Neighbor Two throws too early. Risky, considering our secret hiding place and imaginary war zone would soon be public knowledge.

A third car, bright red. Shiny convertible. And from what I know now, man with emotional issues going through mid-life crisis.

I throw the pinecone, chanting to myself because I was now a wizard. Magical powers and spells were the only way we were going to win this war.

Direct hit! The pinecone not only hit the car, it dropped into the car, causing the already emotional driver to slam on his brakes right in front of our faces.

A part of me was proud. I was magic. The direct pinecone hit was obviously accomplished because of my magical handiwork. The other part was terrified as the enraged driver jumped out of his shiny car and proceeded to scream at every one of us.

He alerted us to the danger we were causing, saying that someone was going to die because of our stupid game. The kids, including myself, started crying and my Mom ran outside, grounding me and sending everyone else home to think about what they did. We were in trouble, big trouble.