Playing army took up a large amount of my time, especially during the long summer months. If I didn’t have any guns that resembled what I thought army guns should look like, I used a wooden stick or just pointed my finger in the shape of a pistol. Boy, we wouldn’t want to do that nowadays. I heard that sometime last year a boy was kicked out of school for doing that very same thing. I have fond memories of using the school playground as a battlefield when my friends and I were at recess. We always used finger guns and none of us sustained any real injuries. No one ever called the police, or even the SWAT team (especially since there was no such team in existence). Anyway, little boys were expected to play like that when we were growing up. I never once remember the police coming to our school for problems. Any problems that arose back then were dealt with swiftly and sternly by our teachers and principal. None of us ever wanted to cross the principal’s path or end up in his office, but on occasion some of us would find our way there. Of course, we were all innocent of any charges brought against us.
Many pieces of playground equipment doubled as submarines, flying saucers, tanks and even airplanes. Many vicious battles were fought and won as we rat-a-tat-tatted our imaginary machine guns. By the end of our half-hour recess time, any injuries were voided out until afternoon recess. Besides the usual war, basketball and kickball games, I had the pleasure to, every now and again, chase the pig-tailed little girls around the playground as I mouthed the words, “I am a kissing robot, I am a kissing robot.” I also doubled as a minister, performing many make-believe weddings. I guess I came up with that idea from being a ring bearer in several weddings while growing up.