A Toy Soldier Story

 
As a kid, I had to use my imagination. No cable, no video games, no Anarchist Cookbook on the internet. If I’d tried to buy the ingredients for a bomb, the store clerk would have been on the phone to my parents before I reached the door.

Then I’d have to cut my own switch, ending my bomb-making aspirations.

Instead I wandered, literally, over hill and dale, made dams in the creek, plodded through swamps. I had a handful of favorite toys, dogs for companionship, and imagination. Any place was a playground, any object a toy.

Every now and then I still check out the toy aisles, but today’s toys just aren’t interesting. You can’t play with today’s toys. You sit and look at them while they play themselves.

I’m old enough now that grandkids and pets are the best gifts. Not that I’d turn down 60s era Marx toy soldiers.

 

Oh, you might press a few buttons, but they do all the rest. They make noise, flash lights, speak to you, move around, until they need recharged. I’m not talking just about video games, which at least give you hand-eye coordination. But on that subject, what do the game makers brag about most? Better graphics and sound, and realistic cut scenes.

Heaven forbid you should imagine any of that.

We generally got toys twice a year, for Christmas and birthdays. My parents never bought me toys because I got a good grade, or cleaned my room, or avoided juvenile hall. I did that stuff because if I didn’t, I’d have to cut a switch. Getting a switch used on me was bad; having to take that long walk out to the bush to cut one was much, much worse. I’d rather pull my teeth out with pliers and use them to chew off my own ear than get sent out to the bush.

Don’t get me wrong, I got some great toys, it’s just that I played with them.

I got a scale model of the Starship Enterprise. I didn’t push a button to make it fly: I held it out and whooshed it past my imaginary planets. How did my Enterprise make that “whoosh” warp sound? By me saying, “Whoosh!”

I had to use my – say it with me – imagination.

 

 

I’ve had this fire truck for fifty years; it never moved on its own once. If it did, I’d freak out.

Have you ever played World War II video games? The realism is amazing, and if you’re not playing with someone, the game console itself moves the other characters around.

I got a Marx “Battleground” play set. Plastic tanks, cannon, flags, landing craft – and get this, landmines, wounded soldiers, and stretchers. I had German, Japanese, British, and Confederate soldiers from several wars. You can’t have enemy troops these days, because the soldiers of Politically Correctness would pitch a fit. You’d probably get in trouble for pitching things, too.

Eventually I learned war is a terrible thing, even when made necessary by various bad guys, but I still loved my play set. My parents, you see, taught me the difference between fantasy and reality. For example, fantasy was seeding my battleground with firecrackers; reality was them finding out and sending me to cut a switch.

Fake battles led to my lifelong love of history, and I’ve never invaded Russia once, so I think I did okay.

I had a few remarkably “real” guns, meaning they were my size. No one imagined using one to rob a bank, or being mistaken for a gang member. My favorite was a Thompson machine gun, with which I defended our barn many times. No computer program was needed to produce my attackers – they came from my – wait for it – imagination.

Another favorite gun was my Kentucky rifle, a muzzle loading weapon used in the Revolutionary War. My mother called it her mop handle.

But with the mop taken off, it was the perfect size and shape to win our independence. I fought off entire regiments of Englishmen with that rifle, alongside a company of Minutemen that was very much real to me and my imagination. I’m sure I looked ridiculous in the field behind our house, stabbing with the bayonet on my mop handle, getting hit and falling to the ground, then getting up to defend Lexington and Concord yet again. What did I care?

 

My favorite toy gun. If it was good enough for both Sgt. Rock and Sgt. Fury, it was good enough for me.

 

Not that fake warfare was my only interest – not with Frisbees, Matchbox cars, and paper airplanes available. My single speed Schwinn bicycle doubled as a spaceship and police car; walkie-talkies were useful for spy missions; and a beach towel was sufficient to make a superhero costume.

I could go on and on (as my regular readers know.) Two chairs and a blanket made a great tent; small sticks and stones could become a city, waiting on an attack by Godzilla; and oh – what we could do with a cardboard box. The possibilities were endless.

I can’t help thinking today’s kids are missing something important … and I’m not talking about the switch.