No one ever said, “Can’t you find something to do?!” Sometimes it rains or snows or just gets too hot and boys are likely to find mischief. But not always.
Boys find things to do, “boy things”. (I suppose there are “girl things”, but as a boy I knew little of them, only that they were different.)
When it rained on Wiley Avenue in Brainerd in the last century, we often played board games. (There were no screens, other than flickering black and white TVs, often a single set controlled by adults.) Monopoly and Sorry are two I remember. Candy Land and Chutes and Ladders were a bit too young for us; we would not condescend to play them.
Monopoly - the favorite - as we know it was introduced during the Great Depression in 1934 by Charles B. Darrow, soon to be manufactured and distributed by Parker Brothers. It is a game won by aggressive tactics. Passivity knew no place. The game played in our basement/playroom would go on for hours. It would not seem that young boys would like such a game, but we did. On rainy days we would roll the dice, move our metal icons, landing on properties, utilities, rewards, or penalties. “You have passed “GO”, collect $200.00”. “Go to jail.” “Get out of jail free.” The rain would fall, hours would pass, but some type of determination took over and we would play till all, but one player was bankrupt. “The joy of victory, the agony of defeat.” No one got mad or sulked. We loved it!
When grammar school started in September, and then again in the Spring, boys would bring little bags of spherical glass for fun and trade. Marbles was the game of choice. First, boys would display their newest treasures, clear glass balls with whisps of color filling their interior. There were shooters and log rollers. And everyone was transfixed by “puries”. The “go to” game was to draw a circle in the dust on level peace of ground, get on your knees and project with your thumb a rounded missile into the center of the circle. Each player would follow in turn with his most trusted and accurate marble and try and hit the other guy’s marble. There were winers and losers. Winners would be exhorted to trade their lucky shooter. Winners went to class with boyish pride. Losers would go home and practice, determined to do better the next time.
Boys have their own kind of treasures. Often, they keep them in a special box hidden under a bed or tucked on a book shelf. The box might be an old shoe box, a cigar box or a special metal or wooden box rescued from the trash. ( I still proudly own my oldest brother’s special box. It is still filled with sentimental treasure that have no other home.) In Brainerd, boys were sure to have a collection of arrowheads. Nothing was more fun than searching a new construction site where the earth had been turned up. When the Jewish Community Center was built down the road, you would find Cherokee arrow head aplenty. These were cherished. The same boy may also find shiny quartz agates or appealing rounded stones smoothed by ancient streams. These went into the box. There were surely other things in the box. Perhaps the carapace of a deceased bug, or the abandoned skin of a snake, or a special leaf the shape or color of which held some fascination.
There was also a boy’s delight with turtles and frogs. Who didn’t bring a box turtle home and paint his name on his shell? Who didn’t delight in holding a frog out to your sister or mother and have them scream? Often around Easter, Dads would buy a baby duck or chicken. Sometimes the vendor had dipped them in a harmless dye, and they were blue, pink, or green. One cared for the tiny creatures for a time, but they almost always expired. I remember one funeral service I conducted for such a critter. I put him in a cigar box and buried him under a tree, sad for his short life.
Boys aren’t always mischievous. Sometimes we enjoyed the finer things of life, often sitting with pals, eating a Moon Pie, and chasing it with an R.C.
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Doug Daugherty can be reached at dedsr1952@gmail.com