Some Child Play, Some Play Incidents
By José Domingues, May 6, 2021 — When I was a child, playing was the chance to find free space to do what pleased me the most. Sometimes I played repetitive games, sometimes I had unique opportunities to wander.
At the age of 6, I ventured into the jungle (our back lot of the house), where those tremendous predators dwelled (our dogs Payaso y Azabache). I knew they devoured brutally any human being at will, but I, armed with my deathly magic sword (a broomstick) opted to give those vicious animals a lesson to vindicate all the hardships they had caused to those humans who dared to cross by that risky trail (the corral in which they lived). Not surprisingly, the poor dogs didn’t want to fight with the landlord’s son and retired to a corner, confused, producing light grunts that were more indicative of surprise than defiance. Even when I incited them to fight they decided to take a nap, frustrating my warlike instincts. Nevertheless, in my mind, I closed the case as if the two beasts, scared and overwhelmed by my audacious bravery, decided to quit and rest. In this way, they kept their lives as a grace granted by me.
On another occasion, my adventurous mind decided to have friends to play with and socialize with neighborhood kids. Our block where I used to live was small and on the street that ran behind our house lived Marino. Equal in age, we used to play together several times until one day I did the biggest transaction of my life: I traded my new Mickey Mouse clock for a little box full of plastic small cars, trucks, and one or two tiny horses. My mother was truly disturbed and I thought, “Oh, those adults do not know how to appreciate the true value of things!!” The fun was over since my mom didn’t like his way of wheeling and dealing.
Another form to have fun came when our house was summited to a total renovation and I discovered, thanks to my familiarity with the construction workers, that all the front of the main building was previously a very old house. Between the wooden floors and the earth existed an empty space three feet high. Of course, there was no light and that precisely triggered my craving for adventure and eagerness to explore. So, I began a series of inspections in the dark helped by a flashlight. To enter, I had to lift two heavy metal doors, then descend to the basement through a cement stair and enter the underground using a small window. There, in the total darkness, I felt that some strange eyes were following my movements, so I had to be very cautious to look around again and again just to prevent the tragedy of falling in one ambush of the forces of evil. That’s why I always took with me a small crucifix to throw away spirits or any other creature of the nether regions. I crawled under all the rooms, always trying to guess what furniture or what space of the main floor I was experiencing from my subterranean perspective. I never found anything important in my search except dust, spider webs, and one or two insects. However, each time that I initiated another inspection my heart was beating and I thought: ”Perhaps this time I will find something, or … perhaps something is going to find me.”
I think some of my conduct was in the category of “good behavior,” since one Christmas I received an Indian bow with several arrows and a silver revolver with a plastic case. In the upper part, six blue-wood bullets were accommodated in a row. I walked to my mother’s room big mirror and practiced, many, many times, how to draw the pistol as fast as I could just to be prepared for a nasty and bloody encounter.
The few showers of rain that fell in our city allowed us to have extra excitement. In front of our house, there was a not-so-high terrace covered by decorative tiles. When it rained, the water over the surface served as a super sliding spot. One day after a rain, I took off my shoes and began to slide at high speed over the wet floor. All was ok until I was running too fast and ended up incapable to stop landing in the garden with my left arm as a shield. One broken bone was the result.
After the medical attention of my injuries, my father gave me two presents: one basketball so I could take it to school to play, and the installation of a punching bag. The basketball had to wait for my injury recuperation and personal growth since in the beginning even when I used all my strengths, the ball didn’t reach the ring. For me it was easy to wait, it was a matter of patience. In the meantime, I ended up surrounded always by guys who wanted to play with me, or more properly, with the ball. The use of the punching bag was another thing. The ball was so big that I had to punch it with good strong hits if I wanted to make it touch the upper part of the wood installation. I dedicated some time to hitting the ball and later bragged with my classmates [about] my sports accomplishments and how surely I would develop tremendous muscles and boxing skills in the future.
For sure, my best toys were all those plastic soldiers that little by little integrated my personal army at my disposition to enter in combat as soon as I gave the order. Some were Mexican infantry soldiers marching gallantly in a fantastic parade. Some of them were mounted on brown horses, and others were in combat positions pointing their guns, throwing grenades, or firing machine guns. Later, I increased my collection with Indians, cowboys, American GIs, and a group of English Jerrys. I had also four Second World War tanks, two of them in full fighting capacity and two with no turret at all, two torn boats and some cannons. I didn’t need more than to spend hours playing around the house mostly in those places with little circulation. In my mind, I designed a strategy and gave trending orders to be fulfilled unconditionally. The opponent party were the bad ones, of course. They were less powerful and less brave but compensated their weakness with evil tricks sufficient to destroy any adversary. I displaced my figurines through the rooms as if they were moving offensively or defensively. My mother was surprised by my solitary struggle between the good guys and the bad guys and gave me the nickname of the “lonely wolf.”
My plastic army had to face different hard combats when playing with Victor, my two years older brother. In one large room that we called the “storeroom,” he displayed a row of his soldiers. Opposite to him, I also disposed my own. We took turns to throw marbles as if they were real bullets. In the end, the victory was for the most aggressive and sharp marble thrower who defeated all the opponents. It was fun.
My list of incidents is too long so I decided to continue at another time. One thing I learned from all these trials … now, if Sofia, my granddaughter, speaks alone with her doll, it’s ok…if she doesn’t want to share with me her magic ring, I understand. Or if she asks me to play with her dolls, I don’t have any problem…I close my eyes and enter into the magic world of make-believe.
