There was no internet. No video games. No dvds. No smorgasbord of channels on the television. Long afternoons & weekends were filled with games & activities that we concocted all on our own.
Team games were popular... capture the flag, touch football & the like. More often than not, though, sides were chosen ... teams were formed ... and the games were creative inventions inspired by a book, a movie or just a farfetched idea.
Army was a favorite. It was a bunch of boys, after all.
In our garage, there were pull-down attic stairs that went to a stifling hot space that we referred to as the "playroom" even though we rarely played up there.
I vividly remember an elaborate game of Star Trek that covered the entire neighborhood. Some of us were in Captain Kirk's crew ... others were the Klingons ... my brother got to be Mr. Spock cuz he was the only one that could do that Vulcan sign thing with either hand...
... and the attic stairs ... well, they were our verison of the "transporter" ... that beamed us UP, Scotty ...
I am pretty sure it was a "Beam me DOWN, Scotty" moment that brought a screeching halt to this particular diversion!
Sounds silly. And simple. Still hours & hours were filled with fun by a rag-tag bunch of neighborhood kids ... some of the "stories" lasted for days on end ... "to be continued" each morning exactly where we left off the day before...
Wherever we were ... that was our playing field ... in the attic ... in the neighbors' yards ... in the woods that ran along behind the houses on one side of the street ... & really most of the good stuff took place ... OUTSIDE!
And whatever we were doing to fill up our time ... we were passionate ... we gave it our all ... our very best efforts ... and when it stopped being fun ... we stopped doing it.
It was that simple.
And so goes life ... one story ... one adventure after another. And the playgrounds ...the playing fields ... are still wherever we find ourselves ... the rules of engagement remain the same ... no matter how old the kids are that have come out to play.
Playgrounds have equipment ... and are a little more structured ... some important life lessons are learned there:
It takes two to teeter-totter.
Swings allow you to touch the sky ... and if a friend has your back ... offering a gentle push ... you will fly higher than you ever imagined.
Other games ... other lessons ... didn't require anything but each other:
Telephone is the game that shows how distorted the story becomes the more times it's repeated ... it's a game with no winners ... game's still the same ... grown-ups call it gossip ... still no winners!
And playing fields ... are places where imaginations are unstifled. Left to their own devices, kids will pick up a rock, a stick, draw a circle in the sand and a "game" unfolds. Forts are built. Battles are fought. Treasures are searched for in hidden places.
Teams are formed. Sides are chosen.
It's always feels nice to be "chosen". That generally means one of two things. Either you are really popular ... or you have something special to offer that means if you are on the team it will have a better chance of winning.
In a perfect world, you are chosen for both reasons.
That's how teams were picked in my neighborhood. Grown-ups still pick the same way .
Back in the day, I was pretty much always chosen last. There were a variety of reasons. But to be perfectly honest, it was mostly because I was a girl.
Team captains were always the older boys. And we were always playing a boys game. And boys didn't have much use for girls.
The only reason I got to play at all was because ... well, two of the boys were my brothers ... & my mom told them they had to let me play.
And the other girl, she got to play because if I played there was always an odd number ... so they needed her to make the teams "even".
Besides... it wasn't fair for one team to be STUCK with a girl ... and the other team NOT.
When it came time to pick "one of the girls", she usually got picked before me because she was "tougher".
So I was pretty much always chosen last.
Funny, though ... my team consistently won the games that required strategy and stealth and imagination.
Playground politics have been on my mind all week. Because no matter what it is you are getting involved in ... it's always a game of sorts ... a matching of wits ... a motive-driven challenge ...
It's important to figure out who the players are ... & what is motivating them ...
Just because you are "chosen" doesn't mean you have to be on the team ... well, unless it's still a popularity thing for you ...
... and since this seems to keep running through my mind ... randomly ... I am simply going to put it here ... when did "players" and "playmates" become something ... well, other than "innocent" ?!?!
So playing fields ... and draft strategy ... were weighing heavy on me ... and it was no suprise when Del said that his message yesterday was going to be about "Being Chosen" ... seriously ... what else would he be talking about this week?!?!
He opened by stating that one of the strongest desires of our hearts is to belong ... to be chosen. That's so true. On the playgrounds of our childhood ... on the playing fields of life.
The personal "desire of your heart" jab didn't go unnoticed either. My best friend, God, Creator of the Universe, never misses an opportunity to make His point with me.
Del shared a story about one of his own team-choosing experiences from early in life. Picking wasn't a matter of who was better ... it was a matter of who was worse. That's what he said.
Anyone who was ever the last one chosen knows exactly what that means. And standing there, hopping from one foot to the other ... in hopeful anticipation ... it's impossible not to long for the confidence of knowing that there really IS something special about me ... so that someone would want to choose me ... anytime before last.
His was a very positive powerful message ... and it mostly went in a different direction from my own recent experience. That's probably because he was talking about God ... and I've been dealing with a bunch of boys.
What Does It Mean To Be Chosen?
To be led?
To be used?
To be guided?
To have a destiny?
There it was ... in black and white ... the very place I was trying not to go ... "to be used" ...
Truth is, sometimes being picked first feels just as lame as being the last one taken ... at the end of the day, it's not so much about WHEN you are chosen ... it's about WHY ...
Truth is, sometimes being picked first feels just as lame as being the last one taken ... at the end of the day, it's not so much about WHEN you are chosen ... it's about WHY ...
Del's message was about something entirely different ... the assurance I found there was totally out-of-context ...
Seeing those things listed that way ... let me know that it's ok to walk away from something that feels lousy ... & disingenuous ...
Seeing those things listed that way ... let me know that it's ok to walk away from something that feels lousy ... & disingenuous ...
Life is a bit different now ... in the grown up world. I am pretty much a first-round choice. And sometimes I even get to be the Captain ... other times I simply choose not to play.
Imagine that!
(c) Mary Jane Sawyer, July 2010
