Henry Thoreau was on to something when he wrote “Children, who play life, discern its true law and relations more clearly than men…”

Children are marvelously inventive when it comes to devising games for themselves. It is not without reason I decry the “plastic age” in which so many so-called “toys” leave so little to a child’s imagination and creativity. Modeling clay and water colors, Tinker Toys, Lincoln Logs, Erector sets, the old tissue and balsa model airplane kits, these are the proper domain of childhood. If you see a child who would rather play with the box than the toy, you know where the child’s interests and priorities are; and parents should take the hint and act accordingly.

You may recall from your own childhood it takes imagination, inventiveness and creativity for children to devise tea parties for stuffed toys and invisible friends. And no, this isn’t the sole domain of little girls; my brother Ronnie and I were adepts at such things including tea parties and playing with our stuffed toys, who often proved better listeners than adults as with the resident pet cat or dog also. Though my brother and I were distinctly boys enjoying our cap guns and relating to Red Ryder and Hopalong Cassidy, it was our stuffed friends that often proved more understanding of children than adults.

It remains my contention as per Henry’s observation that it is vitally important to retain the best part of the man, the child within, in order to properly deal with the issues of life without being childish. If we carefully observe adults “at play” one cannot escape the perception of the cynicism “He who has the most toys when he dies, wins.” What could possibly be more “childish” as a pejorative?

Among the many self-appointed duties like keeping bird bath and feeders filled here at my place is the placing of a wasp trap for the ubiquitous yellowjackets that plague the valley. I’m very pragmatic when it comes to Nature red in tooth and claw. PETA notwithstanding I don’t find anything cute or adorable about anything like a shark or bear higher on the food chain than me; and for my part the only good wasp is a dead wasp, and I don’t hold with any “balance of nature” that includes wasps, black widows or recluse spiders. I see ‘em, I kill ‘em. Always have, always will.

While living at Minter Field right after WWII, we children soon discovered to our discomfiture the base harbored a very large number of wasps. These nasty creatures had built nests in virtually every one of the empty barracks, but now that people had moved back on to the base due to the housing shortage for returning veterans with families the wasps were a downright plague and a force to be reckoned with! So, I devised a game to deal with the situation; and one in which the more adventurous of the other children were quick to join me.

I had made what could only be called a “glorified flyswatter” of cardboard nailed to a short length of lath for a handle. I artistically embellished the cardboard with a crayon-drawn picture of a large wasp. Then dressing in long pants and long sleeved shirt, I was prepared like a knight set on slaying dragons to do battle with the nasty, stinging adversary. The other children joining me followed suit, each one exercising their own particular artistry emblazoning their battle implement.

Going to war against the resident wasps was an act of heroism. Every one of us children recognized the challenge the wasps represented, but also the opportunity to test our courage. After all, we were raised during an era of world war, of living with daily news of the selfless acts of heroism on the part of so many that gave their lives for America, for freedom and democracy, and though we were children the need to test our own courage was an imperative. What adults saw as children at play was a deadly earnestness to our “play” killing wasps.

As with Sam Clemens, Bill Cosby seems never to have forgotten that the proper occupation of children is to play. And like Clemens and Cosby, I haven’t forgotten this proper occupation of children; and neither had Harper Lee in To Kill A Mockingbird.

At one point in her literary masterpiece Harper Lee has Scout, Jem, and Dill devising a game about Boo Radley. And while being disapproved by Atticus, Boo Radley watching through the broken shutters of his dark tomb of a house enjoyed watching the game. This neighborhood “bogeyman” was child enough to relate to the children, and understood their proper occupation. But he would later prove man enough to save the lives of Scout and Jem. It was the best of a “mad man,” the child within that made Mr. Arthur Radley the guardian angel of the children.

To forecast the future of a nation, watch children at play; and pay particular attention to their “toys.” I do confess, the games children play today, their “toys” are not those of my generation. And I cannot but wish they were; I cannot but wish for more modeling clay and water colors, more Erector sets rather than the plastic and electronics especially those filled with so much violence that seem to cheat children of their proper occupation.