KRISTOR writes:

Lawrence Auster’s memories of childhood play brought back a flood of similar memories: playing war with sticks for rifles; practicing for hours to perfect my vocal imitations of machine gun fire; elaborate mining operations modeled on the side of a dirt hump, using toy trucks and construction machines; throwing my knife millions of times at a tree, trying to learn how it was done. But the absolute acme of all my play took place when I was about 11. My father’s side of the family had bought a bunch of land in the Vermont woods, for a family retreat. We all vacationed there for many years together: about 15 cousins and 6 parents, usually joined by my grandparents. We boys used to spend hours pretending to be Indians in the woods, skulking about as quietly as we possibly could and ambushing each other. I made myself a loincloth once, and tried to peel bark off birch trees in useful quantities (it’s pretty tricky). Once the whole troupe set out on a hike to a waterfall deep in the woods. My father and uncles whispered to the boys that we should hang back, and let the womenfolk go ahead: “Don’t worry, we’ll catch up to you.” When the women were out of sight, the uncles gathered us about and said, “Let’s all pretend to be Indians. We’ll scamper up to the flume ahead of them, take up our positions, and surprise them when they get there.” This was ecstasy for us boys; to have our fathers and uncles join us in this game raised it to a whole new level. Their involvement in our play dignified it, and signified its importance and value in their eyes. We sprinted through the forest, hissing at each other to keep quiet. We got to the flume way ahead of the women, and hurried to hide behind boulders and fallen logs, covering ourselves with fallen leaves. And we waited: invisible, still, silent, lethal. Eventually, hours later it seemed, the women finally made their way up the valley to a spot just below where we lay in wait. Then, at the signal – the forlorn call of a whippoorwill – we burst from hiding with a terrifying yell and scowls of rage, and poured down the hill toward our victims. The aunts and their daughters all screamed, and some of the littler girls burst into tears. But then the aunts and uncles and boys all started howling with laughter, and all was well.

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