The Battles of Bunker Hill – Twenty Years Earlier

Children are wonderful at make believe. They can take an ordinary cardboard appliance box and call it a Castle, or claim it is a house and play with it all day. My thoughts floated back to my childhood in Illinois when we cut such a box into four panels. The looks from my mother indicated it was time to take the activities outside.

My cousin, Rusty, called it a tank as we fought the enemy in the great skirmishes of the big conflicts of the past. He was General Patton. Then he excitingly said. "Remember when we took the pieces to a hill near our house. His sister Le Ann was the youngest of the group. She agreed to everything Rusty and I suggested. My two sisters rounded out our army to five. We called slope Bunker Hill, because Carl and Pat Bunkers lived next to it. Thus, we imagined it was where the battle of the American Revolution began."

It was a snowy day, and we used those fragments of cardboard as sleighs to glide us down the incline for hours. We converted to Hannibal's Army bringing elephants over the mountains for the action. We digressed to be advocates of right over wrong. Our winter coats were our armor, and the snowballs became pellets of fire. We change the conflicts often. The warriors of the past turn out to be our examples. Slithering downhill on cardboard was easy. The struggle back up was slippery and took a lot of energy

The Bunkers' boys had a force of six. They were our enemies. They claimed to be the good guys. However, our declarations for the noble side happen to be stronger.

The threats from each team intensified until Mom called us for supper."

She was mad since I was muddy," Laughter engulfed us. My look demonstrated that it was no big deal. The punishment was to march me to the bathtub before supper. When I arrived at the kitchen table, it was discovered that my favorite piece of chicken had been devoured. I gave Rusty a wicked stare.

Maybe playing war had prepared me mentally for my current conflicts. The difference included facing real bullets and hand to hand hostility. Death was far from the games we played as children. At those times we arose, shook the dirt off our pants and prepared for the next scuffle. On occations anger would erupt, but in the end we would laugh, shake hands and go home.