I begged and whined and bugged my mom for weeks before she finally relented. She had me cut off the boxtop; she filled out the order and I taped a quarter to the cardboard order. We put it in the envelope, sealed it, stamped it, and sent it on its way. From that point time seemed to stop. I was at the mailbox the very next day looking for my treasure. I was disappointed that it wasn't there. Every day I waited for the mail; every day I was next to tears when the little box didn't arrive. Mom explained that the box had said it could take four to six weeks for delivery...but that means little to a seven-year-old. So I waited, it seemed forever.
One day, some weeks later, the little box showed up in the mailbox. I danced and wiggled and could barely hold still as mom opened the box and my treasure was exposed. Three plastic frogmen in bright colors. There was the guy with a torch, the guy with the anti-ship mine, and the scariest guy who had a huge knife. They had an inverted bell shaped cup on one foot that you packed with baking soda and capped with the little metal cap. When you put them in the tub they dove to the bottom, moved around and rose to the top again, and they did it again. And again. It turned out to be rather boring. So about two or three days after they arrived I cut the stupid-looking baking powder cups off and just played with them outside the tub. But they were a treasure; I had them for years and they, along with my baking powder submarines, were some of my favorite toys.
In the box with my frogmen were my green army men, my cowboys and Indians, and my animals. I loved the cowboys that rode the horses, the horses that would rear up on their back legs, and the dogs that looked like they were running along with the horses.
Saturday mornings when I woke up, I piled my bedspread and blankets up and they became a mountain. I placed my plastic men in fighting positions around the mountain. Then my frogmen would sneak up the mountain, taking out the defenders one by one, green army men, Indians and cowboys, and capture the top of the mountain. And once on top, I would set it up and do it all over again.
I watch my grandkids today, playing video games that do all the stuff I used to do with my blankets; they create scenarios that are very realistic. Unfortunately, they are very gory and graphic, as well. But it tickles me to see that one of the video games is actually a green army men game. Somehow, though, it isn't quite the same.
It is just the rambling of a fat old man who is having trouble coming to grips with the facts of age creeping up on him. I ache and wobble, heal more slowly, squint more to see the small print, have more trouble finding air at the top of the stairs, and can't figure out which side to limp on, the bad knee side or the bad back side (of course, they're not on the same side). Remembering the feel and the smell of those plastic toys and the hours I spent with them, developing involved stories, always winning, beating the odds, feeling good about myself. Blah blah blah ramble ramble ramble. Well, just sharing the memory with you, those who are old enough to remember those toys and who may have captured your own mountains those many years ago.
