As seen on Slashdot today:
No toys here. Christmas was watching commercials and then kids at school brag about their presents. I had this one rather long branch, though, that I found incredibly straight. It was a sword, a rifle, a baseball bat, and so many other things. I would look forward to playing with my stick and using my ingenuity to find further roles for it to play.
Then, one day, I came home from school to find that my dad had refrained from getting high/drunk that day and cleaned up the back yard. I couldn't find my stick until I went to the dumpster and found that he had snapped it in four so it could fit easier into a trash bag.
A stick? Luxury.
We had to make jump rope from our own eyebrows. The only way to play hop scotch was to break our own leg, then trace the court on the ground with our protruding bone. When our dad came home and found out we broke our own legs and marked up the drive way, he used to drag us through a cactus patch with our own jump rope tied round our necks.
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