THE JOY OF PLAYING MARBLES
We played marbles until about the fourth grade. It was a game of rules and skill. You dug your heel into the earth of the school yard and made your circle. Threw your least important marbles in the pot and took your turn. It was human civilization at its finest. Steelies, Cat’s-eyes, Aggies and Peewees were the currency of life, and all the lessons learned there were the lessons you needed later in life.
Lessons like, thou shalt not steal. When cat’s-eyes came out they were our treasure, but I was one of the kids that had no money. I could only go to the five and dime at lunch or on Saturday and look until, one day as I fingered a bag of the glorious gems, my mind noted that there was no one around. They would never miss one bag. It was then I did the unthinkable. The booty gave me no pleasure as I felt guilt for days. Then there was an announcement at school that shoplifting had been done in the local town.
What if they called in Boston Blackie, Charlie Chan or the G-men?
No, I knew the difference between those and the real world. But someone could tell that I had cat’s-eyes if I played with them. Sooner or later they would find me out if I ever showed them and they would tell my mom. I thought of returning them, but it would be dangerous. I thought of burying them, hiding them and throwing them in the lake. Mostly I thought What if my mom finds out? What if she even suspects?
Who’s afraid of their mom? What’s to fear from the plump lady who works for lawyers and can cross examine stone until it confesses, the lady whose wooden spoon spanks not only the flesh but the soul, the lady whose fury would have made Attila the Hun take up knitting? I fear, yellow little me, that’s who.
This problem must be resolved, so I take my “thirty pieces of silver” and go to the principle. Blubbering works best for me so I blubber. They say confession is good for the soul but it’s good for the butt also. Since the principle is sympathetic, he takes the marbles, sends me back to class and never calls my mom. Whew.
A fence was built around the school the next year and kids could no longer go downtown at lunch. I really don’t think that had anything to do with me, but…
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