Post by johnhsime on Aug 8, 2013 7:44:56 GMT -5
Originally published in the Kickapoo Free Press, Viroqua, Wis.
"50th Anniversary of Barbie
by John H. Sime
News of the 50th anniversary of the Barbie doll in 2009 made me once again recall my most vivid experience with the classic toy. It occurred in 1965, sometime around the 4th of July.
The reason I know it was near the 4th of July is because my two boy cousins and I were engaged in our annual explosives experiments that were an essential part of childhood, at that time, around here. The three of us would gather each day and roam around their back yard, which bordered the woods on the edge of Readstown. We would set off firecrackers, cherry bombs, M80s and anything else we could get our hands on which exploded and made smoke and noise. We would plant tiny bombs under our toy trucks, tanks, and airplanes just to watch them lifted up and fall down again. We would line up our little molded plastic soldiers in small trenches and then plant bombs to watch scenes from movies reel off in our heads.
All this was well and good, and a gave us a certain amount of satisfaction in the realism we attained. However, we began to conceive of the possibility of a rocket chair, propelling its occupant into the air and down again on the other side of the lawn. But, who could be the pilot of such a vehicle. As it turned out one of my cousins had a GI Joe, who would be big enough to give us the look, but my cousin was reluctant to assign this mission to Joe, who was currently on a high security operation packed away with his uniforms and model guns in a box under the bed. No, there had to be somebody else we could draft, and that is when our eyes fell upon Barbie, who had been casually left on the yard by my cousin, the young sister of the boys.
In a matter of a few minutes Barbie had an M80 strapped to her skinny, plastic rump and was awaiting the countdown on the launch pad--the charcoal BBQ grill. We watched from behind the protective cardboard shield with eye holes cut within. 10-9-8....we had all heard it so many times on TV. Then the blast, and a flash of fire and smoke. We had expected to see Barbie make a graceful arc out into the yard, perhaps falling within eyesight of my girl cousin, who was on the other side of the house near the clothes line with her mother. But that is not what happened. Instead, Barbie was blown apart, arms, legs, torso ripped apart in an all too realistic imitation of injuries inflicted by landmines. We stood there a few seconds contemplating the sobering vision before us and reflecting upon our moral culpability. Meanwhile, their sister, my cousin, had been attracted by the sound of the explosion and she now stood a few feet away gazing in horror upon Barbie, the war atrocity victim. She opened her mouth and began to shout the word which sent terror and dread running like a bolt of electricity through our evil, little hearts: "MA!!!". Following the time honored path of war criminals everywhere we immediately headed for the hills. We spent the better part of the afternoon peering down at Readstown from the wooded bluffs above, accepting our exile, and suspecting that war might not be as much fun as we had hitherto thought it to be. "
jhs
"50th Anniversary of Barbie
by John H. Sime
News of the 50th anniversary of the Barbie doll in 2009 made me once again recall my most vivid experience with the classic toy. It occurred in 1965, sometime around the 4th of July.
The reason I know it was near the 4th of July is because my two boy cousins and I were engaged in our annual explosives experiments that were an essential part of childhood, at that time, around here. The three of us would gather each day and roam around their back yard, which bordered the woods on the edge of Readstown. We would set off firecrackers, cherry bombs, M80s and anything else we could get our hands on which exploded and made smoke and noise. We would plant tiny bombs under our toy trucks, tanks, and airplanes just to watch them lifted up and fall down again. We would line up our little molded plastic soldiers in small trenches and then plant bombs to watch scenes from movies reel off in our heads.
All this was well and good, and a gave us a certain amount of satisfaction in the realism we attained. However, we began to conceive of the possibility of a rocket chair, propelling its occupant into the air and down again on the other side of the lawn. But, who could be the pilot of such a vehicle. As it turned out one of my cousins had a GI Joe, who would be big enough to give us the look, but my cousin was reluctant to assign this mission to Joe, who was currently on a high security operation packed away with his uniforms and model guns in a box under the bed. No, there had to be somebody else we could draft, and that is when our eyes fell upon Barbie, who had been casually left on the yard by my cousin, the young sister of the boys.
In a matter of a few minutes Barbie had an M80 strapped to her skinny, plastic rump and was awaiting the countdown on the launch pad--the charcoal BBQ grill. We watched from behind the protective cardboard shield with eye holes cut within. 10-9-8....we had all heard it so many times on TV. Then the blast, and a flash of fire and smoke. We had expected to see Barbie make a graceful arc out into the yard, perhaps falling within eyesight of my girl cousin, who was on the other side of the house near the clothes line with her mother. But that is not what happened. Instead, Barbie was blown apart, arms, legs, torso ripped apart in an all too realistic imitation of injuries inflicted by landmines. We stood there a few seconds contemplating the sobering vision before us and reflecting upon our moral culpability. Meanwhile, their sister, my cousin, had been attracted by the sound of the explosion and she now stood a few feet away gazing in horror upon Barbie, the war atrocity victim. She opened her mouth and began to shout the word which sent terror and dread running like a bolt of electricity through our evil, little hearts: "MA!!!". Following the time honored path of war criminals everywhere we immediately headed for the hills. We spent the better part of the afternoon peering down at Readstown from the wooded bluffs above, accepting our exile, and suspecting that war might not be as much fun as we had hitherto thought it to be. "
jhs
