Pick Up Sticks

When I was a kid we played a game called "pick up sticks". The game pieces were made up of a number of long, slender sticks resembling long, thick toothpicks. Each player would have a turn picking up all the sticks at one time, holding them in their hand and then letting them drop to the floor. Then the player would use their hand or a pick up stick to try to pick up each stick without making the other sticks move or fall. The one picking up the most sticks before disaster struck was the winner. We argued and teased our way through the game as decisions were made about sticks moving and we tried to unnerve the player picking up the sticks. Eventually one of us would get tired of the whole thing and drop the sticks from a foot or two off of the floor scattering them every which way but Sunday. We would vow that we would not play again, forever! The game rarely finished without a minor brawl unless parents were present. If they were present we resorted to making faces at each other, whining to our parents about one of us cheating and scoring the occasional pinch without getting caught.

When I was a kid we lived in Ghana, West Africa. We only had electricity from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. It was supplied by a generator that provided light for the entire campus of the boarding high school where we lived. We did not have t.v. or even radio. We did have an electric phonograph. My mom played records in the evening. It was the late 50's and early 60's. We were homeschooled part of the day and left to our own devices for entertainment the remainder of the day. I skipped rope counting up to 1,000 skips, resting and starting again. I read books, climbing into the small trees near our house with a book and an apple in hand. I bought the apple with my allowance. Apples were expensive in the nearby town so I had to buy my own if I wanted one. I learned to ride a bicycle in Africa. The bike was a boy's bike and too high for me. I had to jump from a cinder block onto the bike seat, balance myself and take off. My feet would not touch the ground when my legs were extended. I cannot remember how I got off without half killing myself but I know I did because I rode the bike frequently. Snakes were a constant danger. One young missionary boy died from snake bite while we lived in Ghana. My mother was terrified that we would encounter a snake. The snake that bit the young boy was a tiny and highly poisonous snake. It was difficult to find the bite mark when the doctor was determining the cause of death. There were pythons and ants that ate small animals and, we were told, small babies if they were left alone. I don't remember any of this frightening me. I was afraid of the dark and things that did not exist but seemed to show up in my room and stand in a corner to terrify me until the sun came up. There were small monkeys in the surrounding jungle who had a cry that sounded exactly like a baby crying out. They were called "bush babies" for good reason.

It was while we lived in Africa that I found out about "pick up sticks". My clearest memory of playing them is while we were on vacation at the coast of Ghana in a town called Accra. We rented a house that seemed huge to me. I was around 7 years old. I remember the pick up sticks scattering over the tile floor. I remember the African man coming round with his sack full of goods for sale. I thought he and his sack of goods were just about the most exotic thing I had ever encountered.

Enough of memories for this evening. Before too much more time passes it will have been 60 years since I was a child in Africa. Time has a way of slipping by.