Like all children of our era, we had prodigious imaginations.
All we needed was a stage to act out our wild imaginings.
The picnic table, for example, became a life raft out on the empty sea whereon two piteous shipwreck survivors (my sisters) forlornly awaited rescue when suddenly a hideous many-armed sea creature (me, under the table) attempted to grab them and drag them under the murky waters.
Result: much screaming and dancing about on top of the table for them and much maniacal thrashing about and gleeful arm waving for the sea monster.
Or there was a game, "Ghost," always played on moonlit summer nights where the best hiding place could often be inside a shadow, and victims might stroll haplessly by.
Let me say, at this point, that our parents did not help by sticking a tiny black and white t.v. in my bedroom and leaving us to watch Fantastic Features in said darkened room on a Saturday night.
We didn't need that kind of encouragement.
Not all our playlets were horror-oriented but many (lots) were.
Hammer Films' Dracula movies throughout the sixties were the icing on the cake. Admiring Christopher Lee, I thought I would make a pretty good vampire.
My oldest daughter tells this part of the story better than I do:
https://wordpress.com/read/blogs/68594809/posts/699
Not sure what life lessons there are here: facing your fears maybe, how to scar your children irreparably more likely, fun and games and other distractions perhaps.
Or, in the words of a great philosopher: "We coulda had fun sometimes...ummmhmmmm."
Come to think of it, we did.
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