Probably the dumbest thing was the den we built in a barn full of straw. The farm was abandoned as the land was being developed as a large housing estate - we found the large barn (covered, open on two sides) stacked nearly solid with bales of wheat straw.
After climbing about on them and rearranging some of the top layer of bales, we figured out that if we cut the baling twine, we could extract the contents of a bale, leaving the surrounding bales intact - so we tunneled right inside the stack like this and excavated a sort of cavern inside - tall enough to sit up inside and with tunnels leading off into other smaller rooms etc.
But it was dark inside there, so we illuminated the inside with candles - inside a massive heap of tinder-dry straw. I still marvel at the sheer stupidity of it
Climbing in and out of the pickup bed (via the side windows) while going down the highway. Eventually morphed into a game where rightmost passenger climbed out and into the bed, ran across and climbed in the driver’s side taking over the wheel while everyone shifted right. Repeat until original driver is back behind the wheel.
This reminds me of a time some friends and I dug tunnels at a sandy beach.
There was some sand at a steep slope. We dug down a few feet, and then horizontal a few feet :eek:, until we came out the side of the sand hill. If it had collapsed on us, I doubt I would be here to type this response…
Fourth of July was always spent at our cabin. My dad would get firecrackers for me and my sisters. We were each issued a few packages and a punk (piece of rope that he’d light at one end so it was just glowing hot - kind of like the end of a cigarette). We were given the punk because he didn’t want us playing with matches!!:eek: We played all day long with the firecrackers. We’d put them under cans to watch the can fly up in the air, stick them in a rotted stump to see the wood blow up…all sorts of experiments. The only rule was (besides not using matches) was we had to set the firecracker down and then light it. We couldn’t light it and then throw it.
Geez! We were pretty young - 6, 8 and 10 maybe. The rest of the kids around the lake were doing the same thing.
Going to the neighborhood construction site, choosing up sides, and proceeding to throw rocks at each other. You were supposed to stick to throwing “dirt clods,” but it often didn’t work out that way. Didn’t anyone else do this?
We made ‘guns’ out of a piece of pipe that we plugged one end of. You’d light a Zebra firecracker, drop it down the barrel and chase it with a rock, then point it at someone and wait for the cracker to explode, sending the rock on its way. Also used to fire cherry bombs out of a slingshot.
I did this, often alone, when I was 7 and 8 in Hawaii. We lived right behind the commandant’s house on Schofield Barracks, and I used to big wheel over to his place (he even had a hedge maze surrounding the base flagpole in his front yard) and I’d climb the pine trees there. They were very tall, 50’ at least. I’d get almost to the top where the branches were young, thin and flexible. I’d cling to the tree as I was very near the top and it would sway like crazy in the wind. I never fell luckily.
Playing at General Scott’s house ended abruptly one day when a friend and I decided to light a small fire a copse of trees behind the general’s house.
The MP’s rolled up in a jeep all super quiet and scared the hit out of us with their bullhorn. My Dad was PISSED!
I’m in the “see how far and from how high up we can jump from” club. In my forties, I asked my doctor why my knees began to hurt, the first thing he asked me was if I used to jump from high places. When I answered ‘yes’, he said it finally caught up to me.
My Dad had a small bottle of mercury that he used to let me play with (rolling around in my palm). When I tell people I used to that, they usually say, “That explains a lot!”
We used to have Rambler station wagon and I used jump from the back seat to the rear cargo area. Sometimes I’d lay on top of the seat to see how long I could balance. My parents only scolded me for the balancing, not jumping from the seat to the back though!
On New Years Eve we used to play “firecracker fight”, throwing lit firecrackers at each other. I used to play with three brothers until a firecracker landed and popped in the shirt pocket of the youngest. For some reason he didn’t want to play the next year.
Oh…just remembered, we also used to play 'rock fight". We played with gravel and didn’t throw too hard The object being to just miss the other person and make them flinch. It usually ended with someone getting mad and picking up the biggest stone they could find and trying to throw it.
We always seemed to be living in up and coming suburbs. There were always new houses being built. We had more fun playing around those on weekends. Couldn’t do it during the week. The crews would get really mad if you got too close. My oldest brother once started a backhoe that was left over the weekend. He scared himself so bad that jumped off and ran, leaving the thing running. We had to convince him to go back and turn it off. We didn’t go there anymore.
We had dirt clod wars. Both messy and fun, til you got whacked in the face.
We did that, then progressed onto home made explosives made from weedkiller - my friend fashioned a sort of musket/rifle out of a section of pipe he had welded shut at one end - he wanted to hold and aim it to test fire it - I suggested it might be better to wedge it in a tree fork and run away - I was thinking that maybe the recoil might be bad, or the barrel might fly loose from the stock. What actually happened is that the barrel ripped open into multiple pieces of jagged metal, and the stock was shredded into splintered pieces.
A friend an I used to employ tennis rackets to lob ice cubes high in the air toward cars driving on a busy street about 20 yards away.
His mother had an apartment adjacent to the street with a little fenced-in cookout space in the back. Perfect for launching what essentially amounted to and ice mortar barrage from a hidden location.
Reminds me of something my brother did when we were kids. He used to make a “Polish cannon,” in which cans with tops and bottoms removed were taped together to form a muzzle-loading cannon. The breech can had its bottom in place, with a small hole pierced in it. You drop a tennis ball in the muzzle, squirt lighter fluid in that small pierced hole, and then apply a match or lighter.
That was back in the '70s. Nowadays it’s easier to make such a device using readily-available PVC pipe and associated fittings (which I’ve done as an adult, and so has Destin Sandlin.).
My church used to have a fish fry fund raiser on the local school yard. Upon the school yard was a nice tall slide- the kind with a central hump. The top of the slide was at least ten feet up. Batman, the TV series, was new then and the preacher’s kid and I spent the day climbing up the slide and sliding down its side poles in true bat-style. Great fun! I started first grade the week after.
When I tried to slide down the pole during recess the first day of first grade, the teachers got very upset. I had no idea why!
At my elementary school (and, I’m sure, elsewhere), it was a thing to get the swings going as high as you could (fairly close to parallel to the ground, for the more adventurous of us) and then jumping out, trying to land the perfect dismount. Early version of a roller coaster for some of us.
Two things about that:
The swing set was remarkably close to a bungalow, and while I know some of us would occasionally land and hit it running from our forward momentum, I have no memory that anyone ever flung him- or herself directly into the bungalow on the fly; and
Although there was rubber padding directly beneath the swing set, we were jumping onto concrete. Again I have no memory of anyone being seriously hurt doing this. Just the occasional ankle sprain or scraped knee from a poor landing. And lots of getting yelled at by the schoolyard attendants when we got caught.
There were many times, during my youth in New Mexico, that I crossed a running arroyo on foot.
For those who don’t know, an “arroyo” is basically a dirt channel, a dry streambed with hills around it. In New Mexico, they’re dry most of the year. When it rains, they fill up with fast-running water. People and cars get swept away in the water all the time; it’s easy to get knocked off your feet and get quickly carried far downstream. The currents are violent and it’s just about impossible to get your footing back.
So, yeah, I waded across them many times, in waist-deep water.