I forgot all about darts–as in having a basement “rec room” in which hung, permanently, a dart board. Our darts weren’t the finely weighted ones that serious pub competitors carry. They were plastic with metal heads, or lightweight wood with feathers. Year after year holes appeared in the ceiling tiles, floor, and walls. And when adults weren’t around, kids did throw them at each other.
Occasionally someone would nail one of my mother’s bar glasses, too, which was good for sound effects (like all members of the rising middle class, we had a bar downstairs–it even had one of those globe bar lights that had fakey antique style letters that spelled out “Bar,” in case you were in doubt).