When I was a child, my whole world was full of wonder and mysterious surprises. I would go for a walk on a summer morning, and a small amount of trees and brush soon became a war zone in Africa. The small and insignificant stick that I was carrying became a high powered machine gun. My dogs and chickens, of course, became the unruly natives whose only goal in life was to destroy my army and me.

I would sit in one position as long as possible, carefully keeping an eye out for any enemy movement. I suddenly would hear the Africans talking to each other in some strange language consisting of seemingly meaningless barks and clucks. I would sit and pretend that I knew what they were saying. I pulled out my pocket native language translator and figured out what they were saying. Finding out what they said would prompt me to slowly creep through the sharp underbrush, not worrying about the thistles and other devices planted by the natives for the sole purpose of injuring me.

When I did get a cut, though, I would pretend that it was a gushing near fatal wound. I would scurry back into the medical office (otherwise known as the kitchen), and look around for a doctor or nurse. Instead, i would find some horrid smelling slop sitting on the table waiting for me to devour it. I could have gone and found the nearest spoon which would aid me in my lunch. Instead, I would wipe off my hands and use my fingers to slowly and unwillingly eat the meal that consisted of mashed cow brains and whatever else my troops could find laying around in the grassy fields.

After I finished with the meal, I would go outside and make my way through the gunfire and over the bodies laying on the ground to our headquarters. I would climb up the ladder on the tree and in through the opening in the wood. Inside, I found maps of all sorts, a small cot to rest in, and more guns and ammunition. Before I had the opportunity to look around any further, I would hear the voice of my arch enemy, my father. I would carefully climb down the ladder and run off into the woods, only to find that he was following right behind me. No matter what I did, he kept narrowing the distance between us. When he would catch up with me, he would grab me in his arms. I always tried to wriggle my way out, but to no avail. He always would drag me back into the house and make peace in the daily wars that I held.

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