Back in grade school, I was very into Ghostbusters. I’m still into Ghostbusters, for what it’s worth, but my current normal amount of fandom pales in comparison to that of young Mark from ages 5-9. I watched the cartoons, dressed up as a Ghostbuster for Halloween, even saw the live-action movie after my folks taped it for me off a City TV airing,* and obviously had all of the action figures. Though theoretically, I didn’t need the action figures or the plastic-and-foam model proton packs, since I just used pieces of wood.
* = you might point out that the Ghostbusters film is a little too adult for a child of my age, but I think it was a case of my parents realizing that once I knew this movie existed, it was an unwinnable battle. But it was okay, since I turned out perfectly well-adjusted! Right?! *tumbleweed GIF*
Let me explain, and address the actual “back in grade school” part of this. During recess, I tended to just hang out by myself in some random corner of the playground rather than play with other kids. My primary school had an enormous open area (multiple ball diamonds, a soccer field, even a wooded area) that lent itself to nerdier kids like me finding a quiet little spot to play my little imaginary games. Naturally, these turned into Ghostbusters stories, with my own self cast as usually the lone Ghostbuster against any number of ghouls and creatures, sometimes with the occasional cameo from one or two of the original gang. My Egon impression is still pretty dead-on, btw.
Any good game needs its props, so what I did was fashion any number of sticks into makeshift toys that would serve as the ghost trap or wand-end of a proton pack. I say “fashion,” but it wasn’t like I was out there whittling away like Geppetto or anything — I just found sticks that were already somewhat shaped like the gear I needed. These weren’t giant tree branches, just smaller pieces of woods that were easily handheld, and could be kept in a jacket pocket once recess was over.
As time went on, naturally some sticks would be damaged, or lost, or I’d simply find better sticks in better shapes and discard older ones. Finally I came across two that were of particular good quality. One had a little bend at the end that actually looked something like the handle of a ghost trap, while the other had most of a vague wand shape but also kind of a bulb at the end, which in a pinch could look like a ghost’s head. If I recall correctly, I think I found these sticks around the fourth grade, or right around when my Ghostbusters fandom started to wane just a bit.
And then I proceeded to keep the sticks for the next 30 years. They’re actually sitting next to me right here as I type this.
Now, first question — no, I don’t still play imaginary games with them. I just got used to carrying them around, and that eventually molded into just having them within arm’s reach at most times. Perhaps in the same way that some people might have a lucky rabbit’s foot or a lucky penny, I just have a couple of wooden sticks. After 30 years, they’re both still surprisingly sturdy, though one has taken a few cracks and chips. The “ghost head” is maybe about half-missing at this point, creating a bit of a crest that looks like the “head” has Conan O’Brien’s haircut. Did child Mark somehow know that I’d eventually become a Conan fan?! Oooooh, spooky.
I bring this weird affectation up because, for the first time in years, I came close to losing the ol’ sticks for good. It happened during a recent laundry, when I tossed a shirt into the washer without realizing the sticks were in the pocket. I realized my error within five minutes and stopped the wash to retrieve them, and no harm was really done. Interestingly, 30 years of usage had made both sticks feel quite smooth, yet just a brief power wash seemed to eradicate all those years of hand oils and return them to feeling like….well, like pieces of wood.
Not really sure what the endgame is with these sticks. Should I have a provision entered into my will stating that they be bronzed and buried with me after I pass? Or should I see that they’re both returned to my public school’s woods, from whence they came? Or will I, a grown man, realize that this affectation is silly and….hahaha, I can’t even finish typing that with a straight face.
* = you might point out that the Ghostbusters film is a little too adult for a child of my age, but I think it was a case of my parents realizing that once I knew this movie existed, it was an unwinnable battle. But it was okay, since I turned out perfectly well-adjusted! Right?! *tumbleweed GIF*
Let me explain, and address the actual “back in grade school” part of this. During recess, I tended to just hang out by myself in some random corner of the playground rather than play with other kids. My primary school had an enormous open area (multiple ball diamonds, a soccer field, even a wooded area) that lent itself to nerdier kids like me finding a quiet little spot to play my little imaginary games. Naturally, these turned into Ghostbusters stories, with my own self cast as usually the lone Ghostbuster against any number of ghouls and creatures, sometimes with the occasional cameo from one or two of the original gang. My Egon impression is still pretty dead-on, btw.
Any good game needs its props, so what I did was fashion any number of sticks into makeshift toys that would serve as the ghost trap or wand-end of a proton pack. I say “fashion,” but it wasn’t like I was out there whittling away like Geppetto or anything — I just found sticks that were already somewhat shaped like the gear I needed. These weren’t giant tree branches, just smaller pieces of woods that were easily handheld, and could be kept in a jacket pocket once recess was over.
As time went on, naturally some sticks would be damaged, or lost, or I’d simply find better sticks in better shapes and discard older ones. Finally I came across two that were of particular good quality. One had a little bend at the end that actually looked something like the handle of a ghost trap, while the other had most of a vague wand shape but also kind of a bulb at the end, which in a pinch could look like a ghost’s head. If I recall correctly, I think I found these sticks around the fourth grade, or right around when my Ghostbusters fandom started to wane just a bit.
And then I proceeded to keep the sticks for the next 30 years. They’re actually sitting next to me right here as I type this.
Now, first question — no, I don’t still play imaginary games with them. I just got used to carrying them around, and that eventually molded into just having them within arm’s reach at most times. Perhaps in the same way that some people might have a lucky rabbit’s foot or a lucky penny, I just have a couple of wooden sticks. After 30 years, they’re both still surprisingly sturdy, though one has taken a few cracks and chips. The “ghost head” is maybe about half-missing at this point, creating a bit of a crest that looks like the “head” has Conan O’Brien’s haircut. Did child Mark somehow know that I’d eventually become a Conan fan?! Oooooh, spooky.
I bring this weird affectation up because, for the first time in years, I came close to losing the ol’ sticks for good. It happened during a recent laundry, when I tossed a shirt into the washer without realizing the sticks were in the pocket. I realized my error within five minutes and stopped the wash to retrieve them, and no harm was really done. Interestingly, 30 years of usage had made both sticks feel quite smooth, yet just a brief power wash seemed to eradicate all those years of hand oils and return them to feeling like….well, like pieces of wood.
Not really sure what the endgame is with these sticks. Should I have a provision entered into my will stating that they be bronzed and buried with me after I pass? Or should I see that they’re both returned to my public school’s woods, from whence they came? Or will I, a grown man, realize that this affectation is silly and….hahaha, I can’t even finish typing that with a straight face.
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