Crabapple wars. Math, science, history…those were all just distractions from what was really important in life. Crabapple wars.
I went to my best friend Jimmy’s house every single day after school, starting when I was just four years old. Well, it was his grandma’s house, to be specific. We’d rush home after school and, when we weren’t marveling at the “extreme blood and gore” of the “better” version of Mortal Kombat on the Sega Genesis (young readers, look it up!), we’d run out into his backyard and play. Often it was with the Nerf Turbo or “Whistler” football (so awesome), but many times it just came down to simple crabapple wars. And they were glorious.
But our elders didn’t think they were quite so glorious, having to deal with the aftermath of blood-red crabapple stains all over our clothes. When we sat down to eat at the end of the day, they’d scold us by insisting “Eat your vegetables!” because of course, we tried to avoid them like the plague. If we ate our vegetables, then we were allowed to get back to playing, either outdoors shenanigans or video games.
I no longer hate vegetables. In fact, I think they’re pretty darn tasty if you know how to cook them. But I’ll never forget those three simple words, which in our situation, often signified two simple words, “Game on.”
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