"Go Play Outside!"
- linnieaikensartist
- Jan 18
- 6 min read
Updated: Feb 22
Most of us kids born in the 50's and 60's constantly heard these words from our parents. Digital toys were simply not even a figment of one's imagination back then. We played outside. We used our imaginations and figured out how to entertain ourselves.
I ‘d been born walking on my tiptoes I think. Twirling in socks was what life was all about, wasn’t it? Would that life always be that wonderful and free! What made us little girls twirl from our earliest moments? What made little boys put frogs and beetles in their pockets? Of course, then there was me. I loved June Bugs for their beautiful, iridescent blue-green backs, and I loved to collect them off the screens in the early morning hours. I’d twirl around outside and then place them on the concrete driveway to watch them stagger in their own dizzy dance before they escaped me and flew away. The June Bug Dance.
Still, I never really completely fit the girl mode, my penchant for dresses and twirling notwithstanding. Baby Boomers had defined rules on what was appropriate for each gender, in clothes, toys and behavior.) Me? I was happiest with a box of crayons, a paint set, diary, a pair of scissors, a heavy metal Tonka dump truck and a few Barbies— necessities of life until I was about 9 years old.
When we lived on Griffith Park Blvd. in Silverlake for a few years, we would play out back behind our patio, down below on the fenced-in wooded slope, which then backed up to Safeway, now Trader Joes. Mom would rarely allow us to play on the slope, so more often, we could sneak down there without her knowing. Having been a mom now, I realize she probably knew very well where we were every minute, but she was either too tired to scold us yet again, or was relishing her unexpected gift of quiet even at the expense of permitting disobedience. Maybe also, she’d been privately smirking mischief, as we parents sometimes enjoy, knowing that her kids were happily gloating their secret victory over her while she secretly had one up on her kids all the while!
The “Jungle,” as we called it, had sections of dense bamboo forest with some Eucalyptus trees scattered throughout the open clearings. These bamboo forests made great hiding places when playing “cops and robbers”, “cowboys and Indians,” or war. It was the early 1960's after all. Mom called the jungle a mess and an eyesore, but to us it was amazing. One year my grandma had given all of us four girls toy machine guns for Easter gifts. Yes, you read correctly. Easter gifts! I know, I know. You are now having some serious doubts about my genetic make- up! Imagine four girls, aged 4 to 9, fitted out in realistic toy AK47 machine guns to complete their frilly Easter dress ensembles. Now THAT rich story, Grandma got to hear retold by us every year. She eschewed the grace to blush for a smirk instead.
I can only surmise what my mom thought at the time, but coupled with the fact that she and Grandma didn’t get along during those years and my own experience as a mom now, I grimace at the thought of how she must have viewed that gift! Poor Mom! I suspect that Dad enjoyed this greatly, as this is the man who spray-painted his fishing rowboat in camouflage colors, had done trick riding, ridden rodeo for years, regularly went hunting, and gave us shooting and gun safety lessons starting at 7 years old. Oh, not to mention the wilderness survival skills he'd taught us in the "Griffith Park Training Grounds." We all suspected that Dad had really wanted boys to follow in his footsteps.
Well, we became perfect tomboys instead. In those days, kids played outside. Period. Unless it was night or raining, that’s where we were. We’d invite the neighborhood kids over to our jungle to play war games. The Indian family next door hardly ever let their girls play at our house. Miriam’s parents, given their culture, must have been horrified that my parents allowed us little girls to participate in childhood war games, or worse yet, wear Levi pants! Pants on girls, much less, Levi’s, were strictly against my grammar school dress code during all of the 60’s, and later, I’d actually been paddled in the cloakroom by my 5th grade teacher for this very violation.
In any event, it was mostly some neighborhood boys that were susceptible to our lure of “the jungle.” They'd prop their Stingray bikes agains the fence from Safeway and sneak in over the fence that way, bringing their plastic sabers, tomahawks and cap guns. Of course, we girls were always the victors since we had toy machine guns, and it was our jungle after all. Yes, the Aikens girls were a formidable force even then.
Other days we found amusement elsewhere. Back up the hill on the concrete slab between the Jungle and the house we’d dress and redress and marry off our Barbies to the one Ken doll we had between us. We thought Barbies were both the stupidest creations ever made and the most valuable prizes to be hoarded at once. I confess here that we really called them “boobie dolls”. Well, can you blame us? We fought bitterly over them, their clothes, their shoes, and of course, which one of us had the most beautiful boobie doll of all. We’d play house with them, spring regular weddings on them, and go on safari with them in “the jungle.” We even solved the great question which has plagued all American children’s minds at one time or another, and that is how to make Barbie dolls go to the bathroom. This was still several years before 1971, when I vaguely recall the advertisement for one of the first dolls that peed. To make a Barbie Doll go potty, all you have to say is, “go potty” really fast so that it comes out like “gubbidy gubbidy gubbidy”.
The influence of watching many black and white TV war movies, swashbucklers, and cowboys and Indians TV shows likely influenced much of our play, looking back now. On days when we tired of the “most beautiful boobie doll of all contest,” we’d line up our Barbies against the stucco wall of the house, then we four girls would line up in front of them with our toy machine guns in a firing squad. “All for one and one for all!” we’d chorally proclaim with 4-Musketeer passion before the dirty deed was done, then we’d parade around the patio waving our American flags once the foes were vanquished. It appears that we were bloodthirsty little bunnies. Then, in our “Raw Hide” T.V. voices, we’d “load ‘em up, and head ‘em out” in the big rig, metal toy Tonka Dump Truck and entomb them under the camouflage rowboat.
Luckily, Grandma Aikens had also given us one-man-bands for Christmas just prior. They were those seven-in-one contraptions that you strap onto your body. So we could give them a patriotic American burial, we’d wave our flags to the beat of tinny drums, clashing cymbals and piercing horns, as we'd marched back and forth on the concrete slab that
ran the length of our bungalow. No wonder my mother wasn’t fond of my grandmother during those years. Grandma must’ve been even less fond of Mom to have given us all machine guns and one-man bands—gifts clearly worth a thousand words!
I count myself lucky to have been born a Baby Boomer. Playing outside taught us to be resourceful in creating our own fun. We were never bored, and we never sat around. We weren't afraid of getting dirty or messing up our clothes; that's what "play clothes" were for. From making (and eating) mud pies to building towns out of sticks and leaves, and playing war games, we played, used our imaginations, learned social skills and conflict resolution. If we didn't know how to do something, we worked together to problem solve and figure it out. None of this had to be taught in school because it was already built into our play and the training provided by our parents. We got exercise and we slept well. There's a lot to be said for outdoor play.
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Note: All artwork, stories and observations posted within should be credited to the author, Linnie Aikens Lindsay (unless cited in the post). Permission is required for any use of my words or artwork. Taken from my work, "My Life As Wallpaper Art".
Very entertaining. Yes. You can bet your grandmother got you those One-Man-Bands and machine guns as a gift to your mom too. Dad’s side I assume? That really brings back memories because I received one of those for Christmas that year too. That thing was ridiculous and produced quite the cacophony. I remember that Safeway well but have no idea what it is now. It looks like a secret well protected office building. Anyway, it looks like the Ivanhoe/Micheltorena side of town was a lot of fun.