More specifically, ours c.1960 were 2x4s (now that's inflexible!) with metal shoe-skate wheels nailed on. Every single sidewalk crack was terrifying! After giving them a good try, we bandaged up our elbows, knees, and chins and pretty much went back to our nonstop baseball/tackle-football/basketball/track-and-field/boxing/rockfights.
Libs would go nuts (more than they already are) if they saw us having our BB gun fights in the neighborhood.
My dad used to pay me for every bird I shot that was trying to eat his tomatoes. I became a darn good shot and went on to be the series high shooter in boot camp. Ten bull eyes out of ten shots from 500 meters!
We had our Snowball fights back in Detroit. The agreement among us kids was not to throw any snowballs at old people. or definitely not at anybody’s cars. The people with three personal cars parked on our street were always watching behind their curtains when we played in the streets. I recall a Mr. Jones running outside in t-shirt and long johns ‘brandishing’ a folded umbrella, because somebody’s child was sitting on the hood of his car eating a candy bar. He about lost it for a moment, till Mrs. Jones called him back into the house.
“nonstop baseball/tackle-football/basketball/track-and-field/boxing/rockfights. “
Those were the days!