A Children's Game

There's an expression that seems to sum up simplicity itself: “It's child's play.”

But is having fun really so simple when you're a child? And how much has the way children have fun changed compared with the past?

Perhaps what has really changed is the way of being a child.

The street versus the virtual world

A teenager in today's society, surrounded by comforts and technology but also by many uncertainties, tends to experience social life virtually, often withdrawing into the domestic world, where communication and interpersonal relationships are entrusted almost entirely to social networks.

In the past, by contrast, the street was not regarded as something frightening, not even for younger children. It was the only real place to have fun and socialise and, at the same time, somewhere character was forged—sometimes at the cost of a grazed knee or a bruise, carefully hidden before returning home to avoid getting into trouble.

The greatest difficulty was finding enough time and making do with the few things available for entertainment. Once the first obstacle had been overcome, the second was met with creativity and manual skill, as well as genuine collaboration among children who knew how to improvise in almost any situation.

Chores came first

Returning home after school, many children found not only their homework waiting for them, but also the chores their parents had assigned before leaving for work. Homework might sometimes be postponed until evening; household duties allowed no such exceptions.

Even so, there was always an attempt to carve out a little time for play and join whichever group of friends was gathering that day.

On afternoons when Mum was at home and there were no particularly demanding chores, the question was always the same:

“Mum, can I go downstairs for a while?”

The inevitable reply came in the form of another question:

“Have you done your homework?”

The usual answer:

“I'll do it when I come back.”

And after an exhausting negotiation:

“All right then. Half an hour at most—and don't sweat!”

Rather like asking the sea not to make waves.

The football match

If you were to draw up a ranking of favourite games, football would undoubtedly occupy first place.

Any stretch of road that was slightly wider than the others could become a suitable pitch. Teams were usually organised by two members of the group: the most charismatic boy and whoever owned the ball. Through ittannu a tuoccu, a traditional way of drawing lots, they took turns choosing the members of their teams.

Matches had no predetermined finishing time. They ended when darkness arrived—or when everyone suddenly scattered after somebody's window had been smashed.

Mazza e pieuzu

But playing football wasn't always possible, sometimes simply because there was no ball. Alternatives, however, were never in short supply. A stick and a small knife were enough to create mazza e pieuzu.

A piece of wood about 70–80 centimetres long—the mazza—and another approximately 20 centimetres long, sharpened at the ends—the pieuzzu—were all that was needed. The game required at least two people and vaguely resembled baseball, except that there were only batters. It could be played in teams or individually.

The pieuzzu was placed in the middle of a circle previously drawn on the ground. The player whose turn it was struck one of its pointed ends with the mazza, making it jump into the air. While it was airborne, the player had to strike it again, sending it as far away as possible.

The distance was then measured using the mazza, from the point where the pieuzzu landed back to the edge of the circle. Each mazza-length counted as one point.

Grastieddu

Another game typical of our village in the 1960s was lu grastieddu.

Young people would arrive in the village square with their pockets full of walnuts gathered in the woods and challenge whoever happened to be there. There was nearly always someone willing to accept, hoping to build up a little stash of walnuts without too much effort.

The rules seem to have borrowed something from bowling. The person accepting the challenge placed a walnut topped with a ten-lira coin in one corner of the square. Standing at an agreed distance, the challenger began throwing walnuts from his own supply, trying to knock the coin down. If he succeeded, the coin was his; if he failed, he lost the walnut he had thrown.

In later years, despite increasing the agreed distance, it became difficult to find anyone willing to accept the challenge: the boys had become so skilled that they were making a strike almost every time.

So many other games

There were many more: acchiappà, ammuccià, unu mpunta la luna, la sittimana, lu circhiu, strusciu—played with picture cards—scuoppulu, sciusciu, and azziccamuru, played with bottle caps, buttons or marbles, whenever marbles could be found.

Others had to be made by the children themselves: la carriola, la friccia, lu strummulu, lu scuppittuolu, li pupiddi, lu friscariéddu, la zirria, and li stampelle.

These are only a few of the games that deserve to have their stories told. An association founded some years ago in Massicelle has already taken on that task, creating the Museo del Giocattolo Povero—the Museum of the Humble Toy—where the games played by children of earlier generations have been painstakingly collected, documented and reconstructed with great passion.

The way we play has changed

Today, children enter the technological age almost from the beginning. There is no longer any need to gather the group together: switch on the connection and the game can begin. You can interact comfortably from your own bedroom and even take a walk outdoors without going outside—all you need is Google Maps.

Football is no longer played with your feet but with your thumbs. If my mother could see me as a boy today, she might repeat what she used to tell me then: “Don't sweat!”

Even card games have become multimedia experiences. Although it does make you wonder: how do you secretly signal a briscola to your partner now?

Perhaps with an encrypted message.

Essential conditions

Once upon a time, in order to “connect to the network,” you had to find a way to get out of the house, hope it wasn't raining, gather the group, find the equipment and somewhere to play—and, finally, avoid causing any damage that might bring the games to an abrupt end.

Whether young people lived better then or live better today is not an easy question to answer. Every coin has two sides.

Life once involved considerable economic and social hardship, but perhaps it was lived with greater serenity and sociability. Young people today may seem drawn towards a kind of collective, apathetic immobility, yet they also inhabit a technological age that stimulates an intelligence capable of tackling even a discussion about the theory of relativity with remarkable ease.

There are, perhaps, some who have no doubts at all: the cheerful, nostalgic old man one so often hears repeating:

“Era megliu quannu stijamu peggiu.”

“Things were better when we were worse off.”