Little Green Army Men

“Discovery of self is the start of the discovery of the universe.”

House parties were BIG during the post-high school/college days.  There were colloquially known as “keggers,” yet drinking was never limited to just beer.

Now during these parties, every room was fully utilized.  I mean, every room served its purpose. “Wink, wink, nod, nod.”  Music, talk, and maybe some dancing filled the living and family rooms.  The back patio was for the smokers, every type of smoker, and for those party-goers who needed “a little fresh air.”

And then there was the kitchen. Traditionally the kitchen was where you would find the 15.5-gallon keg of beer and a mountain of the now-ubiquitous red plastic cups.  Therefore, the kitchen was the one spot in the house that everyone visited at least once. If for no other reason than to confirm that they were at the right party. It was like touching the keg connected them to everyone at that party.  Now without retribution, they could say…”I was there!”.

The kitchen was where you would find me sitting on one of the countertops with my red cup of beer, a beer that would last me all night long.

As people floated by, I would engage those I knew in conversation. Most of the time, we would chit-chat, yet on occasion, our discussion would grow deep and heavy until someone else would saunter by and tell us to lighten up and coax the passersby to rejoin the festivities.

But I would stay. My spot in the kitchen afforded me the duality of being “at” the party but not “in” the party.  From my perch, I could observe a world that fascinated me. I’d watch the parade of my peers.

There would be groups of boisterous and animated guys. I see the girls make their entrances, walking with poise yet subtly nervous. I’d see the couples enter and watch them scan the party for other couples. I was fascinated, but only from a distance. I never ask myself, “Why would I find this enjoyable?” 

At the time, I wouldn’t have been able to answer that question.  But I now know the reason, the reason why I preferred to be in the audience and not a player on the stage.  And that answer runs deep into my past.

As a navy brat, we moved often. Because of our peripatetic lifestyle, I was perennially the “new kid” in town. And if that weren’t enough, I was just plain shy.  I often found myself playing alone in my room.  Playing with my little green army men. Or in retrospect, should I say, my “Little green army therapists.”

First, I would plot the battleplans on some school notebook paper.  I’d roughly sketch my room, the dresser, my bed, the window, and my desk. Then I’d overlay these sketches with troop placements, replete with artillery. I had strategized the installation of both the defensive positions and offensive positions.   Once I was satisfied, I would dig my tiny green troops out of my toy box. 

I’d strategically place one set of troops on the high ground of my chest of drawers.  I’d position the grenade throwers and riflemen on the very top.  In one or two of the partially opened drawers, I would place my machine gunners, and walkie-talkie guys.  And after I had all the battlefield lines are drawn and my plans of engagement scribbled down.  I would then take that piece of paper and fold it into an airplane.  In the groove that ran the length of the plane, I put my general. 

On the floor and up on my bed, I’d have the opposing forces — the underdog troops who had the impossible task of taking the high ground. And if I could find them in the colorful menagerie of my toy box, these troops would have artillery — small metal cannons and tanks. 

I would then make many paper airplanes complete with hand-drawn insignia unique for each of the opposing sides.

I’d lay down on the floor with my troops and look up at the edifice of the chest of drawers and knew that this was going to be an uphill battle, but these men (these tiny green army men) had the can-do attitude.

Once I had placed all the troops in place, the battle would commence.  The ground troops would make there move to take the chest of drawers. 

As these battle lines clashed, I created a dialog and the sound effects.

“ratta tat tat.”

“Sergeant, I have been hit!”

“Boom, Crash…Boom!”

“They are tearing us to pieces!  We need artillery support.”

“Kasutt, crack, boom!”

“General, we’ve taken the first level.”

And on and on. Until all the paper airplanes had been shot down, littering the floor as just crumpled pieces of paper. Most of the armament was tipped over, signifying destruction.

These battles would go on for hours.  Often my mom would peak inside to my room to ensure that the relative silence wasn’t a reason to worry.  

These little green army men did more than show courage, bravery, and sacrifice.  They were a well-trained force that helped me deal with my shyness and my introverted nature.  They taught me courage.  They personified bravery.  They help me work through all obstacles and build perseverance. The perseverance that they demonstrated on my bedroom floor.

These little green army men helped me through all those tough times of adjustment to a new city and new friends. From them, I learned that solitude held infinite possibilities of enjoyment.  That solitude recharged. That solitude was my “Library Time.”

My reminiscing allows me to see my roots, to realize my true nature, my introverted life.  I am an introvert in an extroverted world.  And I’m OK with that.

These men of pressed green plastic carried me over the troubled rivers of introversion. It allowed me to sharpen my intrapersonal skills and taught me to learn from each daunting new world that became our new home.  It taught me that being an introvert was just an opportunity to see a wild world from a different perspective.

From my perch above the keg, I witness the passionate interactions of the party wildlife.  What I learned, in measured dosages, was how to connect with always new, larger, more extroverted world, a world beyond the four walls of a lonely room.

We all search to find our place in this world.  By serendipity, I found my way by following the path blazed by my tiny green army men.