The Stick Inducted into National Toy Hall of Fame

No doubt about it, times are tough, with job cuts, the mortgage crisis and climbing costs. But an Associated Press story I chanced upon few months ago made me think: At least imagination is recession-proof.

The news: The National Toy Hall of Fame late last year put the stick - yes, the stick - in its ranks of legendary toys. The stick, along with the Baby Doll and the skateboard, joins the Strong National Museum of Play's collection of toy classics, including Mr. Potato Head and Crayola crayons.

Perhaps the best companion to the stick is 2005's joiner, the cardboard box. Curators at the Rochester, N.Y., museum praised the versatility of the stick. "It's very open-ended, all natural, the perfect price - there aren't any rules or instructions for its use," said Christopher Bensch, the museum's curator of collections. "It can be a Wild West horse, a medieval knight's sword, a boat on a stream or a slingshot with a rubber band."

Now this just makes me think of all the fun I had as a kind with such things. Yes, I loved my Barbie Dolls and Play-doh, but I think I have even more vivid memories of the time we got a deep freezer when I was seven. The appliance was my mother's, for storing meats and casseroles, but the box was mine, to do as I wished.

I remember it served a lot of play purposes. Some days it was my trusty spaceship, taking me (and occasionally one of the cats or dogs as a passenger) to Jupiter. Some days it was a runaway car, and I'd have to find a long scarf and pretend it was blowing behind me in the wind as I raced off to wherever my imagination was taking me. Sometimes a classmate or neighbor kid came over and we'd pull each other around in the box, enjoying how easily the cardboard slid over the concrete floor of the basement. Had I gotten it around Halloween, I might have imagined I was Dracula and risen out of my "coffin," to turn into a bat, no doubt, with the help of a towel - uh, cape - pinned around my neck and fly around, in search of blood. No doubt a punctured ketchup packet would have helped further the illusion.

The stick was a great toy as well. It was a fairy wand or something to skewer marshmallows for roasting on a summer night. That flaming ball of sugary goo never ceased to fascinate as it blistered and morphed into a crispy, oozy treat. At the beach it was a pen, something to draw lines and circles and letters into the sand. And of course, a good forked pair became that snowman's arms each winter.

But this got me to thinking about other recession-proof amusements for kids, as it were. Each good snowfall, the one where the snow was that sticky stuff that held together well served many purposes: Balled up small, it became snowballs. Rolled up into bigger circles, it became the torso and head of a snowman or the walls of a snow fort. And just plopping down in a fresh snowfall the white stuff became a palette for a snow angel.

As a kid I lived for a few years in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and shoveling never really was the best option. Instead the driveway would get plowed, and the snow would pile up over the winter. A couple good snowfalls in, and it would be piled up several feet high. I had the world's best winter playscape as far as I was concerned, and spent many happy hours climbing those mini-snow mountains and sliding down. And the highest peak was best always best for being a lookout for whatever games my imagination was brewing.

Back indoors, the couch cushion village was always the best hideout in the house. A few of those piled up just right and I had my own little nook to play with dolls in or watch the goings-on in the living room or just watch a scary movie.

The humble stick and plain cardboard box inspired so much fun. It was cheap, but priceless. They deserve their places in the toy hall of fame.

Pay a visit to the National Toy Hall of Fame: www.strongmuseum.org/NTHoF/NTHoF.html