There are few observations that I have assembled during my career as a globe-trotting bleacher bum more bewildering than that of children amusing themselves.  How in God's name do they do it?  And with such apparent ease and aplomb.  Look up the word "ease" in Roget's, and you will find listed the expression "mere child's play." This bit of information surfaced while I was conducting one of the many field interviews preparatory to, or is it for, this piece of scholarship.  I, of course, do not use or employ, nor do I resort to or avail myself of a thisaurus in my capacity as an author.  Hey, look!  See, I can't even spell the damn thing correctly.  If you have to rely on one of those for reference while you're writing, then by damn, "that's cheating," I say.  You might just as well be like that well-heeled scoundrel I sat next to on a commuter train to Chicago.  There he was shod in a pair of Gucci's, armored in a three piece Armani, wearing a Hermes noose around his neck with a matching sniff rag stuffed in the breast pocket, working on a crossword puzzle and using a dictionary.  It was an appalling spectacle.  How low can a man sink?  Makes you wonder if there really is a "Rock Bottom" down there.

Now, back to the subject at hand i.e., "mere child's play." My remarks shall attend to those children between the ages of three and a half and six years old; the tot stage.  No longer babies, yet still naive to the more sophisticated pleasures of co-ed bathing.  There is a trio of these frolicsome little marvels bounding about the beach in front of my verandah at this very moment.  They've been astir in one inane vivacity after another.  Half a coconut husk fastened with a metre length of string had them occupied for nearly an hour and a half.  They would rest a seashell inside the husk and slide it across the sand.  Great fun!  If the husk tipped over, dumping the shell, they would all start clapping hands and laughing.  Great fun indeed.  No doubt, there is a similar assortment of tots enjoying equal revelry kicking a stone 'midst the breathtaking squalor of a Calcutta slum, or bouncing a ball in some small corner of an opulent Lake Forest estate.  Tots seem merrily oblivious to all things in life that usually oppress or uplift their elders.  And speaking as one of their elders, let me say that I resent them heartily for it.  It is most annoying to sit around all day feeling exceedingly bored while these benighted cherub-like items bounce balls and what not.

The problem is quite simple - tots don't play by rules and they don't have objectives.  Every adult, sparing those on the dole, would readily concede that rules and objectives are the very sinew of civilized society.  Nature herself, that Grand Dame of ample bosom, has rules and objectives (though most of the more strident of our modern environmentalists haven't a clue what they are).

Hearken back to these tots with the coconut husk on a string.  Dragging that husk around with a shell in it is play.  O.K.  But add some rules and an objective and you've got yourself a game.  Keep it simple.  Each tot gets his or her own shell, coconut husk and equal length of string.  Draw a straight line in the sand, pick out a nearby papaya tree and mark, get set, go!  First one to the tree wins; the rest are losers.  Now that makes sense.  Let's say each of the adult spectators gathers three top-shelf seashells.  We put them in a coconut shell and whichever tot wins the race gets to choose one as a prize.  The losers, of course, get absolutely zip.  But, on the other hand, let's not punish them.  Also, a rather nice touch would be to award a free beer to the adult whose shell was chosen by each victorious tot.

Now I can hear some of those nauseating William Blake types bellyaching about the corruption of innocence, etc.  This is the crowd that lolls about looking for a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wildflower.  I mean, get serious!  Tots don't care about winning or losing, they say?  C'est dommage!  That's the trouble with the world today - too many people don't care.  Show me a person without a care in the world and I'll show you a careless person; tot or no tot.  And a careless person is generally an uncaring person as well.  Societies are cluttered with them.  Even here you'll spot one meandering merrily along the beach oblivious to the woes and wonders about him.  Watch him stumble over a fallen palm branch.  He'll just lay there without saying so much as "whoops" or "damn".  Why?  Because, damn it, he doesn't give a damn.  That's why!  It's as if he's thinking to himself.  "Oh, well, look at all this sand.  How nice.  There must be a world here somewhere."  So call me bourgeois, call me a product of capitalistic greed, but I want to live in a world slightly more expansive than a grain of sand.

These coconut husk races could be just the kind of amusement caring people might appreciate.  Maybe stir up a bit of gentlemanly wagering on the side.  Pass around fried cashew nuts, dried squid and a cooler full of cold beer.  Presto!  We've just shot an afternoon and now it's Happy Hour.  Sack the tots and bring on the whiskey and soda.