P is for Pogs

Exhibit A:  Sonic the Hedge-pog

If P is for pogs, this might be a nostalgic post. 

Dictionary.com gives this helpful definition of pog…

n.

disc used in playing a game said to have originated in Hawaii and popular in U.S. during the mid-1990s; said to be from the name of a brand of juice, the bottle caps from it being used to play the game originally. 

…and this somewhat humorous example in its definition.

A small cardboard disk used by children in games : Hey, gimme back my pog! (1990s+)

You needed cases for your pogs.

An informative Wikipedia article—is there any other kind?—explains the origin of pogs and rules of the game. I also learned, “Because many children would keep the pogs they won in games from other players, many school districts considered pogs a form of gambling. Pogs proved to be major distractions from classes and the source of various playground arguments. These elements eventually led to the banning of pogs from various schools across North America.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pogs

So pogs became a major distraction from classes and the source of various playground arguments? You think? Along with Pokemon, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and now smart phones. Back in the 1960s, my best friend and I were sentenced to detention for playing Cat’s Cradle in class. And our string was confiscated.

The Pog Mothership back in the day

During the 1990s, my hub and I took the Brosius brood to vacation in Ocean City, NJ—is there any other OC worth visiting?—every summer. One year, the Surf Mall on the Boardwalk overflowed with pogs . My boys and I bought dozens upon dozens of the colorful discs, for I craved them as much as the boys did for two reasons.

The primary pog purchases were for Vacation Bible School later in the summer. The Surf Mall had Christian pogs! Let me rephrase that:  They had Christian-themed pogs. The pogs themselves had not actually prayed the sinner’s prayer, although I also saw some disturbing pogs that needed to ponder the 4 Spiritual Laws. 

Are these Christian pogs? No, but they're under conviction.

Anyway, I stocked up on pogs with Bible verses, Christian slogans, and pictures of crosses, Jesus, and Bibles to use as VBS prizes. I (may) remember I taught third and fourth graders that summer. Or maybe first and second graders. The pogs proved to be a wildly successful incentive. Children were seen wandering the streets of Montandon each afternoon, repeating words from little cards to memorize the day’s scripture verse. The next morning I administered a written quiz, yes a written quiz, on the verse, and presented the precious pogs to the pupils who prevailed.

Somewhere in that hoarder’s paradise I call home, I still have the children’s scripture quizzes, misspelled in ways that generate guffaws while bringing tender tears to my eyes. 

I'm sure I still have these...

and these.

Also in hoarder’s paradise are my pogs, the ones I didn’t give as prizes. The ones I bought just for me: My Star Trek and Muppets pogs. That’s two separate categories, although I surely would have bought pogs that combined the two. Who wouldn’t want to see Miss Piggy

striking a flirtatious pose with Lt. Commander William T. Riker?
 

I wonder if my high school Bible students would respond to pogs…

Christmas Lights Deprivation

            In addition to broken ankles and a host of other physical and psychological ailments, I suffer from Christmas Lights Deprivation. This disorder is caused (in my case) by being confined indoors—note earlier reference to broken ankles—without access to the beauty of illuminated outdoor Christmas displays, or IOCDs.

            That is one reason I was thrilled to attend the Christmas program at Watsontown Christian Academy on December 5. In addition to the inspiring (and sometimes hilarious) entertainment and the joy of reuniting with my students and friends, I rode six miles there and back with my nose pressed against the window like a dog, panting for Christmas lights.

            I enjoyed every house that had so much as a solitary electric candle in a window, and many homes and the town itself offered much more. Back home, from my bedroom window, I can see only one IOCD:  The neighbors across the street have several strings of white and colored lights across the front of their rental. God bless them for leaving them turned on all night!

            When my sons were little, we frequently drove from our home in Montandon to Mt. Pleasant Mills, about 25 miles, to visit their paternal grandparents. One Christmas evening the weather turned nasty, and we made our return trip through snow flying at the windshield, reminding me of the view from the bridge of the Enterprise as it zips through space at Warp 8. As a Trekker, I enjoyed that sight, but as a white knuckled passenger even on sunny days, I was clinging to the door and praying for mercy as we crawled along, unable to glimpse the road ahead.

            Every few tense, blind minutes, Christmas lights magically appeared to our left or right, assuring me our car was still on Route 35, inching toward Selinsgrove. I doubt the homeowners had us or other confused travelers in mind when they illuminated their properties, but their IOCDs guided us that night.

            Not only did Jesus proclaim, “I am the light of the world (John 8:12),”  he also told his followers, “You are the light of the world (Matthew 5:14) .”  

            He explained, “A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven (14 – 16).” 

            Indulge me my paraphrase:  A house built alongside the road cannot be hidden. Neither do people hang Christmas lights and fail to plug them in. Instead they turn them on every night and they give light to everyone on the road. In the same way, let your IOCDs—the lights on your houses AND the light in your hearts—shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.

            May you give and receive the gift of Christ’s light this season.

Toy Sale

            I’m not a skilled shopper and I don’t like crowds. The closest I’ve come to a Black Friday experience occurred in the early 1980s. 

            Carol, my neighbor and friend, had a preschool daughter Erin about the same age as my son Kyle. Carol told me about a fundraising event in Northumberland, sponsored by an organization, maybe Kiwanis. They somehow had a large quantity of damaged toys or sets with missing pieces, enough to reconfigure them into complete, new toys. 

            So early one Saturday morning, we traveled from Montandon to Northumberland and stood outside in the chilly air for not too long. I seem to remember Carol was somewhat pregnant, while I had a baby in a carrier, and hopefully the older kids were with their fathers. Who remembers? When the doors opened, we rushed in, and I was immediately dazzled by all the wonderful, cheap toys.

            More toys were geared to girls than boys, but I nabbed a little wooden two step slide by Creative Playthings. DON’T Google this product; it was recalled as a death hazard! Nevertheless, Kyle loved it, and all my boys enjoyed it for years. 

            I also bought a large doll house, in spite of it being a girly object. It came disassembled in a box as a stack of walls that fit together with slots. That item also lived a long, happy life with the Brosius boys. Dozens of Ninja Turtles and Marvel Superheroes scaled its walls and used it as a secret hideout. Best of all, it took very little effort to destabilize the structure, and the boys loved watching it collapse on its inhabitants.

            Years before my sons were young men with expensive tastes, before they were teenagers with little taste, before they discovered pricey video game systems and Lego sets more costly than a week’s groceries, they had no Christmas wish lists and reveled in refurbished toys from a fundraising sale.

            It was a merry Christmas.