Marlboro Man

Virgin Sacrifice and the Marlboro Man

Sacrificing virgins to the Sun God is not precisely part of the Anabaptist/Mennonite tradition, but it should be.  It’s lots of fun providing you don’t happen to be the virgin. Having recently lived in the Middle East I now have some  understanding of the relationship between traditional Islamic theology and virginity.  However, on the economic side of the scale I can understand the function of demand, but I am still a bit vague on the supply side of the equation.  Where do all of these virgins come from, certainly not Eastern European countries or the Middle East itself.  I do however understand the motivational qualities of offering virgins for incentive.  Although given a choice between 72 virgins, which seems to be the standard rate for martyrdom for acts rendered against infidels, and say a dozen quality pole dancers; I would tend toward the pole dancers just in terms of experience over inexperience. However, when it comes to religion nothing is really logical.  Its all about faith.

My childhood experience with virgin sacrifice really has to do with innocent role playing and the co-operation of my sisters and some of her girl friends.  I have black and white photographs attached to black pages with photo corners in a very old album documenting some of our backyard butchery, and sacrificial rituals.  Our role playing included a range of games including: “Cannibals and Missionaries”, ”Cowboys and Indians”, Cops and Robbers”, “Imperialists and Neo-Colonials”, and the ever popular  “Anabaptists and Catholics”.  Each game really followed a template or theme in which forces of good were pitied against forces of evil.  Just like photography the world in the 1950’s was a much simpler place and social issues could literally be viewed in terms off black and white.  It was not until the invention of colour photography that the world become a much more complicated place.

TV Westerns were all the rage when I was growing up.  I was weaned on multiple seasons of Gun Smoke, Bonanza, Rawhide and the Lone Ranger.  Each of the lead characters in these shows were strong individuals with a clear sense of justice frontier style.  If you really want to understand the American Psyche today one need only understand the frontier mentality of rugged individualism, personal weaponry, subduing native populations, expansionism, the Monroe Doctrine and Manifest Destiny, or just watch the steely nerves and determination Sheriff Mat Dilon or the Marlboro Man, if he hasn’t died from cancer yet.

Besides getting an electric slot car tract with remote controls, the gift I wanted most for birthdays or Christmas was a holster with a twin set of six shooters.  I got both three years apart.  I was blessed.

Cap guns as they were called were a wonderful invention. It brought an incredibly high level of realism to our role playing adventures.  Often when my friends came to play in my backyard no one wanted to play the down trodden native roles as we had already developed quite precise stereo types from the reality Western TV shows that we were bombarded with and eagerly absorbed.  Is there a connection between the medium of TV and movies when it comes to violence in society.  You bet there is and its only gotten worse over time. I would shoot anyone who disagrees with that thesis.

My neighbours did not appreciate our games because these games usually involved our occupying, at least temporarily, their yard as well as our own yard. Like the real world games mimicking acts of violence require territory.  How does one “win” without taking away land or property.  Our occupation of the neighbours yard involved running through their hedges, gardens and hiding in their window wells and garage, climbing their fences and wearing a path around their house, all reasonable collateral damage.  Does no one watch the world news any more?  For some reason the Wilson’s frequently complained to my parents.  I never understood why that was.

My Dad, who was a real handyman, built a playhouse in our backyard, perhaps to lure us away from the neighbours yard or just because he could, like one climbs a mountain. It became a focal point for neighbourhood play and probably bought me a few extra friends along the way.  It was an amazing playhouse unlike these modern day plastic versions, ours was spacious, with real glass windows that actually opened, shelves on the interior and furniture.  I grew up happy, content in my knowledge that real estate usually appreciates over time. 

My sisters used the playhouse in their silly girl simulation games involving themes of goodness, purity, and domesticity and often received the “Good House Keeping Seal of Approval” for their efforts.  Girls were handicapped and their imaginations were stifled because their TV role models hadn’t been developed yet. There was no “Desperate Housewives” or “Sex in the City”; so naturally girls in the 50’s simply didn’t know any better. Their games did not pit forces of good versus evil as in the real world, instead they seemed to play with an abundance of goodness.  What fun is that?  Girls can be so weird.  No wonder boys and girls don’t want to play with each other at that age.  Its as if men were say from a different planet like Neptune and girls were from some other planet like Saturn or Mercury or something.  I’m still working on that comparison.

The playhouse had to be shared on a rotational basis.  Once the girls were finished playing and moved on to some other silly game, the boys could take over with a real game.  My favourite game with the playhouse was called “Under Siege” and we had to defend our fort against invaders, who could alternatively be pirates, Nazis, War Lords, Indians or Communists.   

I remember vividly and with some degree of horror as myself and three defenders were under a particularly harsh and unprovoked surprise attack of our fort my a wild horde of Native Americans.  We were almost out of ammo, our food and water supplies were low, and morale was clearly starting to lag.  We were our numbered in a ratio of at least two to one. The sun was setting and we could sense a heightened level of hostilities, the proverbial calm before the storm.

We each defended a window as the invaders circled on their horses around and around the fort at dizzying speeds and with great agility, their war cries pieced the night air and we were getting scared.  In one crescendo of action my buddy, David, standing to my right took his toy cap gun by the barrel  and using the handle like a hammer smashed out the glass window on our playhouse presumably to get a better shot. 

I was in shock and I guessed a little over wrought myself from all the preceding action.  I  screamed at him,  “Holy shit David this is only a role playing activity what the hell did you break the window for?”  David was speechless.  Gently I took his gun from his clenched fist and slowly stepped back.

The whole game came to a sudden halt.  I mean some kids just can’t separate fact from fiction.  Needless to say David never again was allowed to defend the fort.  He eventually took on the role of an enemy agent.  His family moved from the neighbourhood and the last I heard he had hit rock bottom selling hedge funds.  Role playing is not for everyone.