Kickin' it with my homies

Way before rap music hit the scene, I could kick it with anyone.

And I'm not talking about music.

You see, back in the day, another one of those games we played around the neighborhood was called Kick The Can.

To play, first you needed something to kick. The nearest trash can was always raided, and a suitable can, or metal object, wasn't too hard to acquire. Here and there we'd find a particularly nasty can, half full of something with a foul stench. That usually got thrown at someone in the group, and pretty soon the funk would grow, until you were almost immune to it. Almost...

The rules were simple enough: After designating someone in the group as "it," everybody else ran and hid while Mr./Mrs. It counted out to an agreed-upon sum (just like Hide And Seek), and then It would try to find people before they made their way back and - yep - kicked the can.

To mix it up, sometimes we would play with the rule that It had to tag you before you kicked the can, other times It just had to call out your name and hiding place before you could launch the metal skyward.

Either way, it made for great fun, especially if you have a neighborhood's worth of kids. The more you had, the better your chances of kicking the can and being "safe" for another round.

But the kicking wasn't always so easy.

There were times you were in a full-out sprint, high-tailing it for the can when out of nowhere, someone else's foot would propel the can away from you, and you had to regroup and pursue the can before setting your leg for liftoff.

Also, I remember a few times when the can became a deadly weapon. A group would descend on the can, and it would ricochet off the toe of one kid and maybe straight off the nose of another. Contact sport? You bet!

Somehow, kick the can hasn't stayed current. I can't remember the last time I saw anyone playing the game.

But the term "kick the can" is still alive and well in Congress. They can procrastinate and table a problem until later like real pros. And by pros I mean, why do we pay these clowns again?

Alas, to "kick it" means something totally different in our society today. The carefree days of my youth are fading memories, and I find myself kicking it more and more.

And every time I think about sprinting forth and launching a can, reality sets in.

I'd probably sprain a toe.

You can attempt to reach Jerry Hitchcock at 664-8176, Ext. 2017, or via email at [email protected]. Follow him on Twitter at HitchTheWriter.