When I Was 6, My Parents Gave Me A Christmas Gift. None Of Us Knew It Would Change The Course Of My Life.
I was 6 years old when I received the Christmas toy that would change the entire course of my life and career. I had discovered it in a catalog and ogled it in the store, begging my parents for it, arguing that I wanted it more than anything in the whole world. The object of my little heart’s longing was a Fighting Knights Carry-All Action Play Set made by Louis Marx and Co., the same company that made my beloved Big Wheel.
This play set was basically a clunky metal briefcase that opened to reveal a walled castle courtyard, complete with an attachable gatehouse and drawbridge, as well as towers that slipped over the four corners of the opened case. It included two plastic armies of knights with horses, banners and catapults. On Christmas morning, I knew my prayers had been answered even before I ripped the paper off; I’d memorized the exact weight and proportions of the box during each of my visits to the JCPenney toy department in the weeks leading up to the holiday.
Over the next few months, while the rest of the country was glued to the TV watching Walter Cronkite share breaking news about the war in Vietnam, I was lost in medieval revelry. I played with my new treasure for hours, pitting the brave English knights in their gleaming silver armor against invaders from France or Scotland, or even Viking hordes, depending on my mood. My knights engaged in endless protracted battles, banquets, jousting tourneys and sieges, as I disappeared into a fantasy life in “my” medieval castle adventure filled with colorful, anachronistic splendor.
There was no way my parents could have known that this one special Christmas toy, with its endless hours of imagination set into a child’s fantasy version of the European Middle Ages, would place me on a path that would change the entire direction of my life in the most wondrous ways. Immediately I began checking out every library book I could find about castles, knights, kings and queens, swords, armor and jousting tournaments.
My interest quickly evolved into an all-encompassing obsession. Life in the castle began to take on the complexity I was discovering in my reading. My knights not only fought, but swore fealty to their lords, took on the training of squires, assumed titles like duke and baron, acted with chivalry or treachery. I invented characters and contexts for ongoing stories, intrigues, sudden reversals, shocking twists.
I had my own little stage on which to play out the thrilling stories I was discovering from the rich tapestry of medieval history. (Speaking of tapestries, when I turned 7 the following August, I used my birthday money to purchase a book at B. Dalton that featured a pullout facsimile of the historic Bayeux Tapestry! Yes, I was that kid.)
The very same year I opened the castle for the first time, my imagination already swirling with all things medieval, the second watershed moment in my destiny occurred in the form of Disney’s “Bedknobs and Broomsticks.” In this miraculous 1971 film, Angela Lansbury casts a spell that magically brings old suits of armor to life to defend England against a secret Nazi invasion. My brain exploded with new ideas for my armored friends in their stalwart castle.
I continued my exploration of the library’s medieval history section, gobbling up King Arthur stories and books about the Crusades, popes, monks, Venice, Vikings — whatever I could get my hands on. In 1973, David Macaulay’s “Cathedral,” a new book featuring mind-blowingly detailed pen-and-ink drawings of a Gothic cathedral, appeared on library shelves. That book got me started drawing castles and maps, inventing whole worlds inscribed upon reams of my accountant dad’s discarded columnar paper pads.
For Christmas that year I asked for proper graph paper, which would be better to draw tidy castle battlements. Macaulay later published “Pyramid” in 1975 and “Castle” in 1978, both books seemingly created just for me. I was in middle school by then, and you will not be surprised to read that history was my favorite subject.
In ninth grade I finally had a world history class, in which we actually studied the Middle Ages! My teacher was Mr. Cliff Avron, quite easily the coolest person I had ever met. He was a dynamic storyteller, a poet and a passionate and dedicated educator, whose classroom was decorated with maps and flags and posters filled with fascinating facts. I was in awe and decided that year that what I wanted most to be when I grew up was a ninth grade world history teacher, just like him.
All through high school I lurked around the history classrooms, bugging my teachers with endless questions. I had the very best history teachers ― inspiring, patient and encouraging. In college I majored in history and went on to get my master’s and Ph.D. in medieval history. My first job was teaching (you guessed it) ninth grade world history. I taught freshman world history for 15 years, before switching to university instruction and teaching mostly history education majors, hoping to inspire them as I was inspired.
My favorite class to teach? HI 300: The Civilization of Medieval Europe, of course, which I teach as though the class takes place in a university in the 13th century. I am now in my 37th year as a history teacher and medievalist, and I’m looking forward to retiring at the end of this spring semester.
As I reflect on my long and rewarding career, I am struck by how bizarrely relevant medieval history is right now, as we rush like a runaway train through these tumultuous, unprecedented times. Peasants beholden to their feudal landlords, an aristocratic elite with a stranglehold on power and money, an emboldened church culture that assumes the right to dictate morality — it all seems uncomfortably familiar.
As the world seems to be unraveling before our eyes, the study of history is more important now than ever. It provides perspective — a lens to clarify the haze of emotion, chatter and propaganda — and, more importantly, gives hope that things can change for the better.
The study of history is like a whole civilization going to see a therapist, to be guided through an analysis of how we got to this point. History seeks to uncover the origins, patterns and deeper contexts of our collective troubles and triumphs, reflecting on the steps we took (and didn’t take) to cause or address them. A society that studies its history deeply is less likely to become trapped in patterns of self-destruction. I am proud of the work I have done throughout my career to encourage thousands of young people to explore the grand parade of humanity’s past, to understand the twists and turns of our larger story, to commit to their role in shaping our future, and to teach others to do the same.
I am forever grateful to my loving parents for indulging my passion for history as a kid, beginning with that castle play set. Parents and caregivers may never know the seeds that are planted in a kid’s life when their early interests are lovingly indulged. Mine certainly couldn’t know how many other kids would benefit from that one special Christmas gift I received.
Kids know who they are. Trust them. If your kid wants a space rocket explorer for their birthday, or wants to talk your ear off about going to the horse farm, museum or sports arena, or is obsessed with Fender Stratocasters, or is constantly taking your small appliances apart and putting them back together again, they are telling you something essential about themselves. You can enable them to take their first small steps to change the world.
I don’t know what ever happened to my castle play set. It probably got sold off at a garage sale, or maybe I had lost enough of the pieces that it wasn’t worth keeping. A quick check online shows several complete 1968 vintage sets in pretty good shape, available for around $100. Should I get one?
Placing bid now ...
Charles Anthony Silvestri is an award-winning poet, writer, educator and speaker. He is the author of three books, and his poetry has been set to choral music by over 100 composers worldwide. If he’s not writing or teaching, you will likely find him hunched over his desk painting an icon, or playing concertina at weekly Irish traditional music sessions in a local pub. He currently lives in Lawrence, Kansas, with his partner, Jack, and their two cats.
Do you have a compelling personal story you’d like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we’re looking for here and send us a pitch at pitch@huffpost.com.
