This is frustrating. When I felt this frustrated at the age of five I would retire to my sandbox and focus my magnifying glass on small red ants until a column of smoke arose and I imagined I was attacking Rommel‘s tanks in North Africa.
I was a part of the post war generation and World War II was an active memory. I lived in a neighborhood filled with fathers who had grizzly trophies from the war.
One of my neighbors had black and white photographs from when his father liberated Buchenwald. pretty horrifying. So stuff like this wasn’t quite as twisted as it actually sounds. It was the background noise of life as a child in the 50s.
After a while, I realized how lame and pointless this was and stopped doing it But I almost wish I had a sandbox right now.