By Robin Garrison Leach

National Tin Can Day was a couple weeks ago. I missed it, along with most of the world, I would imagine. But the occasion got me thinking about tin cans (as we used to call them), and the many ways they’ve become part of our cultural coming-of-age memories.

If you grew up when I did, you found more uses for the lowly can than just as a food container. That can could be transformed into wonderful toys.

Once Mom dumped out its contents, it was up to us to rinse out the smell of the food, to discourage bugs and critters from climbing inside.

Tearing off the label of the green bean or tomato soup can was the first order of business. The last bit of paper label was glued with discolored adhesive; a final rip tore the remnants from the can. Now, the shiny container was ready for transformation.

Every kitchen had an ice pick, and it was perfect to begin construction of one of my favorite can-toy memories. We snuck it outside, aware that it was “not a toy” and “dangerous.” Bracing a can between our knees, we plunged the tip of the ice pick into the center of its upturned bottom. It plunked through with a satisfying ping. A second can was punctured the same way.

For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard