Kick the Can Still Works, If You Let Kids Run It

Quick answer: Pick one game, teach it in under two minutes, play the first round with them, then walk back to the porch. The arguments over the rules are part of the game. Don't referee them.

Eight kids, one empty coffee can and about forty minutes before dark. That's the whole kit. My grandfather taught a pack of us kick the can on a July evening by standing in the middle of the yard, explaining it once, counting to fifty with his eyes shut to show us how, and then going inside for pie. He never came back out. We played until somebody's mom flashed the porch light.

He knew something most of us have forgotten. These games weren't designed by adults. They were handed down kid to kid, and they work because nobody's in charge.

Teach it once, then leave

The instinct now is to organize. Cones, teams picked by a grown-up, a whistle, maybe a snack schedule. Resist it.

Your job is three things. Explain the rules in plain words. Play one round so they see it. Then go sit down where you can see the yard but can't hear every complaint.

You'll hear "that's not fair" within six minutes. Stay in your chair. A ten-year-old who has to convince seven other kids that he wasn't tagged learns more about persuasion, honesty and losing gracefully than he'll get from a semester of anything. If he's lying about the tag, the others will tell him so, and that lands harder than anything you'd say. It pairs nicely with the harder work of teaching a kid to tell the truth when it costs him something.

Step in for exactly three reasons: somebody's getting hurt, a big kid is being cruel to a small one, or a game has turned into one kid crying every round while the others laugh. Everything else, they can settle.

For the little ones, three to six

Small kids need games with one rule and a lot of yelling.

Red light, green light. One kid is the light, back turned, at the far end of the yard. "Green light" means run toward her. "Red light" means freeze, and she spins around. Anybody caught moving goes back to the start. First to tag her becomes the light. This is impulse control disguised as fun, and four-year-olds will play it twenty times in a row.

Mother may I. Same setup. Kids ask permission for moves: "Mother, may I take three giant steps?" Mother can say yes, no, or "No, but you may take two baby steps." The classic trap is forgetting to say "Mother, may I." Do it and you go back to the start. Kids who learn manners through a game tend to keep them.

Duck, duck, goose. You know this one. It still works. Sitting in a circle for a minute is good practice for a three-year-old.

For the middle years, six to nine

Sardines. Hide-and-seek, backward. One kid hides. Everybody else counts, then searches. When you find the hider, you don't shout. You squeeze into the hiding spot with them. The last kid still searching becomes the next hider. It works with mixed ages, it works indoors on a rainy day, and it always ends with five kids giggling inside a closet.

Ghost in the graveyard. Save this for dusk. One kid is the ghost and hides. The rest stand at base and count together: "One o'clock, two o'clock, three o'clock..." up to "Midnight! I hope I see the ghost tonight!" Then they spread out and search. Whoever spots the ghost yells "Ghost in the graveyard!" and everybody sprints for base. Anyone the ghost tags before they get there's the next ghost. It's mildly spooky, which is exactly the right amount.

Four square. You need a playground ball and chalk. Draw a big square on the driveway, split into four. Bounce the ball into another kid's box. Miss it, or hit it out, and you rotate to the lowest square. The kid in the top square, "king," gets to call special rules, which produces the best arguments you'll ever overhear.

For the big kids and big groups, nine to twelve

Kick the can. One kid is "it" and guards a can in the middle of the yard. Somebody kicks it as far as they can, "it" fetches it, sets it back, and counts to fifty while everyone hides. "It" goes hunting. Spot someone, call their name and where they are, then race back and tap the can. That kid's in jail. Any free player who sneaks in and kicks the can frees the whole jail, and "it" has to fetch the can and count again. It's part tag, part hide-and-seek and part heist movie.

Use an empty can or a plastic jug. Never fill it with rocks or sand to make it "go farther." Somebody will get it in the shin, and that somebody will be four.

Capture the flag. Two teams, two halves of the yard, a bandana for each flag. Cross into enemy territory and you can be tagged and sent to jail. A teammate can break you out by tagging you. Steal the other flag and get it home to win. It needs about eight kids and a decent-sized yard, and it teaches teamwork better than most practices, because the kid who guards the jail all game is just as important as the one who grabs the flag.

Red rover. Two lines facing each other, holding hands. "Red rover, red rover, send Jake right over." Jake runs and tries to break through. Break through, and he takes a kid back to his team. Fail, and he joins theirs.

Here's the honest part. Lots of schools dropped red rover years ago, and they weren't being soft. Kids got hurt, mostly arms, wrists and the occasional collarbone, usually when a big kid hit a line of small ones at full speed. If you play it, set three rules. Hands only, no linked elbows or wrists. Grass, never pavement. And keep the ages close. A twelve-year-old running at two seven-year-olds isn't a game. If your group is mixed, skip it and play capture the flag.

Picking who's "it"

Don't do this for them either. Let them use the old systems. "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe." "One potato, two potato." Or the fastest method ever invented: somebody yells "Not it!" and touches their nose, and the last kid to touch his nose is it. It's faster than any app, and nobody's ever successfully appealed it.

The rules you actually need

These are the only ones worth enforcing:

• Stay out of the street, and know which yards are off limits.
• When the streetlights come on, or the porch light flashes, everyone heads home. No negotiating.
• Big kids go easy on little kids. They don't let them win every time, but they don't flatten them either.
• You don't quit mid-game because you got tagged. You finish, then you can stop.
• Put it back. The can goes in the recycling, the bandanas come inside, the chalk goes in the bucket. Leave the yard better than you found it, especially if it's somebody else's.

That fourth one matters more than it looks. A kid who quits the moment he's losing will do the same thing at fifteen, at twenty-five and at his first real job. Let him be mad. Make him finish.

Getting it started when nobody knows the games

Most kids today have never heard of half of these. That's fine. Teaching them is the fun part.

Better yet, hand the job to Grandpa or Grandma. They'll remember a version you've never heard of, with chants and rules that varied by neighborhood. Let them argue about whether it is "ghost in the graveyard" or "bloody Murphy." Kids love finding out their grandparents were once kids, ran around yards and got in trouble for coming home late.

Plan on playing the first round yourself, the whole round, actually running. Then go sit down. If you keep playing, it becomes your game, and they'll wait for you to make the calls.

If you're trying to cut back on screen time, a standing Friday-evening game night in the yard does more than any rule. Kids don't miss the tablet when there's something better happening. That makes the phone conversation much easier when it comes. And if you're unsure which games your youngest can handle, what your four, eight and twelve year old can actually do is a good gut check.

One more thing. Someday your kid will be standing in a yard, explaining kick the can to a pack of kids who've never played it. Make sure he knows to count to fifty and then go inside for pie.