Remember the Alamo! (And don’t forget to blog.)

Growing up in Texas, in San Antonio especially — where I moved when I was 7 — leaves you imprinted by the Alamo. You may go on to accept revisionism about that event, or you might ignore it all together, but the imprint is still there.

Every kid knew the story of the Alamo in some detail; every kid I knew, anyway, even the girls (some of whom grow up to be Daughters of the Texas Revolution). But it was more than just knowing the story, which really didn’t come up too often in daily life. Years later, I realized that I periodically re-enacted the story during play, with some names and details changed, behind Lincoln Log fortresses on top of card table hills. And not just me. I had friends who would help me set it all up and see it to its inevitable conclusion.

Of course boys play war games. My older brothers had battalions of toy soldiers that I largely inherited, and various kinds of war raged through our bedrooms and other domestic locales. One longstanding favorite involved a garrison facing impossible odds, standing to fight anyway, and dying to the last man.

At some point before I was born, or when I was very small, my brothers acquired two sets of figurines, known in boyhood parlance as “Disneykins” and “Tinykins.” (“DTs,” collectively.) The former were based on Disney characters, the latter largely (I think) on Hanna-Barbera characters. Very well-made figurines, I might add, about two inches tall with detailed paint jobs. No doubt someone collects them. But ours did not stay in mint condition, because we had things for them to do.

More than once I remember pressing the DTs into service, outfitting them with plastic weapons and forcing them to man toy cannons. Their assignment was to defend a fortress against impossible odds… perhaps you get the idea.

Actually setting up the force besieging the DTs was too much trouble, so the massed armies tended to be invisible. Sometimes just nameless hordes, but sometimes — originally inspired by the movie “Zulu,” no doubt — they were invisible Zulus. By tradition, Capt. Hook was in command of the fortress, and Top Cat was his lieutenant.

The Zulus massed for the attack. They lobbed shells into the fortress. Some of the defenders died; injured ones were attended to by Doc (the dwarf). The first Zulu attack was repelled, but they massed again. All talk of abandoning the fortress was rejected. The second wave came, cresting at the outer wall. More dead defenders — maybe Boo Boo Bear took a direct hit by a shell, or Peter Pan got shot in the gut (yes, he served loyally under Capt. Hook).

The climax, naturally, was the third attack, during which the Zulus overwhelmed the defenders. Also by tradition, Donald Duck died last, blowing up a supply of gunpowder along with himself and several hundred attackers.

What does it all mean? I don’t know. I didn’t grow up violent and I never went to war. Only the most literal-minded Elmer Fuddist really believes in that kind of cause and effect anyway. I’m middle-aged now and have slightly more sophisticated (but not revisionist) opinions about the Alamo, and about Zulus for that matter.