Remember when you were a kid and if all else failed you could always find a stick to entertain yourself? Well, don't laugh too hard, but along with the Baby Doll and the skateboard, the "Stick" has earned its place in the Toys Hall of Fame.

According to an article on Yahoo.com, these childhood prizes of yesteryear are now part of a lineup of 38 other nostalgic tools such as the bicycle, the kite, Mr. Potato Head and Crayola crayons.

The "Stick," according to the article, was praised for its "all-purpose, no-cost, recreational qualities" and the induction was based on its "ability to serve either as raw material or an appendage transformed in myriad ways by a child's creativity."

I could not agree more. I recall at the age of seven, with little else going on in my neighborhood in Richmond, Calif., going outside to play with mom's permission of course, and quickly discovering I was the only kid at the playground. Okay, so I didn't mention it was 8 a.m., but I thought everyone came out to play at that glorious time of day.

Like any other kid that age, I was very much into cartoons, but that day I had too much energy to sit in front of the television. To my rescue came a stick, resembling an under-nourished two-by-four, semi-buried in the bark and dirt. Already a sports nut having gone to my first Oakland A's game the previous summer, the stick was the perfect length for impersonating a baseball bat.

Christopher Bensch, the curator of collections for the Hall of Fame in Rochester, N.Y. at the Strong National Museum of Play noted how sticks are "very open-ended, all-natural, the perfect price, and there aren't any rules or instructions for its use."

Tell me about it. All of a sudden, with my new baseball bat, excuse me, toy, I was now Reggie Jackson, or Willie McCovey, or whoever I chose to be because I could let my imagination run wild.

I can't say if the rock has been inducted into the Toys Hall of Fame, but it should be. It was also very instrumental in my childhood as I became quite adapt at entertaining myself for hours. With my stick in my left hand, I would find a rock in the dirt that, for whatever reason, seemed as if it would carry well once my stick came in contact with it. With the right hand, I'd toss the rock in the air about two feet over my head and out in front of me and, at the precise moment, I'd smack it with my stick.

Of course, while the rock was on its downward path, I would have gathered both hands on the stick, stepped forward on the lead leg with a stride Tony Gwynn would admire, and, with head down and perfect technique, given it my mightiest swing. Naturally, in true baseball playing fashion, I would hear the crack of the bat … okay, the stick, and then watch the impact send the rock flying over the playground's fence to "straight-away center field" (an intimidating 50 feet away mind you), and admire it with a follow-thru reminiscent of the "Sey Hey Kid."

I guess the chorus from "Back in the Days" by Los Angeles rapper Ahmad said it best:

"Back in the days when I was young I'm not a kid anymore, but some days I sit and wish I was a kid again."

No kiddin'!