My grandfather was a jolly old fellow with silver hair and some gaps in his row of teeth. He played war games with us sometimes and taught us things called strategy while fighting.
“You let the enemy advance into your territory,” he said while moving our tin soldiers, bottle caps, and wooden dogs who made up our army, further into his side.
“Then you cut off their supply line.” He would draw a line far behind our armies. “They will starve to death, without food, without medicine, without ammunition.” And all of our soldiers would fall down one by one. And he would win. We had to each give him whatever form of payment we deemed fit. Half eaten chocolates, spool of thread or a kite.