We had game night every Tuesday, or might've been Wednesday, when me and my brothers played board games at "the little table" while Mom and Dad and my grandparents played cards at the dining table.
My oldest brother's favorite was Monopoly. I hated that game because he almost always won, and I almost always came in last even when our youngest brother was old enough to play. (this was before my sister was born...I was going on 18 when she was born)
Mom & Dad made us take turns choosing what game we played, but we still got in fights over it...but we got in fights over the rules of the games, too, so, par for the course.
My pick was always Scrabble, and Grant, my oldest brother and the self-appointed keeper of the dictionary, challenged me on at least 2 or 3 words every single game. Maybe that's why I have a pretty good vocabulary (my grammar stinks, but whatever).
Except for game night, we always played outside. Usually baseball.
Oh, and we played War a lot. We had this massive set of little plastic army men and military trucks and bivouacs and stuff, even a little field hospital, and we played with them on these 3 huge piles of dirt that our Dad gave us for Christmas one year.
Dad actually bought a huge dump-truck full of clean, kind of sandy soil, and hired some guy to dump it out in 3 separate piles in the old corral behind the house - one pile for Grant, one for Hoover, and one for me. (McKinley wasn't born yet)
Seriously one of my favorite Christmas presents of all time...a big ol' pile of dirt.
It was a blast playing on them after it rained. Dad and Gramps covered them with tarps when they knew it was going to rain, but they still got moist, and pretty wet around the bottom. It was a good 3 years before those piles of dirt completely eroded flat, mainly just from us playing on them.