And Not A Single Eye Was Lost

If you’ve been following this blog since its genesis in 2004, and I doubt you have, you probably know that my son was but a mere babe way back when — not even a year old, to be exact.

But that was, what, 19 years ago? And despite not blogging as often as I used to, can you believe this lousy thing has been alive since then? Yeah. Makes me wonder too.

And since 2004, a lot has changed. He’s graduated high school, was in a relationship that recently ended (and trust me, he’s not broken up over it), and got his first job and as such, makes his own money. What that means is that if he wants to order something on Grubhub, he can. Lotto tickets? Absolutely. Gambling at the local Indian casino where the age limit is 18? Already done. Buy fireworks? Oh yeah.

Also, buy a BB gun? Yes. And yesterday, much to our surprise, he came home with his friend toting an official Daisy Red Ryder BB gun. No shit — the BB gun every kid used to have back in the day.

A few things I need to clarify here. I’m not a gun nut by any means. I’ve never owned a firearm and still don’t. That said, when I was growing up, all of the older kids on my block had a BB gun and to say that I had experience using one would be accurate, about as accurate as my aim.

On any given summer day in the spaciousness of one of their backyards, we would set up a gallery with anything we could find and open fire: cans, plastic jugs, anything that wouldn’t ricochet the small projectiles back and shoot our eyes out although that was still not a guarantee. And it was good, clean, childish fun because it was like a carnival knocking cans over and hearing the BB whir around a few times inside of it. Yep, a carnival — just without the prizes. And none of us got hurt.

Pump, aim, pull the trigger. TINK! Another can topples over. CLUNK! That milk jug filled with water just sprouts a leak. And so on.

So when Anthony came home with his, I had to relive my youth just a bit and see if I was still as good as I thought. He and his friend had arranged a table in the backyard and covered it with cans, old records (nothing anyone wants), and set up a cardboard box with a thick rug behind it to absorb the shots.

Anthony had put a cracked glass aquarium cover that was no use to us on the table. I took a look and said, “Upper right corner.”

I pulled the trigger and away the BB went — right on target, shattering what was left of the cover. Still got it.

*blows on tip of extended index finger*

After taking a few shots and then having to go back to work, I heard the two plinking their targets and reacting with such glee. Old records and their covers filled with tiny BB holes. Baseball cards of certain cheating players from 2017 riddled with damage. The cardboard box? You could shake it and hear all the BBs that it had swallowed up.

While my initial reaction to his purchase was surprise and, knowing Anthony’s luck, how long it would be before I would have to whisk him away to urgent care because of an accident, all went well — I hadn’t heard him enjoy himself like this in a long time. Granted it was something new but he and his friend were literally out there for four hours doing damage to all sorts of inanimate objects.

And the best part: no phones or social media. Just two teenagers enjoying time together partaking in something that their fathers did when they were kids.

Oh and Ann’s reaction? It was a little bit more worrisome until she remembered she and her dad blowing glass Christmas ornaments into oblivion when she was young because her mom was getting rid of them in favor of something new.

This could possibly explain why Ann is so good at Duck Hunt.

Good, clean, childish fun. We can all use some of that every now and then.