MaineCourse

Boo

I crawled out of our tent at about 2 AM and turned my flashlight in the direction of the boys’ campsite. Matt, Robby Nadler and Chris Grosjean were three hundred yards away, up a steep hill and beyond a thick, wet spring-nurtured, canopy of green. I assumed they didn’t see the light and I went back to sleep.
The next morning Matt asked, “Did you shine your flashlight at us last night?”
“That would have been me,” I replied.
“You freaked us out.”

Good, I thought to myself, mission accomplished.

Later, during breakfast (bacon, pancakes -tasty if I don’t say so myself- and eggs), Chris asked, “Was that you with the light last night?”
Matt interrupted me, “It was, I already asked him.”
But Chris continued, “We thought so. We sneaked into the woods and waited to attack you.”

When Matt was younger, I always haunted his tent, and successfully, I might add. Especially the years following the discovery of bear claw marks on the tree next to where he and the foster boys from next door would setup camp. I guess I picked tender targets, those foster boys, but that’s a story for someone else to write. I blame my penchant to terrorize on my brother Brian. He scared the bejesus out of Glenn, Arnold and me, one night when we were younger than Matt. And, we were sleeping in a tent in our yard in Westwood, a safe suburb of Cincinnati, with enough houses to slow a German Panzer division. We continued to be terrified even after we heard my mother yell, “Brian, get in here!”

When Peter and Eileen lived in Ed’s cabin in the early eighties, I would arrive unannounced, late at night, and tip toe around the outside of their cabin making scratching noises. From the inside with the lanterns on, you are as vulnerable as a freshly hatched Robin.

But that movie is over. The credits have rolled, I’ve dropped my popcorn box and left the theater. As I said to Chris, “I would have to be insane to sneak up on three boys with BB guns in the dark.” Think about it. They would have to be absolutely certain that the sounds they were hearing were mine not to open up with an obliterating barrage of BB’s. They were shooting at the hoot of an owl for gods sake.

Even knowing it was me, I’m not confident they wouldn’t shoot.







For a more benign view of the woods click here A new window will open.

You let those boys play with GUNS???

Posted by horrified in Wacton.

Michael, like the BB guns. Have you considered an upgrade to tanks? I hear there is place you can go in Ukraine where they'll let you drive and shoot them -- for a price.

Posted by Mark.

Having once been a boy roaming about with a BB -- later pellet -- gun, I find my reaction both disturbing and amusing, as envy messes with a more deep-seated horror at and mistrust of armed males of the species, and I'm left to wonder at the path that led to that response becoming so ingrained.

Every Christmas I toy with asking my parents in NRA-friendly New Mexico to legally procure and then illegally send me the pellet gun I lust after year after year in the Cabelas catalog. A catalog which send similar shivers of lust and dread up my spine.

Perhaps most disturbing, though hardly surprising, is the confidence and familiarity in the boys' stances.......

Great addition to the blog, Mike, especially the range and depth, added to by the separate gallery.

Posted by barrel envy.

Those look like spring-action BB guns, is that really all kids can get in secnic Acton? They should look into slingshots...

Posted by Travis.

We stopped at a gun store on the way up to buy the pistol pictured where the choice, spring loaded over gas was made on a purely utilitarian basis. Money.


Adam, buy it.

Posted by Michael.

I'm with Horrified.

Posted by Aghast.

Your site is really good.

Posted by du sex.

Posted by Michael at July 7, 2003 05:27 PM