Nerf Herders

I remember when Nerf meant bath toys. You could get a Nerf ball soaking wet and then smack the wall with it a few times, creating a satisfying splat before re-immersing it once again for a new soaking. That was only a short evolutionary leap to the use of Nerf balls in our brotherly water wars, in and out of the house. Even a dry Nerf ball gave a satisfying flinch when tossed with enough velocity, the impact was slight, but the wince was always worth it.
What I'm suggesting here is that I understand how Nerf has grown, in a generation, into a full-scale weapons manufacturer. My son's room, like many of his friends, is an ammo dump of rubber-tipped foam darts, most of which resist being collected and reused because they have become lodged in or stuck behind light fixtures, furniture or dark corners where they will stay until they are truly needed. In the meantime, the storage necessary for the continually increasing number of makes and models of guns that hurl these projectiles expands exponentially. As a parent, that's what makes me wince.
When my wife and I first got together, we were given a pair of his and hers Nerf dart guns. It was suggested at the time that this would be a kinder, gentler way to release marital frustrations than hurling crockery about. We then proceeded to make this our standard wedding gift to other young couples just starting out. When our son was born, however, we put them away in hopes of creating a world free of weapons for our offspring.
That didn't last. The slippery slope of giving in to what your child "really really wants" created the arsenal that we all live with fifteen years later. We house a dozen or more weapons, some of them single shot, others fully automatic, all molded out of cheery yellow and orange plastic. It is a long way from the playful pelting once showcased by none other than TV's favorite band, The Monkees. It makes me wonder if the full inquiry into the cause of Davy Jones' death might have shown that it was, in fact, Nerf-related.