War Stories

 We came upon a pitched battle in a clearing. The part of the woods where small people were known to ramble and roam, but this was fierce, naked aggression. The participants were gathered in two bands, distinguished by their flags and the rags they wore on their arms. They had one thing in common, an angry determination to win the day. 

It was a Nerf battle, with participants between the ages of five and eight years old. They ducked and dodged between inflated pylons that towered over them, offering cover and a chance to catch their breath before the next assault. 

Until the whistle blew. A few stray foam darts flew as the Nerf Captain surveyed the damage. 

No one was hurt. The ordnance was collected and prepared for the next engagement. Juice boxes were passed out among the young recruits. For a moment, all was calm. All was bright. 

My wife and I happened upon this mildly apocalyptic scene as we strolled through the neighborhood park on Saturday morning. As veterans of several similar campaigns in a different time, we approached the parents who looked upon their little warriors with a swirl of emotions: pride, concern, wonder, and a dash of hypocrisy for letting their children run around the park shooting guns at one another. 

We understood this challenge. Our son had come up in an age of brightly colored, high powered Nerf weapons that quickly became an obsession. No trip to Target was complete without reconnaissance down the Nerf aisle. Was there something bigger, better in the offing? Something battery powered, assuring rapid fire? 

Eventually he began watching YouTube videos, learning to retrofit his own arsenal, making guns that shot farther. Faster. Foam darts, but deadly accurate from yards away. 

And all this time, my wife and I vacillated between wonder in the joy he took in the machinery of war and the fear that he might find his way to something more. Something with projectiles that wouldn't simply bounce off. 

That never happened. He graduated from Nerf guns to motor vehicles, and just this past week he sold one of his four cars for a modest profit after replacing the wheel bearing and getting it smog ready. He learned to do that on YouTube. 

And every so often, when I am mowing the lawn, I come across a little blue cylinder with an orange cap. A Nerf dart. A relic. From a time long ago when our yard was lit up with small arms fire. Just before the juice boxes were handed out.