Friday, January 3, 2003
Friday, January 3, 2003 |
| The
finer points of water balloon warfare, and frostbite in June
By Rick Ryckeley Last week The Boy asked, "Dad, can I go over to Michael's house? His yard is great; they got 60 acres. We're gonna run around in the woods and shoot paint balls at each other after the sun goes down. You do know what paint ball is, don't you?" I answered, "Son, back in the day we were playing paint ball before there was something called paint ball. Back then, we called it balloon warfare." In most neighborhoods there's one yard where all the kids seem to end up. One yard that has all the fun stuff: a rope swing, swimming pool, tree fort, and dartboard nailed to a tree. A yard that's neater than all the rest with a mom that's cooler than all the other moms. When we were growing up, that yard was our yard, and that mom was our Mom. It was the first big water balloon fight of the summer and our team (Neighbor Thomas, Twin Brother Mark, and I) had come up with a great attack plan. We invented a new water balloon weapon balloon hand grenades. Balloon hand grenades were made by filling up small balloons about the size of golf balls with water. Then by connecting five of them together using rubber bands you can hold all of them in your hand and throw them as a unit. Our bucket, full of balloon hand grenades, would finally give us the upper hand on the other team, or so we thought. With a water balloon grenade in each hand, we ran up the hill to ambush the unsuspecting team on the other side. At the top of the hill, water balloons seemed to be raining down from the sky. The other team (Big Brother James, Older Brother Richard, and Down the Street Bully Brad) were lunching water balloons over the hill using a giant sling-shot! They had made a giant sling-shot out of surgical tubing Down the Street Bully Brad got from his dad. They made the pocket out of a piece of old leather ran coat and tied the tubing to it. Billy and Richard held the other end of the tubing while Big Brother James filled the leather pocket with water balloons. He pulled it back, just waiting for the right moment to let go and drenched one of us. Yes, with the rapid fire and mobile capability of the giant sling-shot, balloon warfare had just been taken to a whole new level of mechanization. Drenched from head to toe by the water balloon volley, I picked myself up and ran into the house. Big Brother James thought they had won, and that I was running, crying to Mom. He couldn't have been more wrong. They had won the battle, but not the war. I was running to the green refrigerator for my secret weapon. My secret weapon was in the freezer section to be exact that's were I had placed it many months ago. After Twin Brother Mark's and my defeat at The Great Snowball Fight of '76, I had snuck one last snowball into the house. Not just any snowball, mind you; this snowball was perfect. Made with hard packed snow squeezed between frozen little hands and numb little fingers with revenge in mind. The perfect snowball was strategically placed in the back of the green refrigerator that made tasty freezer ice. There, the snowball stayed, getting harder and colder, 'til the time was right. Now, in the middle of June, with not a snowball in sight, the time was right. I open the green refrigerator door, scraped off a piece of refrigerator ice to suck on, and retrieved the six-month-old perfect snowball from the freezer. People say that revenge is cold. Well, so was my six-month-old snowball, and today was revenge day. Running outside, with the perfect snowball in hand, I dodged water balloons left and right. The snowball was so cold it seemed to burn my fingers, but I didn't care. I was finally gonna get revenge, and Big Brother James was gonna get a face full of snowball. Up over the hill I ran, against another volley of water balloons. Undaunted, ten feet away, wet from head to toe I forged on; my target now clearly in sight. Five feet away, I couldn't miss; I hurled the perfect snowball with all my might at Big Brother James. On our way back from the hospital Dad was questioning me about my balloon warfare tactics. "Son, what were you thinking when you thought it was a good idea to throw that snowball at your brother? You should have at least dried you hands first. Don't you know that snowballs stick to wet hands? Doc Jim said that was the first time he'd ever seen a case of frost bite from a snowball during the month of June. With that bandage on your hand, looks like you'll not be throwing any more water balloons anytime soon." I just told him I was sorry and it won't happen again. (I found out a long time ago that that is what moms and dads want to hear anyway.) Besides, I didn't plan on throwing anymore water balloons or balloon hand grenades. No sir, looking down at my bandage, I had learned my lesson. No more hand to hand combat for me. No sir, way too dangerous. When I get home I had better things to do. I'm gonna start working on my water balloon cannon. Better stock up on snowballs while they're in ample supply. Never know when one will come in handy. [Rick Ryckeley is employed by the Fayette County Department of Fire and Emergency Services. He can be reached at firemanr@bellsouth.net.]
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