When he told me what he wanted to do for his 12th birthday, I reflexively rubbed my upper arm, where three years prior I took a point blank hit from a fully charged paintball gun. “I’m in!”, I quickly replied. I then began to think of ways that I could run around like a madman and still retain my dignity among seven 11 year olds, as well as waking up the next day not feeling like I was hit by an All Pro Linebacker (pick your favorite, I will take London Fletcher).
After suiting up and picking teams, I realized that dignity among my cadre was a secondary concern, as they had nicknamed me the Juggernaut. I am unsure if it was because I was large and slow, or a relentless force.
Yesterday was a fun and muddy afternoon and there was no culling out of the herd. All of these young men played hard, worked together and celebrated their victories, while congratulating the opposition on a game well played. Even after some particularly nasty close quarter hits, all of them “cowboyed up” and continued with renewed ferocity.
Reflecting on the day, dignity was never an issue. Until of course, I split my pants trying to avoid a barrage of high velocity paintball rounds. Wearing shorts on the outside of my pants put me in the Hobo category, but it worked.
Oh..and the last game had the Wildfowl Ninja holding off three buddies who tried to flank him but to no avail. This scenario may help him keep his eye on the right side of the blind.
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