Growing up, our parents were fairly reticent when it came to letting us play with toy guns. The upside/downside of being born to hippie parents (Mom resembles this comment...Dad probably resents it). We were allowed squirt guns and a handful of cap guns and I have a memory of Dad cutting a toy gun out of a piece of wood with a jig saw but that was pretty much it. BB guns were out of the question. I bought a slingshot that was confiscated on parental grounds. Anything that looked real was out of the question.
Fast forward to high school...
I started dating Hope our junior year. There is a story I like to tell about our first official date.
I arrived at her house in my silver diesel Rabbit. I knocked on the door to the mud room and heard Skip bellow out, "C'mon in." His voice dwarfed the noise made by what sounded like a very vicious and angry dog. I opened the door and stepped into the mudroom and then knocked on the next door which led to a small passageway between the kitchen and the living room. Again came a bellow, "C'mon in." This, again, over the noise of what sounded to be a dog well past the foaming at the mouth stage.
I cracked the door and was met first by an Aussie Shepherd with teeth bared. He did not like me. He never liked me.... After I assessed his posture and decided it was only a 50/50 chance he wouldn't bite me, I stepped past and was met with the sight of the entire Winslow family sitting in the living room watching a black and white cowboys and Indians movie. I did not have time to ascertain whether it was the movie that was black and white or the television as the entire family had a veritable arsenal in their hands. And they were dry firing at the tv.
I was now in fight or flight mode. These were the people my parents had warned me about. These were the things I was not supposed to do. The first thought that passed through my mind was whether or not I could make it back out to the Rabbit, light up the glow plugs, fire up the engine and be well down the road before one of said guns was loaded and trained on me. Keep in mind that a diesel Rabbit posted a 0-60 acceleration time of something like 18 seconds. With a tailwind. Down a hill. A very steep, steep hill that more resembles a cliff. With a bobsled crew pushing from the back.
I decided that I likely would not survive past warming up the glow plugs. Which, yes, means I decided to fight.
Skip was sitting in an arm chair across the room. Hope and Barb bookended Sam and Steve on a crowded couch. Skip boomed out, "Make room on the couch for Seth, boys." The two boys pushed further toward their mother leaving me a sliver to sit between them and Hope. I stepped into the living room while dragging a dog that had latched itself on to my Achilles tendon.
I sank into the sofa next to Hope. The dog moved from my flank to directly in front of me. Ears back. Eyes on only me. Growling. Skip looked over and announced, "We are shooting the bad guys." He then leaned back and lifted a leg, a' la someone about to fart, reached under the seat cushion and pulled out a beautiful silver plated, pearl handled revolver. He checked it. Spun it in his hand like a cowboy so the handle faced me and asked, "Do you know how to make sure it is safe?"
I shook my head no.
Skip proceeded to show me how to clear each chamber, handed to me, watched me as I cleared the weapon and, satisfied, said, "Now shoot the bad guys!".
I aimed somewhere in the vicinity of the television, cocked the hammer, closed my eyes and slowly squeezed the trigger, fully expecting a massive explosion, a rapid retreat to my car, the search for enough spare change to somehow pay for a tv that just exploded because of something I screwed up.
"Click"
I opened my eyes. The television was still in one piece. Everyone else was merrily firing away at the tv. No one had noticed the hippie child on the couch afraid of dry firing a gun. I had not wet my pants in public. The dog was still staring at me with burning eyes. I had passed my first test.
Oh the ways in which I am going to screw with Emiko's first date....
