Facing The Prospect of Playing Paintball With Teens

I Like guns. I like blowing stuff up with them. I like knocking stuff over with them. I like holding finely crafted steel that was made years before I was even a glint in my daddy's eyes and making these weapons go bang!

But do I really want to be shot at by a bunch of young-uns with paintball guns? Do I really want to chase them around on two bad knees and shoot at them? Well, maybe.

I have the opportunity to take my teenage son out to the field of battle, but I'm having second thoughts.

For one thing, I like for my son to practice good gun safety, which really never involves the pointing of a gun at me: DAD! Now we're going to have to practice doing just that, and then shoot each other. And I've not shot somebody since high school when me and Marty Pope would take the BB guns into the woods, complete with swimming goggles for eye protection, and shoot each other.

The second thing is, I know for a fact they, paintballs, HURT! I drunkenly let my good friend Brain Casey take careful aim at me in his shop one day, and, even AFTER I had stuck three and half inches foam rubber under my tee-shirt, the impact of the "soft" projectile brought me to my knees and a tear to my eye. I won't mention the purple third nipple I had for a week...at least it was dead center.

The third, and maybe most important thing is, if I get shot in the neck (or some other soft part), and start crying, I'll immediately go berserk and wade through the sea of teen faces shooting them in a wild release of rage. Which is not a big deal I guess, except that all the dads'll be there to witness the foul humour. Indeed, some are actual customers of ours, and some may be at some point.

It is odd to want to shoot your fellow man, and I have actually shied away from this game, but I'm a firm believer in trying something once--even golf. And I have shot Marty Pope up a bunch of times so I think I can still get past that cultural check and balance.

I just hope that the teens can take a hit, and that they lay off my pretty face.

Texas Radio and the Big Beat

I want to tell you 'bout shot gun sports,
I want to tell you 'bout how what you see
Is what you shoot.

I want you to know,
When you sweat on the wood
With your cheek;
You watch the clay.
You watch it break.

I want you to know,
If you shut the fuck up,
You'll know what to do.
It's all in yourself,
It's all what you see.

I want you to know,
From shotgun to pistol,
It's all just the same;
You raise it eye high,
And you'll shoot what you see.

I want you to know,
The crisp acrid pop,
And the thrust to your hand,
Hot brass over shoulder;
What you see has gone down.

I want you to know,
We practice on clay,
On steel,
On paper,
And on deer,
And pray for no day.


I want you to know,
Some days are never
Meant to become,
And shots are never,
Meant to be done.
But there are things,
I hold close to my heart.


I want to tell you 'bout
How I have made ready,
For days not to come,
And clays not yet thrown.
For I will not blink,
For we shoot
What we see.