We sat at Grandpa Stretch's house Sunday afternoon, visiting and enjoying our Christmas Day while A Christmas Story played in the background. Suddenly Patrick tugged on my arm.
'Papa!' he said. 'Look! That kid got a Red Rider BB gun. Just like the one I got!'
'Imagine that.' I replied. 'They stole my idea.'
No, we didn't get my nine-year-old a BB gun for Christmas. We got it for him when he turned 8. However, there are few holidays and birthdays where Patrick does not get a new gun. When I was a kid Nerf made squishy footballs and basketballs. I don't know if they still make sporting items, but they have a lucrative business in arms sales for kids. I am pretty sure that Patrick has one of every model gun they've ever made, and we have an impressive amount of suction cup and whistling bullets strewn about our house and yard.
In addition to the sponge bullet shooters, he also has an array of water guns, and his latest weapon shoots Orbeez, which are tiny water-filled balls that splat on contact with hard surfaces.
I shouldn't be surprised at his love of guns, though his father's only owned gun is a .22 pistol that, to the best of my knowledge has never been fired. After all, we live in Utah, a state that now has an 'official' handgun. It won't be long before he starts carrying an NNRA (National Nerf Rifle Association) card and touting his right to carry his recon pistol to church. He's even asked me to build a hidden gun safe into the wall of his bedroom.
Just the other night, when he refused to clean his room and put the guns away, I threatened to take them away. At this he held one aloft and cried, 'From my cold, dead hands!'
At least I know that when the Nerf-Zombie apocalypse happens I will have him to protect me...
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