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Marcarl

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Don't know who wrote this,

 

Life as a child growing up in Oklahoma ...

Around age 10, my dad got me one of those little badass compound bow beginner kits.

Of course, the first month I went around our land sticking arrows in anything that could get stuck by an arrow.

Did you know that a 1955, 40 horse, Farmall tractor tire will take 6 rounds before it goes down? Tough sumbich.

That got boring, so being the 10 yr old Dukes of Hazard fan that I was, I quickly advanced to taking strips of cut up T-shirt doused in chainsaw gas tied around the end and was sending flaming arrows all over the place.

One summer afternoon, I was shooting flaming arrows into a large rotten oak stump in our backyard. I looked over under the carport and saw a shiny brand new can of starting fluid (Ether). A light bulb went off in my head. I grabbed the can and set it on the stump. I thought that it would probably just spray out in a controlled manner once pierced by my arrow. Lets face it, to a 10 yr old mouth-breather like myself, (Ether) really doesn't "sound" all that flammable.

So, I went back into the house and got a 1 pound can of pyrodex (black powder for muzzle loader rifles). My intention was to sprinkle a little bit around the (Ether) can but it all sorta dumped out on me. No biggie, a 1 lb. pyrodex and 16 oz (Ether) should make a loud pop, kinda like a firecracker. You know what? I'm going back in the house for the other can. Yes, I got a second can of pyrodex and dumped it out on the stump too. Now I am cookin'.

I stepped back about 15 ft and lit the 2 stroke arrow. I drew the nock to my cheek and took aim. As I released I heard a clunk as the arrow launched from my bow. In a slow motion time frame, I turned to see my dad getting out of his truck... He just got home from work. OH SHOOT!

So help me God, it took 10 minutes for that arrow to go from my bow to the can. My dad was walking towards me in slow motion with a WTF look in his eyes.

I turned back towards my target just in time to see the arrow pierce the starting fluid can right at the bottom. Right through the main pile of pyrodex and into the can. Oh wow!!!

When the shock wave hit, it knocked me off my feet. I don't know if it was the actual compression wave that threw me back or just my reflex jerk from 235 fricking decibels of sound. I caught a half a millisecond glimpse of the violence during the initial explosion and I will tell you there was dust, grass, and bugs all hovering 1 ft above the ground as far as I could see. It was a low fog layer full of grasshoppers, spiders, and worms.

The daylight turned purple. Let me repeat this: THE FRICKING DAYLIGHT TURNED PURPLE.

There was a big sweetgum tree out by the gate going into the pasture. Notice I said "was." That sumbich got up and ran off.

So here I am, on the ground blown completely out of my shoes with my thundercats T-Shirt shredded, my dad is on the other side of the carport having what I can only assume is a Vietnam flashback:

"ECHO BRAVO CHARLIE YOU'RE BRINGIN' EM IN TOO CLOSE!! CEASE FIRE. DAMN IT CEASE FIRE!!!"

His hat has blown off and is 30 ft behind him in the driveway. All windows on the north side of the house are blown out and there is a slow rolling mushroom cloud about 2000 ft. over our backyard.

There is a Honda 185 3-wheeler parked on the other side of the yard and the fenders are drooped down now, touching the tires.

I wish I knew what I said to my dad at this moment. I don't know - I know I said something. I couldn't hear. I couldn't hear inside my own head. I don't think he heard me either... not that it would really matter. I don't remember much from this point on. I said something, felt a sharp pain, and then woke up later. I felt a sharp pain, blacked out again, woke up later... repeat this process for an hour or so and you get the idea. I remember at one point my mom had to give me CPR, and Dad screaming "Bring him back to life so I can kill him again!!!" Thanks Mom.

One thing for sure... I never had to mow around that stump again. Mom had been complaining about that thing for years and dad never did anything about it. You gotta give me credit for stepping up to the plate and taking care of business.

Dad sold his muzzle loader a week or so later.

I still have some sort of bone growth abnormality, either from the blast or the beating, or both.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, get your kids into archery. But only under close supervision. It will teach you parental responsibility.

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I guess that's a better story than me throwing a basketball at my dad while he's chasing me down the street, that's why my left earlobe is longer than my right one....

 

Add any reason you want for him chasing me, it'd probably be true (one time or another) my great Aunt said I was more like a bandy rooster when I was young......

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I remember when I first started boxing when I was young. Dad had told me he boxed a little back in the day but I didn't pay much attention to this. About the time I thought I was getting really good and was ready to take on Liston or Clay (yeah that long ago) Dad and I got into a little discussion one morning and I raised my hands like the badasss I thought I was. Across that room thru a doorway across another room and a wall stopped me!! My feet never touched the floor during my trip!! I still swear the Old Man never moved. And I swear I never done that again. After that I heard Dad a few times bragging to his friends about how fast I was and I always just stood there and kept my mouth shut. Don't know if this fits in this thread very well but some lessons you learn stay with you!!

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Dad challenged me to a fight when I was about 16. He was bigger than me and he wouldn't let it go until I picked him up and threw him across the room. We lived on the waterfront and as a little kid I would go down to the beach and wire a couple logs together, grab a long stick and head out. Eventually the wire would break or work loose and I would be a half mile out in the ocean with only one log. My mom got so many phone calls that she would just tell people that I was born to hang so she didn't have to worry about me drowning.

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I remember when I first started boxing when I was young. Dad had told me he boxed a little back in the day but I didn't pay much attention to this. About the time I thought I was getting really good and was ready to take on Liston or Clay (yeah that long ago) Dad and I got into a little discussion one morning and I raised my hands like the badasss I thought I was. Across that room thru a doorway across another room and a wall stopped me!! My feet never touched the floor during my trip!! I still swear the Old Man never moved. And I swear I never done that again. After that I heard Dad a few times bragging to his friends about how fast I was and I always just stood there and kept my mouth shut. Don't know if this fits in this thread very well but some lessons you learn stay with you!!

 

 

Same thing with my Dad, and if he was still with us I would take the "hit" all over again just to see him "smile" .......

 

Thanks for the memories

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I remember when I first started boxing when I was young. Dad had told me he boxed a little back in the day but I didn't pay much attention to this. About the time I thought I was getting really good and was ready to take on Liston or Clay (yeah that long ago) Dad and I got into a little discussion one morning and I raised my hands like the badasss I thought I was. Across that room thru a doorway across another room and a wall stopped me!! My feet never touched the floor during my trip!! I still swear the Old Man never moved. And I swear I never done that again. After that I heard Dad a few times bragging to his friends about how fast I was and I always just stood there and kept my mouth shut. Don't know if this fits in this thread very well but some lessons you learn stay with you!!

Ya you were fast alright,,, and everybody just knew just how fast you really flew.

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My story:

I was 16, I absolutely knew everything about everything! I had a Cushman motorscooter. The scooter had a headlight bulb out and I was not allowed to ride it after dark. I came home about an hour after dark, parked, opened the front door and started across the living room where mom and dad were watching TV. Dad spoke up telling me he had warned me not to be on the scooter until I got the head light bulb replaced. I never missed a step across the floor as I raised my right hand finger in the well known screw you salute. Opened the door to my bedroom, closed the bedroom door and started to take off my jacket. The bedroom door opened, I turned around and kabammm! I found myself on the floor between the bed and the wall. The door closed and I laid there a couple of minutes regrouping. Dad never said a thing about the incident, neither did I. We still hung out together, fishing and hunting a little bit as usual, no changes at all.

The bottom line: I earned every single "whuppin'" I ever got. I worked for 'em, and by golly I never faulted my dad or my mom for any punishment they handed out. They're both gone now but they're still in my heart!

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