A Dumb Idea (#10)
My father taught a survival and archery section for the state of Kansas' hunter safety class. My father was no survivalist, but he fancied himself able to live on rocks and sticks for months if the need ever came up. he really believed he could be dropped anywhere on the planet with only the clothes on his back and make a life for himself in the middle of nowhere, with only his body and the clothes on his back.
He was an all right shot with a bow, but not responsible enough to lock the bow and arrows away where I couldn't get to them. (He didn't lock his guns away, either...they were all over the house.)
Here's a history of my dumb ideas when it comes to sharp projectiles. Remember Jarts, the lawn dart game? Until we discovered how to make tennis ball cannons, Jarts were the coolest dangerous thing in the neighborhood. We never played the game to see who could hit targets; we threw them up in the air to see who could come the closest to them when they came back down.
The arrow game was like that, only with a razor sharp point and a lot more momentum.
I was the only one out of my friends strong enough to pull the bow string back far enough to launch the arrow. We went to a field behind my house and I did my best to launch the arrow straight up. The goal was to have it fall straight down so we didn't have to run to get as close to the arrow when it returned to earth, sticking into the dirt.
I'll confess right here: I always lost the arrow game. I used the excuse that since I launched the arrow, I couldn't possibly put the bow down and keep up with my friends trying to get as close as possible to the arrow. But for all my dumb ideas, I did have something resembling a sense of self preservation.
We didn't play the game very long. One particular windy day, my friend who usually won (he was fearless), was in position to come close enough to the arrow to win. The wind, however, had different plans. As the arrow dropped near my friend, the wind pushed the arrow my friend's way. Fortunately, my friend wasn't hit; the arrow stuck in the ground between his legs and we knew tempting the inevitable serious injury wasn't wise.
We opted for rock fights in place of the arrow game.
He was an all right shot with a bow, but not responsible enough to lock the bow and arrows away where I couldn't get to them. (He didn't lock his guns away, either...they were all over the house.)
Here's a history of my dumb ideas when it comes to sharp projectiles. Remember Jarts, the lawn dart game? Until we discovered how to make tennis ball cannons, Jarts were the coolest dangerous thing in the neighborhood. We never played the game to see who could hit targets; we threw them up in the air to see who could come the closest to them when they came back down.
The arrow game was like that, only with a razor sharp point and a lot more momentum.
I was the only one out of my friends strong enough to pull the bow string back far enough to launch the arrow. We went to a field behind my house and I did my best to launch the arrow straight up. The goal was to have it fall straight down so we didn't have to run to get as close to the arrow when it returned to earth, sticking into the dirt.
I'll confess right here: I always lost the arrow game. I used the excuse that since I launched the arrow, I couldn't possibly put the bow down and keep up with my friends trying to get as close as possible to the arrow. But for all my dumb ideas, I did have something resembling a sense of self preservation.
We didn't play the game very long. One particular windy day, my friend who usually won (he was fearless), was in position to come close enough to the arrow to win. The wind, however, had different plans. As the arrow dropped near my friend, the wind pushed the arrow my friend's way. Fortunately, my friend wasn't hit; the arrow stuck in the ground between his legs and we knew tempting the inevitable serious injury wasn't wise.
We opted for rock fights in place of the arrow game.