Please register to participate in our discussions with 2 million other members - it's free and quick! Some forums can only be seen by registered members. After you create your account, you'll be able to customize options and access all our 15,000 new posts/day with fewer ads.
Around age 10 my dad got me one of those little 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 will take 6 rounds before it goes down? Tough tractor.
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. Keep in mind this was in the middle of summer with high humidity and plenty of green growth so there really wasn't any fire danger.
One summer afternoon, I was shooting flaming arrows into a large rotten oak stump in our backyard.I looked over under the carport and see a shiny brand new can of starting fluid (ether). The light bulb went off. I grabbed the can and set it on the stump. I thought that it would probably just spray out in a disappointing manner...lets face it to a 10 yr. old mouth-breather like myself ether, really doesn't "sound" flammable. So, I went back into the house and got a 1 pound can of pyrodex (black powder for muzzle loader rifles).
At this point, I set the can of ether on the stump and opened up the can of black powder. My intentions were to sprinkle a little bit around the ether can but it all sorta dumped out on me. No biggie... 1 lb. pyrodex and 16 oz. ether should make a loud pop, kinda like a firecracker you know? You know what? The heck with a firecracker – so I went back in the house for the other can. Yes, I got a second can of pyrodex and dumped it too. Now we're 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 the truck... OH NOOOOO!!! he just got home from work. 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 WTH 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 !!!
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 reflex jerk back from 235 freaking 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 like a little low to the ground layer of dust fog full of grasshoppers, spiders, and ants. The daylight turned purple.
Let me repeat this...THE FREAKING DAYLIGHT TURNED PURPLE. There was a big oak tree out by the gate going into the pasture. Notice I said "was". That sum-of-a-bee 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 YOUR BRINGIN' EM IN TOO CLOSE!! CEASE FIRE. GODDALLMIGHTY 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 1,000 ft over our backyard. There is a Honda 185s 3 wheeler parked on the other side of the yard and the fenders are drooped down and are now touching the tires.
I wish I remembered what I said to my dad at that 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 that point on. I said something, felt a sharp pain, and then woke up later.
I felt a sharp pain, blacked out, woke 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 so dad could beat me some more.
Bring him back to life so dad can kill him again. Thanks Mom.
One thing is 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. I stepped up to the plate and handled business.
Dad sold his muzzle loader a week or so later. And 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.
It's good discipline and will teach them skills they can use later on in life.
LOL! Wow, now that's a good story! As hellacious a child as I was, I don't think I have a good enough story to rival yours! (and this includes a preschool jaunt on the roof, a plant food taste test, a linoleum floor paint job and nail polish make up job)...
Location: Turning Point of the American Revolution
224 posts, read 228,604 times
Reputation: 119
hey, VB ....you've written an interesting, concise. and freakin' hilarious narrative...I mean I could picture every little vignette, Mein Gott, I was laughing out loud...
I have a similiar story to relate with gasoline, with a BB rifle a wine bottle and a rag and a parked Bulldozer, that was tearing up and old farm to put in a development.
Magritte, you were probably a handful when you were a kid per your post...
Maybe we should all contribute childhood stories to a Nepa storybook!
Yes...I did similar things in Pittston....we were "bad" boys......I remember blowing up paint cans and propane cylinders.....using that insect fogger spray to make flame throwers.....firing BB guns at things we should not have and using straw in BB guns to impale one another.......trying to switch trains near Coxton Yards......making Molotov Cocktails.....blowing things up with M-80's.....
Geez I guess without much TV and the internet etc(1960's)... we made our own "entertainment"......I would have been a juvenile deliquent....but luckily I got good grades....Kids....don't do these dumb things unless you are supervised by an adult ;-)
Around age 10 my dad got me one of those little 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 will take 6 rounds before it goes down? Tough tractor.
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. Keep in mind this was in the middle of summer with high humidity and plenty of green growth so there really wasn't any fire danger.
One summer afternoon, I was shooting flaming arrows into a large rotten oak stump in our backyard.I looked over under the carport and see a shiny brand new can of starting fluid (ether). The light bulb went off. I grabbed the can and set it on the stump. I thought that it would probably just spray out in a disappointing manner...lets face it to a 10 yr. old mouth-breather like myself ether, really doesn't "sound" flammable. So, I went back into the house and got a 1 pound can of pyrodex (black powder for muzzle loader rifles).
At this point, I set the can of ether on the stump and opened up the can of black powder. My intentions were to sprinkle a little bit around the ether can but it all sorta dumped out on me. No biggie... 1 lb. pyrodex and 16 oz. ether should make a loud pop, kinda like a firecracker you know? You know what? The heck with a firecracker – so I went back in the house for the other can. Yes, I got a second can of pyrodex and dumped it too. Now we're 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 the truck... OH NOOOOO!!! he just got home from work. 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 WTH 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 !!!
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 reflex jerk back from 235 freaking 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 like a little low to the ground layer of dust fog full of grasshoppers, spiders, and ants. The daylight turned purple.
Let me repeat this...THE FREAKING DAYLIGHT TURNED PURPLE. There was a big oak tree out by the gate going into the pasture. Notice I said "was". That sum-of-a-bee 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 YOUR BRINGIN' EM IN TOO CLOSE!! CEASE FIRE. GODDALLMIGHTY 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 1,000 ft over our backyard. There is a Honda 185s 3 wheeler parked on the other side of the yard and the fenders are drooped down and are now touching the tires.
I wish I remembered what I said to my dad at that 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 that point on. I said something, felt a sharp pain, and then woke up later.
I felt a sharp pain, blacked out, woke 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 so dad could beat me some more.
Bring him back to life so dad can kill him again. Thanks Mom.
One thing is 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. I stepped up to the plate and handled business.
Dad sold his muzzle loader a week or so later. And 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.
It's good discipline and will teach them skills they can use later on in life.
what a great story!! the only thing i could think of was, did your dad whip your ass? of course nowadays little varmintblaster would proably get a 10 minute timeout. not that i endorse beating kids anymore. i'm not sure it works
hey, VB ....you've written an interesting, concise. and freakin' hilarious narrative...I mean I could picture every little vignette, Mein Gott, I was laughing out loud...
I have a similiar story to relate with gasoline, with a BB rifle a wine bottle and a rag and a parked Bulldozer, that was tearing up and old farm to put in a development.
Magritte, you were probably a handful when you were a kid per your post...
Maybe we should all contribute childhood stories to a Nepa storybook!
Beatings is what kept us in line .. If we were not thrown in jail for beating a kid when they do bad the earth would have a lot more respectful people ..
I know I did not do a bunch of things because If I got caught I knew the beating would be the end result ..
Great story .. I have a few good ones But Im not into typing all that much ..
I read this story with my frist cup of coffee at 4am this morning. It had me laughing so hard, I almost spit coffee all over the monitor. You did such a good job of telling it; I felt I was there watching.
It reminded me of the stories Jean Sheppard used to tell about his childhood (grabbed your attention, painted a clear picture, and were funny). (Jean Shepherd - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Please register to post and access all features of our very popular forum. It is free and quick. Over $68,000 in prizes has already been given out to active posters on our forum. Additional giveaways are planned.
Detailed information about all U.S. cities, counties, and zip codes on our site: City-data.com.
Please register to participate in our discussions with 2 million other members - it's free and quick! Some forums can only be seen by registered members. After you create your account, you'll be able to customize options and access all our 15,000 new posts/day with fewer ads.
