A leg lamp in the window and a tongue stuck on a flagpole — those are a few of my favorite things. And I can’t help but grin when I hear the infamous words ringing through the air: “You’ll shoot
A leg lamp in the window and a tongue stuck on a flagpole — those are a few of my favorite things. And I can’t help but grin when I hear the infamous words ringing through the air:
“You’ll shoot your eye out!”
That smile is nothing, however, compared to the glee that I felt the year my very own Red Ryder BB gun appeared under my Christmas tree growing up in Weiser, Idaho.
Well, it wasn’t my very own — I had to share it with my sister.
Even so, my hands shook with excitement as I pulled the shiny barrel from its box. It was so much better than the Nerf guns that Santa usually left under the tree.
It was a long-standing tradition. Every year my family had an epic Christmas Morning Nerf battle before the grandparents arrived for dinner.
The annual war pitted Dad against two little soldiers in Jasmine and Ariel nightgowns, using pillows to shield against an onslaught of foam bullets.
That year, though, target practice was the name of the game.
Dad might have been more excited than we were. Before Mom could even start making Christmas morning hotcakes, three figures were traipsing their way through a foot of snow to a paper target already set up at the edge of the yard.
Mom definitely played her part of our little reenactment of “A Christmas Story” by wrapping us kids in layers of snow pants, gloves and stocking hats before we were let out of the house.
I remember shouting, “I can’t put my arms down!” as I chased my sister out the door and into the frosty morning, our black and white border collie leaving manic trails in the snow around us.
Our fingers and noses froze, but by dinnertime, all of us had hit the center of the target and all of our eyes were still in tact. Dad made sure his girls knew how to shoot straight, even if it was just with BB’s.
Mom met us with steaming cups of hot cocoa when we finally trudged back into the house and the Red Ryder took up residence in the corner of the laundry room.
Over the years we’ve used it to scare off the occasional woodpecker that’s drilling a hole into the side of the house or the rabid raccoon that showed up one day in the front yard, but eventually the Red Ryder migrated to a dark corner of the basement.
It’s probably still down there, gathering dust to this day, but my memory of that Red Ryder BB gun gleaming brand new in its packaging will never tarnish.
And to my dad I can say: mission accomplished — your two girls can still shoot pretty straight thanks to those countless Nerf battles and shooting lessons, and we always know a Red Ryder when we see one.
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Jessica Else reporter, can be reached at 245-0452 or jelse@thegardenisland.com.
