A popular Christmas movie, A Christmas Story, has a humorous repeating theme. “You’ll shoot your eye out.” I always thought I didn’t like the movie for its stupid leg lamp or the way it makes parents look like idiots, but a memory from my childhood revealed to me that my animosity goes deeper than fishnet stockings on the end table. Looking at it through a kid’s eye reveals much.
Oh, shoot!
Victorville, California. 1979. My parents bought a piece of land with a tiny and dilapidated cinder brick house on it. Dad and I spent hours out there, removing trash, sweeping rubble—working, okay? We worked and man, it was hot and miserable. Victorville is to hot as North Pole is to cold (continuing with the whole Christmas theme here).
Being in the desert also includes things like scorpions (squish them suckers), rattlesnakes (shoot them slitherers), and the constant appearance of a red hourglass on the underbelly of a black spider. Can’t tell you how many of those things tried to make my mom one. Yes, that’s poetic license. Contrary to their reputation, black widows aren’t nearly as poisonous as people think. I didn’t know that then. This is important information right here.
I had a pellet gun.
So, when not working, I’d line up Dad’s beer cans on a log outside. Don’t ask how a log appeared in a place with no trees. These things defy explanation sometimes. I had a pretty good aim. Could hit a can, every time, at quite a distance. Dad often had to run to the store for something. Looking back, it was probably more beer so I’d have more cans to shoot.
Well, that would have been my excuse anyway.
I was supposed to leave things alone while he was gone. That way, if I got bit by something, he’d be there to cut off the offending limb. Yes, that’s how I imagined it as a kid. Knowing my dad, it’s not that far from reality. I can see him with a carving knife, waving it over a blazing fire to cauterize the wound he’d make as he sliced off a snake-bitten hand. I digress.
So, I’d shoot cans while he was gone—shoot ‘em until there wasn’t much left to shoot.
Again, the whole thing through a kid’s eye.
Look, I’d been given all the safety lessons that kids of the ’70s got. I knew not to point a gun at people, at my foot, or too close to a solid object. Back then, we didn’t wear earplugs or goggles. We’d have laughed if anyone suggested it. I mean, I rode in the back of our ’63 Ford Ranchero pickup from home to this place…on the wheel well! It’s how we rolled—literally.
But, because I’m me, eventually it happened.
Temptation to stupid behavior. I bit. A black widow crawled across that log. I aimed. Why I didn’t just step forward and smash that sucker with my foot, only God knows. It paused. I stepped closer—just to make sure I wouldn’t miss, you understand. Nice and close—only about 3 feet away.
In the split second between the moment I pulled the trigger and the moment the pellet whizzed past my eye close enough to leave a friction burn, I realized the stupidity of my action. I clutched my face, feeling the burn, and raced for water. No blood. Not through this kid’s eye… not this time.
I returned a minute later. Only a bent, spindly leg remained of the critter who had nearly cost me an eye.
I never did tell Dad about that. Yeah. Those parents in that stupid movie had it just about right.
I absolutely love everything you write. Thank you for sharing. God bless you, your mind, your imagination and your family.
Sharing a little about our life is fun. I have had a eventful few days. Went to the grocery store Friday afternoon and in a hurry as usual, went to put my purse in the car, lost my balance and landed on my rib cage and thought I broke it. After a trip to the ER on Saturday, I bruised it pretty bad. I could write a book on all the mishaps and bones I have broken, from always being in a hurry. Told my daughters we need to make videos of me, being in a hurry. Sometimes we need to just slow down, and smell the flowers, look at the clouds. Or today, I held a newborn baby girl in my arms, that a young Mom just didn’t want. She was just 5lbs and so innocent, with a whole life ahead of her. The babies father’s, mother, will be raising her. She is my respite home for my autistic foster daughter, and has adopted 13 children already. Her husband and her are in their early 60’s, and are already raising some of their grandchildren. They always have room for one more. I question so often, why do these girls have babies they don’t want. Only God knows why. She will be very well loved and I am sure I will get the chance to love her too.
How quickly a nice evening turns into a comedy of errors, or chain of horror.
I went to Langdon Court tonight to see Pride and Prejudice. An excellent production.
I picked my dogs up and brought them home. First the motion detection light would not turn on. So I have no light and a push button door pad.The batteries were flat.
I tried every key in my ring and non fit the over ride. So I go the the front door where sure a key fit. However, my loom and snook over and blocked the door. I tried squeezing in. Ha.. being as the only thing I wore at my wedding still fitting me is my earrings, and I lost one of those. So I got stuck. Somewhere around the mid section.
I thought of phoning the police, but extracting a lady from her own front door would make to good reading at change of shifts.
With the encouragement of the dogs, I manage to painfully retreat from the offending door.
Dogs in hand, I walked to the neighbour who has neat things like tools, floodlights and possibly my spare key. Other than getting him out of bed,( and a supper should appease that.) I managed to gain entry to my own castle 1 hour and 3 minutes from the time I decided I as tired ,I would go straight to bed. I am now on a adrenalin high, wide awake with two exhausted dogs trying to figure out what the hell mommy was up to.