Bow-and-Arrow
Are you a kid, or a kid at heart? Great! Because I need you—and all your goofy friends—to read my weekly posts. To make space for Too Dumb Things, I will reduce my posting frequency on The Author Journey of TAT.
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How many ways, as a kid, did you shoot yourself, or others, with a bow-and-arrow?
In 1980, author and doctor-to-be, TAT, was twelve years old; his brother, Chad, was ten. They had discovered a sales catalog for budding entrepreneurs, preteens exactly like themselves. All they had to do was sell Christmas wrapping paper door to door. They would make the sales in October, then collect the money later and deliver the product once the snow was knee-deep and Christmasy. With enough sales points, they could get both a balsa-wood rocket and a 35-pound recurve bow-and-arrow. Boys and projectiles. The Thompson brothers met their sales objectives.
(The author would like to interrupt this reverie for a brief explanation. Modern authors need to build their “brand.” They must develop a consistent principle—a single sentence, if possible—that describes for their readers what they are likely to get if they read that author. TAT is experimenting with this: Finding it again: joy and hope, purpose through suffering. How long has it been since you had fun? The author hopes that Too Dumb Things fits well with the theme above. Even stupid things may serve a purpose.)
Surely every kid with a bow and arrow has tried this game: shoot an arrow straight up into the summer sun, then wait and see just how close the arrow comes to landing straight down. It’s an exciting game, even when played all alone, but it’s even better when the neighborhood kids gather, too. That way everybody gets a turn, and everyone finds out who’s the best shot in town. The Thompson brothers had thought ahead. It was their yard and their bow, after all. So TAT asked everybody to watch the flight of each arrow, just to be safe. That way, with every arrow that came down super close, they could step aside.
Somebody didn’t move fast enough. And so the group game ended abruptly, the moment an arrow punctured a foot. It could have been worse. But the Thompson boys didn’t reflect upon it much; they just loved their bow-and-arrow.
It was 8:00 A.M. on a weekday. The elementary school where the boys attended was just two blocks away; they could get to class, at a dead run, in three minutes flat. TAT was inside his house, with his shoes loosely tied. He had his yellow bow, his feathered arrows, his white bowstring. He hooked one foot behind the tip of the bow, bent the fiberglass body of the weapon around his hip, then snapped the upper loop of the bowstring into place. He nocked an arrow.
A rhombus seemed like such a perfect geometrical shape. If he pulled the bowstring all the way, perhaps he might slide the tip of the arrow behind the grip and make a rhombus. But he discovered it was too hard to do, using arm strength alone. What if he put his toes on the string, then pulled upward on the bow using both hands? Yes! Success.
Then the bowstring slipped off his shoes, and the arrow tip slid off the bow. The doctor-to-be shot himself in the right side of the chest. The metal arrow pierced his shirt, penetrated his chest wall, and struck a rib. There it remained until Chad pulled it out.
Only three minutes left before the start of school. The boys would have to run all out. No chance to change the bloody shirt. But TAT needed, at the very least, to hide the hole through his clothes. So with his left hand pressed firmly over the right side of his chest, like The Pledge of Allegiance gone awry, he raced to class with his brother. He kept his hand over the blood stain, shielding the evidence from his teachers all day long. He kept the story hidden from his parents somewhat longer: 20 years.
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What’s something foolish you did as a kid? Please leave your comments below. Then tune in next month, for Too Dumb Things, when TAT asks, “How far would you go, at age 19, at the local swimming pool, to win the attention of the girl of your dreams?”
TAT
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3 responses to “Bow-and-Arrow”
In my teen years my fascination with climbing and jumping from challenging heights may have been one of the foolish things I did back then. Done because “parkour is cool” but in reality has led to everlasting painful memories in my knees and back.
For the MOST foolish thing I’d have to say it was less about my risks and more of my influence over my little brother to discover those outcomes for me. Encouraging my baby bro to try things was much less painful for me (at the time) and just as exciting (also in the moment).
As a result of my “you’ll be fine” ideas, my brother was able to do things like:
Jumping off the back porch roof with a twin sheet cape (to help him float down).
Pedal his tricycle as fast as he could to jump over the steps and off of the porch. ( we did get to stop for ice cream on the way home from the ER)
And, a classic: “if you grab the electric fence with both hands, the tiny bit of electricity goes right through you and you won’t feel it but your hair stands straight up” .
In hindsight, I’m so happy I didn’t kill my little brother back then and thankful those memories, that he likes to bring up at family events, haven’t returned to me vengefully.
Here’s to brotherly adventures.
Thanks for writing, Erin. It’s a miracle any kid lives to adulthood, but especially two brothers close in age.
That was dumb, but my wife wants to thank you for not killing yourself; therefore, you wouldn’t be my doctor. In the Bible a boy turns into a man at the age of 12. You must have just turned 12. Keep the fun stories coming.