The Epic Battle of the West Mesa

A few nights ago, my daughter Ruby Sue was baby sitting the evil spawn of her aunt.  I took the opportunity to sneak over to the suburbs and indulge in some of the greatest wings on earth.  I went over to the Wing Stop on the west side to have my fix of lemon pepper and hot wings.  They are manna from heaven.  If you eat enough, they will cure you ills and possible, just possibly, raise the dead.

As a bonus, Kentucky was playing Louisville on the big screen.  Life couldn't get better.


As I began devouring my dinner, I noticed a mini van pull up.  


Oh, no!  That's the danger of eating at family restaurant.  Families!  This is the reason I hesitate to go to the suburbs.  


I cringed as they entered.  The doors opened and a tsunami of runts ran in a proceeded to dismantle the condiment bar.  The parents came in behind them, herded them to the table.  I looked at the ketchup stains on the wall.  It looked like a mob hit.


There were five children and three parents.  I could tell they were a husband and his wife.  They were followed by the wife's sad divorced sister.  I could tell she was divorced by her bedraggled hair and dead look in her eyes.  


There was one little boy named Justin.  He sat down at the table next to me, took out a bag and dumped the contents across the surface.  He had two dozen hot wheels ready to recreate scenes from Fast and Furious.

The little girls were named Stefani, Courteni, Angi, and Taylor.  Typical suburban larva designations.  I don't know if the three had names ending in I.  But, I'd bet good money they did.  And Taylor.  Taylor.  I can't wait until the habit of giving children first names that are last names ends.


The children had no volume control.  Each one was yelling over the other.  I had gone from annoyed to irritated.


The parents ignored their children's abuse decibel abuse of the other patrons.  The sisters were playing a game of "my kid is SO smart."  The father was busy trying to be cool while wearing a fanny pack.


The food arrives.  Justin begins crying when they tell him to put his car away.  The girls are complaining that they don't want chicken.  They want McNuggets.  Negotiations continue for what felt like an eternity.  Finally they settled down.

But, the achieved peace didn't last long.  Fights and arguments break out among the girls.  The sound has risen to a level that causes coyotes on the mesa to being howling.  


Married sister is trying to settle things down.  Divorced sister ignored the chaos and checks messages on her phone.  I can't see the father.  The children have swarmed him like a Africanized honey bees.


I have had enough.  I remember my soldier of fortune training.  It is time to act before this place turned into the Chuck E Cheese Beirut franchise.  I begin to reach for my boot knife but decide otherwise.  I growl and "skunk" eye them.  No reaction.  


"Don't show fear."  I tell myself.


I could use the conventional rules of war.  But, such measures would take years and cost millions of lives. It is decided I will use guerrilla tactics.


Taylor has left the table and is running laps around the dining room.  Stefani had begun spinning like a propeller. 

I noticed Taylor's shoe was untied.  I knew what to do.  I waited until she approached, moved my foot out suddenly.  As she swerved, she tripped and went down hard.


Stefani's spinning was solved by tossing  a lemon wedge at her feet.  She hit it and slipped.  She spun out of orbit and hit the wall.  '


Crying, the two girls ran back to their mothers.  Stunned, the other children looked at me.  I mouthed, "You're next."


The table went silent and harmony instantly returned to my beloved Wing Stop.


The invaders finished dinner in silence, except for the occasional whimper. The evening ends with the parents limping off to the mini van with their offspring in tow.


So, what have we learned?  Delivery or take out until your children are house broken. 

THE TRUTH, THE WHOLE TRUTH AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH

March 29, 1979.  The day the earth stood still.  It was two days after my ninth birthday.  I had received the greatest present any boy could ever receive.  It was a Daisy Trail Boss air rifle.  I had such plans for that beautiful utilitarian weapon,

After school, I ran home, grabbed my gun and began reenacting Campaign of Guadalcanal.  I set up a bunch of old Tastee Freez cup to reenact the Japanese Army.  I waged many battles all afternoon.  I had won many skirmishes that day.  I had moved the offensive into the garden.  The old corn stocks work well for my jungle campaign.  The sun was going down.  Light was fading.  But there was a machine gun nest I had to destroy.  

I worked my way through the mangroves and began my assault.  I fired volley after volley, using my keen sharpshooting skills to take them out one by one.  

I was about to seize victory when a horrible accident occurred.  My pumpkin headed little sister came riding around the house on her tricycle.  In the smoke and confusion of battle, I did not see her.  I had one more enemy to take out.  I took aim.  Fired.  And watched as my adversary fell, mortally wounded.  

My joy was short lived.  I heard a scream of pain.  The BB had passed through the cup and hit Susan dead solid perfect on the crown of her head.  I ran over to her.  She wasn't mortally wounded, but she had suffered a minor head wound.  The BB had broken the skin and there was a spot of blood.  Before I could calm her down or threaten her to keep quiet, she ran into the house crying.

Out came my Dad.  I had never and have never seen him madder.  I tried to stammer that she was a victim of friendly fire.  But there was no convincing him that it was an accident.  

The court marshal proceeded instantly.  I was relieved of my weapon and stripped of my first sergeant rank and immediately thrown into the stockade.  I was grounded indefinitely.  My gun was taken away indefinitely.

I suffered through a week of hard labor getting the yard ready for the summer.  After my punishment, I was still not deemed fit for battle.  My restriction to base had lasted three months.  The was was going on without me.  

My saviors came in the most unlikely of sources.  I have two older cousins, Troy and Randy, who had tortured me since I was in my crib.  They would show up to my house early Saturday mornings and wake me up by throwing water on me or flipping my mattress.  I was given so many wedgies, I am surprised I was ever able to father children.

Troy and Randy were visiting on afternoon and asked me what had happened to my BB gun.  I told them my story.  Somewhere in their dark hearts, they took pity on a young boy.  They went to my father and told them that they would take me out into the woods and teach me gun safety.  Dad agreed and off we went.

I should have been afraid.  These guys had never been nice to me.  Why did they show this great kindness to me now?  It didn't matter.  There was an opportunity to get my gun back and any pain I was about to endure would be worth it.

 They showed me how to carry the gun safely.  I learned how to be aware of my surroundings before firing.  I began honing my skills slowly but surely.  After about an hour, they got bored.  Troy took the gun from me, took aim and shot Randy in the leg.  I stepped back and tried to make myself invisible.  

When Randy was in high school, he held the state wrestling title.  He was a warrior.  He was vicious.  But he wasn't in high school yet.  He was in middle school.  He was a pudgy, nerdy kid who was so uncoordinated, he couldn't get out of his own way.  Troy, on the other hand was tall, athletic and fast.

Randy tried to grab the gun from Troy.  He couldn't get it.  Troy danced around him and taunted him.  Randy got shot in the butt, the arm, the foot.  He was doing his angry dance.  His face was red with rage and his eyes were bugging out.  Troy tripped and Randy got the gun.  He took a few swings at Troy's head.  Luckily he missed.

Troy realized he had gone to far.  This kid was crazy.  He cocked, fired and Troy took a round in the thigh.  Troy though quick and took off running through the woods.  Randy was in hot pursuit.  He fired round after round.  I'd lost sight of them, but I could hear the screams of pain echoing through the river valley.

After about five minutes, they returned.  I was threatened to keep my mouth shut.  There was no witness protection from these guys.  I agreed to keep quiet.  

We trudged home in silence.  We got home and they both told my Dad how much I had learned and how impressed they both were with me.  

My Dad gave me my gun back with a small lecture.  

I had my gun back.  My cousins had been decent to me.  And most importantly, I had enough information to extort them for years.