#4 - *Saturday, in the park...*
The chronicles must go on, history must be written.
Again with the background story:
Today I left with my dear brother to play catch in the local park, but when we arrived we were taken aback by one of the most massive gatherings of pre-teen warriors. An event so grand that any within reason shall avoid the area, we were not so lucky. It was an elementary school picnic. The hordes had assimilated the upper portion of the park and we were quickly informed by one of the few adults left behind after what was undoubtedly a slaughter, led to believe that they were in control, that they would soon require the entire field for some sort of activity.
We decided to head down to the lower fields to play, but it didn’t end there, what we saw there will forever change our perception of the world.
Water mercenaries:
These are the elite of the elite, the real cream of the crop, a ruthless band of pre-teen hydro-combatants. Relentless in their means, merciless in their attacks. I witnessed their skill in action, at first only from an auditive perspective, considering that my back was turned to them:
“Ya ready?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Go, go, go attack!”
Screeches and yelps ensued as they infiltrated the only building containing water fountains and as they ran out:
“I’m on your team! I’m on your team!”
“Jonah! Jonah!”
As a crescendo to the havoc beneath, from atop the structure, completely dissociated from the chaos down beneath a nasal childish voice proclaimed:
“You farted!”
If only that was the most humorous part; as the battle waged on a space cleared in the center of the field, and what was there? Of all things, a baby, not just any baby, a baby in a Hawaiian shirt. As if it were the testament by which all these children lived it was untouched as it waved its tiny hands in the air, bouncing and giggling with innocent glee.
I observed the habits of these tiny soldiers for a moment longer, I learned that there seemed to be two main groups, the first appeared to be led by a fearless water-gun clad warrior by the name of “Jonah,” the second was headed by another, just as brave individual by the calling of “Noah.” The phonic similarity between the two has lead me to the conclusion that the two leaders are one and the same, “Jonoah,” a single soaker-wielding boy running from side to side, and the rest of the children just aren’t smart enough to figure it out.
“Touchbounds:”
We progressed slowly back towards the upper fields and witnessed one of the greatest migrations of 8-13 year old children. Organized hordes of boys and girls raced around in massive clumps and set about playing games and activities.
We settled near the chosen area of a band that had taken to playing football. They ran and tossed the ball, screamed and just flat-out played. After having convinced Alex that he shouldn’t try and play with them because he would probably kill one of the kids by accident when he would sit down to take a break, I took to trying to decipher what was being said just a few steps away. What came of my efforts was their screams of “Out of bounds!” and “Touchdown!” It was apparent that they were debating a call in play. Eventually their chants mingled into a single word; “Touchbounds.” Or perhaps that was just my misunderstanding, either way they left it at that and continued playing. I was most disturbed by this turn of events, however, for it seemed like they were playing football, but they weren’t, new rules were being made up as they went on.
Child abuse:
Shortly after the “Touchdowns” ordeal a family with two toddlers, both little older than babies. The only real reason that this is worth noting is for what I heard the father say to the children after one had toddled up to me, obviously ready to play catch. The dad had picked her up and she began crying, as is the usual fashion with babies, after some comforting she settled down and they were on their way, but not before the father could utter; “Good baby, now we’re going to feed you.”
I couldn’t help myself; I burst out laughing and didn’t stop until I cried tears of joy. He had said it with such enthusiasm, as if nourishment was some sort of prize awarded to the better of the two children. I imagined that at his home he held regular councils with the whole family; when the second child was born he probably set the two babies side by side and proclaimed; “Alright, there’s two of you, but we only have enough money to feed one of you. So from now on, you two have to compete for food.” And in Fear factor style; “Your first stunt is…”
Random sounds:
“Ok, until something happens…………………………………that I don’t like.”
Now only one of these has made it to one of my eccentric ambitions, and I’m sorry, but it’s not the malnourishment of toddlers.
If I were an eccentric billionaire, I would hire a band of fearsome, ruthless super-soaker wielding pre-teens to be my crew. We would own the parks, no one would mess. Our anthem; the instrumental version of Eminem’s “Like toy soldiers,” our mascot; a baby in a Hawaiian shirt. I can see it now, slow motion death sequences, water spraying in streams of thick and thin, a baby in a Hawaiian shirt bouncing around. Enough said.
Again with the background story:
Today I left with my dear brother to play catch in the local park, but when we arrived we were taken aback by one of the most massive gatherings of pre-teen warriors. An event so grand that any within reason shall avoid the area, we were not so lucky. It was an elementary school picnic. The hordes had assimilated the upper portion of the park and we were quickly informed by one of the few adults left behind after what was undoubtedly a slaughter, led to believe that they were in control, that they would soon require the entire field for some sort of activity.
We decided to head down to the lower fields to play, but it didn’t end there, what we saw there will forever change our perception of the world.
Water mercenaries:
These are the elite of the elite, the real cream of the crop, a ruthless band of pre-teen hydro-combatants. Relentless in their means, merciless in their attacks. I witnessed their skill in action, at first only from an auditive perspective, considering that my back was turned to them:
“Ya ready?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Go, go, go attack!”
Screeches and yelps ensued as they infiltrated the only building containing water fountains and as they ran out:
“I’m on your team! I’m on your team!”
“Jonah! Jonah!”
As a crescendo to the havoc beneath, from atop the structure, completely dissociated from the chaos down beneath a nasal childish voice proclaimed:
“You farted!”
If only that was the most humorous part; as the battle waged on a space cleared in the center of the field, and what was there? Of all things, a baby, not just any baby, a baby in a Hawaiian shirt. As if it were the testament by which all these children lived it was untouched as it waved its tiny hands in the air, bouncing and giggling with innocent glee.
I observed the habits of these tiny soldiers for a moment longer, I learned that there seemed to be two main groups, the first appeared to be led by a fearless water-gun clad warrior by the name of “Jonah,” the second was headed by another, just as brave individual by the calling of “Noah.” The phonic similarity between the two has lead me to the conclusion that the two leaders are one and the same, “Jonoah,” a single soaker-wielding boy running from side to side, and the rest of the children just aren’t smart enough to figure it out.
“Touchbounds:”
We progressed slowly back towards the upper fields and witnessed one of the greatest migrations of 8-13 year old children. Organized hordes of boys and girls raced around in massive clumps and set about playing games and activities.
We settled near the chosen area of a band that had taken to playing football. They ran and tossed the ball, screamed and just flat-out played. After having convinced Alex that he shouldn’t try and play with them because he would probably kill one of the kids by accident when he would sit down to take a break, I took to trying to decipher what was being said just a few steps away. What came of my efforts was their screams of “Out of bounds!” and “Touchdown!” It was apparent that they were debating a call in play. Eventually their chants mingled into a single word; “Touchbounds.” Or perhaps that was just my misunderstanding, either way they left it at that and continued playing. I was most disturbed by this turn of events, however, for it seemed like they were playing football, but they weren’t, new rules were being made up as they went on.
Child abuse:
Shortly after the “Touchdowns” ordeal a family with two toddlers, both little older than babies. The only real reason that this is worth noting is for what I heard the father say to the children after one had toddled up to me, obviously ready to play catch. The dad had picked her up and she began crying, as is the usual fashion with babies, after some comforting she settled down and they were on their way, but not before the father could utter; “Good baby, now we’re going to feed you.”
I couldn’t help myself; I burst out laughing and didn’t stop until I cried tears of joy. He had said it with such enthusiasm, as if nourishment was some sort of prize awarded to the better of the two children. I imagined that at his home he held regular councils with the whole family; when the second child was born he probably set the two babies side by side and proclaimed; “Alright, there’s two of you, but we only have enough money to feed one of you. So from now on, you two have to compete for food.” And in Fear factor style; “Your first stunt is…”
Random sounds:
“Ok, until something happens…………………………………that I don’t like.”
Now only one of these has made it to one of my eccentric ambitions, and I’m sorry, but it’s not the malnourishment of toddlers.
If I were an eccentric billionaire, I would hire a band of fearsome, ruthless super-soaker wielding pre-teens to be my crew. We would own the parks, no one would mess. Our anthem; the instrumental version of Eminem’s “Like toy soldiers,” our mascot; a baby in a Hawaiian shirt. I can see it now, slow motion death sequences, water spraying in streams of thick and thin, a baby in a Hawaiian shirt bouncing around. Enough said.
posted by Pat at
10:23 PM
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4 comments
