We used to have rock wars. For an entire hour before the conflict, we, the four of us, would all work together to collect as many of the little rocks that littered the sand filled driveway as we could. A few times wed taken a dozen or so of the big rocks, but theyd proven too heavy to throw over the river, so we didnt bother with them any longer. Afterwards Larry and I would have one bank of the river; my brother and Melvin would be on the other. And then wed throw rocks at each other for about a half hour.
I dont know how or why we started doing it; its just something wed done for a significant enough amount of time so that it was part of our weekend routine. Wed ride bikes, go fishing, have lunch, have a rock war, play video games, and then go home. It was just another one of the activities that ate up the day. And no one ever got hurt.
Well, thats not true. None of the four of us ever got hurt. There was one time, when the Preachers son came to Trick-or-Treat with us on Halloween, and Melvin mustve told him about the rock wars because he wanted to have one, and who were we do deny him. He joined my brother and Melvins side, and we got little Bobby, who was more a liability than another allywhat with the fact that he was barely six at the time and would cower behind the trees and refuse to throw any rocks. To accommodate the Preachers son, we even moved to another location; we went to the field, and they got the fort while we got the beat-up car to hide behind; and the Preachers son was even given a helmet so that he wouldnt get hurt if he was hit. And somehow my brother and Larry switched sides, and for once I was my brothers ally instead of his enemy. Wemy brother and Iwere throwing the rocks through the opens of the fort when it happened.
The Preachers son mustve taken the helmet off because he came rushing out of the fort clutching his head. We didnt know what to do, as no one had ever been hurt before (I dont even recall getting hit that much). The Preachers son started to charge us, stopped, looked at the blood that was flowing down the hand he held clutched to his head, and then ran to the house.
At the time, my brother claimed hed only been throwing the rocks up in the air, to scare them, leaving me to take the plan and stupidly mutter, Why does everything happen to me, as the Preacher picked up his bandaged son who was never allowed over again.
In more recent years my brother had claimed responsibility for the hit. And I still think it mightve been me.
I dont know how or why we started doing it; its just something wed done for a significant enough amount of time so that it was part of our weekend routine. Wed ride bikes, go fishing, have lunch, have a rock war, play video games, and then go home. It was just another one of the activities that ate up the day. And no one ever got hurt.
Well, thats not true. None of the four of us ever got hurt. There was one time, when the Preachers son came to Trick-or-Treat with us on Halloween, and Melvin mustve told him about the rock wars because he wanted to have one, and who were we do deny him. He joined my brother and Melvins side, and we got little Bobby, who was more a liability than another allywhat with the fact that he was barely six at the time and would cower behind the trees and refuse to throw any rocks. To accommodate the Preachers son, we even moved to another location; we went to the field, and they got the fort while we got the beat-up car to hide behind; and the Preachers son was even given a helmet so that he wouldnt get hurt if he was hit. And somehow my brother and Larry switched sides, and for once I was my brothers ally instead of his enemy. Wemy brother and Iwere throwing the rocks through the opens of the fort when it happened.
The Preachers son mustve taken the helmet off because he came rushing out of the fort clutching his head. We didnt know what to do, as no one had ever been hurt before (I dont even recall getting hit that much). The Preachers son started to charge us, stopped, looked at the blood that was flowing down the hand he held clutched to his head, and then ran to the house.
At the time, my brother claimed hed only been throwing the rocks up in the air, to scare them, leaving me to take the plan and stupidly mutter, Why does everything happen to me, as the Preacher picked up his bandaged son who was never allowed over again.
In more recent years my brother had claimed responsibility for the hit. And I still think it mightve been me.
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As to the preacher's daughter - if you ever do get around to it - give her one in the back of a Volkswagen and make her call you Pyrat for me.
You had rock wars too. I played rock wars a few times when I was a little kid. We didn't have such spacious areas to play in though. We should of went some place bigger but that was our stupidty. We played in a little back alley behnid my friedns house. We put up little wooden forts which consited of flat boards, pretty shabby. I think I was the only one who ever got hurt though, damn it. This one time I got up from ducking postion to chuck a rock and as I get up I see this rock speeding towards my face. Before I could get out of the way I got nailed int the corner of my eye. It hurt like a bitch. I still have the puprle indentation of where it hit till this day. I think that was my last rock war.