This past Friday, my young friend Taylor Arellano invited me (and my sons - Alex & Joe) to go to his birthday party held at Monster Paintball (www.playmonsterpaintball.com) in Woburn, MA.
Once I got there and looked at all of the teenagers he had invited, I realized that I was in for a long night of dodging their efforts. Shrewdly, I turned to my good friend - Elder Henry Scarano - and cut a deal (seeing it was his first time). We agreed to a non-aggression pact. If we ended up on different teams, we'd wouldn't shoot each other. Our thinking was that all the teenagers would naturally come after us "old folks". Any way we could avoid the inevitable would be helpful.
Well...
Sure enough we got placed on separate teams. During Game #1, I made a mad dash around some bunkers and placed Henry squarely in my sights, yelled "Gotcha!", and accepted Henry's surrender without firing a single shot. During Game #2, I made a mad dash up the middle - headed for glory - when I took a "splat" to the only exposed part of my body, my head. OUCH! It really stung! (Three days later, I still have a huge lump coming out of the side of my head that feels like a 1/2 a Texas Longhor).
According to the rules of engagement, once hit, you are to raise your paintball gun above your head and go to the sidelines. As I'm leaving the field of play, I look over to see who got me. Imagine my surprise when I spot Elder Henry Scarano with a BIG GRIN on his face.
Once he got off the field, I reminded him about our non-aggression pact. Guess what he told me...
Once he realized he wasn't going to get any of the fleet-footed Middle School teenagers, he was only left with shooting slow-footed, big-as-a-house ME...
And the energy of the moment took over! POW! POW! POW!
Somehow, images of Hitler assuring Stalin that Germany would be allies of Russia floated through my mind. Didn't they have a non-aggression pact prior to WWII?
Oh well,
The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.
Who can understand it? [Jeremiah 17:9]







Recent Comments