Bob’s bazooka story reminds me of all the insane things I did as a boy. We would tape Coca-Cola cans together, using a can opener to cut holes in the bottoms so there is an air chamber from top to bottom; put a tennis ball in the top and squirt lighter fluid in the bottom. Light it and =BOOM!= tennis ball cannon. The singed fur on the ball was wicked.
Or we would tape a steel BB to the primer on a 12 gauge shotgull shell, tape a thin stick to it so it would fall BB-first when thrown up in the air, and throw it over a concrete driveway and dive for cover. Sometimes we’d empty the pellets out of the shell first, sometimes not. And then there’s firebreathing with gasoline siphoned from Dad’s buick, stupid ramping tricks on bicyles, jury-rigged go-cart engine contraptions, inventive uses of drills and buzz-saws and wrist-rockets, playing chicken with tractors, attempting to ride cows, etc.
I’m (a) surprised I’m still alive; and (b) glad I’m gonna raise a city boy.
9:32 pm on October 27, 2003
