That’s the opening line to one of my favorite movies. “Small Soldiers.”
One of perks of being a grandparent is that the left-over movies from my kids are so old that my grandkids haven’t seen them. Great entertainment! It also reminds me of the “wars” my children had in the back yard, and the truths that follow now that they’re grown and I can’t ground or spank them anymore.
There were bunkers and hide-a-way caves all over the place. It still boggles my mind that none of their tunnels or caves caved in. I’ve walked over my children looking for them many o’ times.
One of the myths I was fed was about a “war” down by their treehouse.
The left-over stumps of two-by-fours from building their treehouse were all over the place. They were playing and using the stumps as grenades. Stumps got lobbed back and forth. This is what I was told.
My youngest, Thing 4, took some “friendly fire” in the war to gather more ammo. This is what I was told.
Thing 4 came up from the woods with his eldest brother’s girlfriend holding his head, blood streaming down his face. The victim of friendly fire. This is what I was told.
To the emergency room we went. When you put a child on the counter and see blood shooting out with each heartbeat, it’s time to go. It’s amazing how much head wounds bleed.
He ended up with a couple staples in his head and a small scar that you can only see when he gets a crew cut.
Thing 1 was up in the treehouse trying to see what base he could get to with his girlfriend. Little brothers surrounded the treehouse at first spying, then throwing things, including their homemade bombs, to ruin the mood. Fire was returned and thus the head wound.
It took several years for that story to finally come to light, but you know what? I was finally told.
- Bess Tuggle