Boys with Big Sticks... a situation that rarely ends well

Today I was reflecting on how Thanksgiving feels best to me when the focus of the day is on moving my body not stuffing it. Interestingly, I don't feel deprived at all when I refrain from gorging myself on The Feast. While I was on my own for the morning Turkey Trotting extravaganza, my family seemed to share my disinterest in shoveling turkey and gravy and potatoes into their faces until their bellies felt about to explode. We spent the afternoon and evening with extended family. We ate, sure. And we were thankful. But the real enjoyment of the get-together was not centered around pigging out... it came after mealtime.

As we were getting ready to head out for a familial post-Thanksgiving dinner hike, Q-man hollers out, "Hey, Uncle B! Can we use your walking sticks?" "Sure, Q!" he replied.

I silently groaned.

Sticks become swords. Swords are weapons. Weapons are used in combat. Combat always hurts somebody. Or everybody.

But not wanting to be the family fun-sucker, I just took a deep breath, tied my shoes, and went out to the car to put on the baby carrier that I knew was going to make Miss C scream and writhe.


Really, how bad could it be? Just a half an hour...maybe they'll actually use them as walking sticks. I was trying to be optimistic.

But then they walked through the gate carrying 10-foot long poles! How can one remain optimistic when one's 6-year old and 12-year old boys are running rampant with freaking jousting poles?

Hey, everyone! Let's go for a contemplative, relaxing hike in the gorgeous Marin County woods... it'll be so peaceful. But first, let's give the boys gigantic lances!

How many times did your mom let you go on a hike 

carrying a pole twice as tall as you when you were six? 

Yeah, that's what I thought. 

That's 'cuz your mom was smart!...and maybe a little bit of a fun-sucker

See me? I'm looking the other way...

because I knew it was only a matter of time before this jedi match began. Or maybe it's kung fu?

The real question was: who would get wet or whacked first?

At some point, Big G found a lichen-encrusted tree branch.

He cast his bamboo pole aside and pretended had an Elf King Scepter...or something like that 

(actually, he just now told me it was Brom's staff from Eragon). 

Anyway, it was much better because it was a peaceful stick and not a weapon. And instead of battling his brother, he spent the rest of the hike serenely surveying the lovely surroundings.

Q-man, on the other hand, continued to spin, twirl and thrust with his pole as if he were a champion color-guard flag-waving dude...or iaido master...or something that flails around with a large stick. 

Surprisingly, no one got hurt and no fun needed to be sucked.

Miss C did scream and writhe in that carrier... but that's a story for another time.