The XRT Squirtgun

September 14, 1998

As I read the papers and see all the youth involved with crime, it makes me wonder how kids get their start. I’m sure before grand theft auto there must have been some small pilfering. What would happen if these kid’s antics were nipped in the bud at their first offense? My history of crime was relatively short lived, due to the timely intervention of my mother.
I remember the day well. I rushed off the school bus and sprinted across the lawn to my front door. I had waited all day for this! I glanced across the street and saw Joey fumbling with his key at the door. “Yes!” I rejoiced. His mother wasn’t home; she was at work. I pushed the door open and ran to my bedroom, stripping myself of all excess cargo, which consisted of my jacket and several papers for mom to sign.
I tossed these useless items on the floor to join the papers from the day before. I knelt down and reached under my bed. I felt the smooth stock of my wooden rubber band gun, and quickly pulled it out. I kept it loaded in case someone broke in at night. Joey had one just like it; we’d made them at Cub Scouts the week before.
I heard my mom calling me. I hoped she wouldn’t keep me long. I asked if I could go out and play. “With who, Aaron?”
“With Joey,” I answered. There was silence. Mom thought he played a little rough.
“Honey, I really think you should play with other friends, too. Isn’t Ricky home today?”
“Aw, c’mon, Mom. Just for an hour or two?!
“Oh, all right. But I really think you should spend less time with him.”
“Thanks, Mom!” I yelled as I hurried out of my room.
“I had a big blue rubber band loaded, the kind on the celery at the store. Blue ones were the best. My ammunition was ready; now I only needed a target. I quickly opened the door to see Joey crouched behind a bush near our porch. My eyes focused on Joey’s thumb as it pushed down on the clothespin – releasing a blue rubber band! I tried to duck, but the rubber band was faster. I felt a sharp pain in my eye. I dropped my gun.
“You’re dead! No one could have survived a blast from a super laser, especially right in the eye!” Joey exulted. I pulled my hands down from my face and looked Joey straight in the eye.
“You know the rules, Joey; no shooting at the face!” We had made that rule the day before when I shot him in the ear.
“Fine; we’re even,” Joey smirked.
We soon tired of this game and decided to go to the store. We rode our bikes past the irrigation ditch and around the corner. Joey was the first to enter. He went right to the toy rack. When I finally caught up with him, he already had a plastic bag in his hand.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s an XRT squirt gun; it says it can shoot 10 feet!” I didn’t think he could read that well, but the picture verified his claim. “Hey! We could play war with these. Then we could shoot each other in the face,” Joey said.
“Yeah,” I laughed. I stood staring at the price when I realized I didn’t have any money. I didn’t think Joey had any, either. He confirmed that when he stuffed the squirt gun down his pants. “Joey, what are you doing?” I hissed.
“Shut up and just take it!” he whispered. He could tell I was shocked by the look on my face. “Think of all the times this guy many have shorted your mom on change. Besides, it only costs 99 cents.”
I rationalized that he was right; and it was only a dollar. Joey smiled as I pushed the plastic sack under my belt. My stomach felt sick and I began to sweat. We hurried to our bikes and rode toward home. We were amazed at how easy it was.
We stopped at the ditch to fill the guns with water. After the first squirt, all thoughts of the stolen gun were quickly forgotten.
We arrived home and decided to play war at my house. We squirted ourselves until we were both wet. My mom came outside to water the yard. I ran to squirt her when I noticed a strange look on her face. “Where did you get that squirt gun?”
“Uh … I … don’t know,” I stammered.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” she pressed.
“I’ve had it …” I bluffed.
“Where did you get that?” she repeated sternly. I could tell by her tone that I couldn’t get out of this one. She had caught me. I looked to Joey for help, but he stood there, terrified. His lack of imagination left me with no choice but to tell the truth.
“We took ‘em.” I muttered as I looked at the ground.
“Are you telling me you stole it? She shrieked. I could tell she was just warming up. Joey stood there frozen, his mouth open.
“Answer me!” she yelled. I knew it was time for the upcoming speech. My mom excelled at these speeches … they usually began with something about my being the oldest and how I should set a good example for my younger siblings. I nodded my head, hoping to seem attentive.
She sent both of us back to the store to return the guns and apologize to the clerk. Although she said she was too embarrassed to take us in the car, I think she wanted us to do this on our own. Joey and I rode our bikes to the store in silence. We were both too scared to talk. By the time we arrived, we were both crying.
We walked up the steps like criminals to a noose. Joey made me go first. We walked slowly up to the clerk and handed him the guns. We explained what we’d done, apologized, and told him that it wouldn’t happen again. The clerk was somber. “I’ll give you a chance this time, but next time, I’m going to call the cops,” he said. We both nodded our heads in agreement. “You kids did a good thing bringing these guns back. Thanks.”
We mumbled a small “you’re welcome” and headed for our bikes. I felt such a sense of relief as we raced toward home. The gun was definitely not worth the hassle.
The squirt gun lesson is one I’ll always remember. And I’m sure that Joey hasn’t forgotten it, either.