The Acorn Battle

While raking leaves we had noticed that the whole yard was covered with big, fat acorns, and those acorns naturally made us think of our slingshots. Frank and I both had solid, high-powered slingshots, not the homemade kind that were always breaking on you, but the kind with real steel and a support that rested on your forearm for stability as you pulled back the pocket as far as it would go. Frank’s was better than mine because the part that rested on your forearm was made of leather. Mine was made of metal, and though the metal was covered with sponging, it still dug into your arm when you pulled back. Anyway, we went in, got our slingshots, and popped off some shots at the oak trees. The acorns zinged with satisying velocity and made a nice thunk when they hit.

That’s when Mike, Frank’s next-door neighbor, came out of the house. By the following year, fifth grade, Mike would be my best friend, but at this point I didn’t know that and I didn’t care for him at all. The situation was that Frank was my best friend, but it wasn’t really clear whether Frank’s best friend was me or Mike. And since Mike lived right next door to Frank, and I lived several miles away, Mike had an unfair advantage. Whenever Frank and I wanted to get together we had to make phone calls and arrange for one of our parents to drop one of us off at the other’s house. Whereas Mike and Frank could just walk out their front doors and start playing catch, or whatever. Anyway, when Mike came out of the house either Frank or I, I don’t remember which, tossed over an acorn by way of greeting. And of course Mike tossed one back. So one of us, Frank or I, returned fire. We weren’t using our slingshots, since they could definitely put an eye out, but just throwing. Pretty quickly, though, the throws got harder. After a few exchanges, we weren’t just tossing but really taking our best shots and then ducking for cover behind trees or cars or trashcans. Frank was a skinny kid without too much of an arm, but I had some good speed, and Mike was a tricky lefty with pretty good pace too. Of course it was two against one, but sometimes in war that’s just the way it is.

“Hey, that hurts!” Mike yelled, but we just laughed.
“I’m serious guys, it really hurts!” he shouted. You could tell he meant it, but at the same time the sight of an opponent on the run was too much for us. We pelted him some more until he made a break for the house, and the last few acorns actually bounced off the screen door after it closed behind him. Frank and I looked at each other. We were both cracking up, but feeling a little guilty too. It seemed like a good time to jump on our bikes and let things cool off for a while, before Mike’s mom could come outside and chew us out.