Paint Ball Wars

Bryan, Will Varnell, Dean Vasquez, Dad

Where is BOB?

The first time I saw Bryan when he returned from an afternoon of paint balling, I was mortified! He and his best friend Dan Polta were war weary and bruised. Bryan's arms and sides and legs and well...everywhere were bruised with these huge ugly ball shaped welts. It was ugly and awful. He and Dan were grinning from ear to ear. I remember that the bruises continued to change colors and get bigger. I have no idea why this would be fun for guys. But you have read that before--I certainly do not understand what makes men tick and I absolutely did not understand my brother. I sure liked him though.

For my hubby Bob's birthday last year, I planned a Paint Ball Party for him. Only a few brave buddies joined him. Of course my brother and my daddy came. It was some open warfare place in Elsinore. Blazing HOT day. And they had to wear protective gear to cover every square inch of their bodies. Bryan had his own gun, mask, and boxes of ammo. The rest of the guys had to rent their equipment. I bought rounds from Walmart to save money but Bob said I did not get nearly enough. My dad said they used thousands of rounds of ammunition. Consumed every last drop of liquid that I packed in their ice chest. They were covered in paint, sweat and dust for hours and hours. Alongside 10 year olds with hi-tech, supped up range and velocity guns. They had rentals that didn't shoot straight or discharge properly.

My dad said that my brother was an agressive attacker. Dad called himself a strategic defender (less movement involved). Dad complained that Bryan, in his exuberance, had failed to mention one very important fact: when you get hit with a paintball--it stings. REALLY bad. Sounding fun yet? I think they finally gave it up when a nine year old snuck up behind my dad and beaned him in the neck. They had the same welts and bruises I remembered from my first exposure years ago. It was just as horrific. The guys displayed their wounds like badges of honor. Compared the sizes and color. Incredible. I don't know how the skinny guys survived (or the nine year olds--I guess they don't get hit?).

I only lament that my three sons will never have the chance to share in the "fun" of those kind of guy things. My brother was so anxious and excited for them to be old enough to do stuff like that with them. But in keeping with my intention to remember the blessings and not dwell on the missings, I am so glad that my husband, father, and brother shared mutual interests and each other's company.