Last Friday I helped out with Outdoor Ed, which, now that I write it, sounds like I helped some old timer loner cowboy who comes into town just to replenish his supply of jerky and salted ham. "Hey, Outdoor Ed! Still mumbling to yourself?"
Outdoor Ed stands for Outdoor Education, and it's a fun day for fifth graders who get to take a bus to a canyon about 45 minutes south of town and do all sorts of interesting things in the baking sun (I say baking because I got a nasty sunburn ON MY HEAD: the sun pieced my hair and found my scalp, more than likely milky white, and fried it).
Since Megan's now in fifth grade and, more importantly, Suzanne chaired the Outdoor Ed committee, I volunteered to teach the kids how to shoot a bow and arrow. Yes, I am a Certified Archery Instructor, which means I have to keep consulting my Official Archery Instructor booklet when I'm trying to string a bow (do this the wrong way and it flies back at an alarming speed and whacks you in the face - I say this from face-whipped experience the day I decided not to consult my official manual and instead relied on my unofficial memory, a flawed device that handles bow stringing details poorly).
The day worked like this: the kids were huddled into six or seven smaller groups, and they rotated through all the day's activities including making marshmallow guns, riding zip lines, and geo caching. These were all parent run and organized, so it was a nice break for the teachers as well.
Archery was particularly fun, I must say, because Suzanne had a great idea of putting the kids' teachers faces on the targets. The kids loved it, and they especially enjoyed shooting at one particular math and science teacher. When they hit his picture with an arrow they'd come up will all sorts of . . . well, particular ways of describing it: "I hit him in the artery and now he's spurting blood! He's dead!" or the ever classic: "Right in the brain pan!"
Later in the day, one of the parents asked me if I hunted with a bow and arrow.
"Hunted?" I asked. "Why would I do that? The grocery story is right down the block."
She gave me a strange look, as if I had suddenly become very stupid.
"You mean you don't hunt? You should hunt. You do a good job hitting the target."
I don't like lectures like this, so I decided to diffuse it. "Yet I can hit a Scotsman at 500 paces with a broadhead and pierce his plate mail. All for King Henry!"
She walked away shaking her head. Why is it so hard to make new friends?
(Oh, one of the best parts of the day: one of the dads got a picture of a six foot rattlesnake with a catfish in its mouth. Crazy nature!)
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