Jane
My daughter, Becky, turned 18 a couple months ago, and we surprised her with a paintball party with her girlfriends. When 2 of the girls didn’t show up, my husband and I, being cheap and insane, decided to play. This was our reasoning: how bad could it be? It’s a game that millions of people in America play every year and seem to enjoy! It would be a bonding experience with our daughter, who is leaving for college soon!!
We should have known we were in trouble when they outfitted us in protective gear for our heads and chests and handed us our lethal-looking weapons. Here we are, ready to go:
As soon as we were suited up, they told us about all the things that could go wrong–and all the various ways that we could get hurt–and made us sign a waiver. Then they introduced us to our “enemies”: a team of six very muscular people in camoflage gear and make-up, with their own private paintball guns. I should have backed off then–but, no. I wanted to feel young and energetic in my new thinner state! I wanted to show my daughter what a cool mom I could be!
They led us to the woods, where we were supposed to spread out, hide, and wait for the enemies to come after us. They told us an important rule: if we got hit by someone, we were to hold up our gun to show that we were dead, so that people would stop shooting at us. My heart raced with excitement. I felt the way I used to feel at the beginning of a good game of “Kick the Can.”
That was the last moment of enjoyment for me. I am here to report that I have never done anything quite so terrifying. I have always been anti-war, in a vague, hippyish sort of easy-thinking way. But after being stalked and shot at from point-blank range, I am now against war in a gut-level, fear/hatred/revulsion kind of way. What do you know? It turns out I don’t enjoy crawling and hiding behind trees and under bushes, in fear that someone is going to jump out from behind their own bush and shoot me. And I really don’t like wandering by mistake into a creek that is mostly mud and getting my feet stuck, with the sound of footsteps approaching, so that my heart starts racing, as I’m drenched in sweat, and the only thought I have is: “Get me out of this creek and away from here NOW!”
Standing there in that creek, I forgot all the rules, so, I guess I really got into the game! I saw an enemy approaching, and I knew I had to kill or be killed. I simply failed to notice that he had his gun held up in surrender. Charging up out of that creek, gun blazing, mud and sweat dripping, I fired and fired and fired at him, and every paint ball hit him square in the chest. I felt victorious! I had hit someone before they hit me! I was good at this game! Then, through the rush of blood in my brain, I heard–and understood–the words he was screaming: “Hey, whacko! Stop shooting! I was dead already, for God’s sake!”
I played one more game after that. And then I got shot in the head (by accident)–because I came out from my cover too soon, and one of my daughter’s friends shot me in the only place where I had no protective gear. It hurt like hell. That sent me right off the playing field, sobbing like a baby. I was done!
I don’t think I’ll ever play Paintball again, but it was definitely a good experience. It gave me all kinds of insights into war–and myself–some of which I could do without! In any case, here’s the group of girls, right in the thick of things:
And here I am, after leaving the field of battle, sitting happily on a bench with my other, saner daughter, who decided before the game started that she would rather sit it out in the heat and wait for us, no matter how long it took, than play any kind of game that involved idiots in camoflage, protective gear, and guns!
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Tags: Beautiful Women >50, midlife journey, paint ball, war, women over 50, women over fifty, women's journeys, writers over 50
Jane, Do you think using a paintball gun on an errant husband would get him in line….just a thought (to be clear to everybody else, mine not Jane’s)
Jane, you look great! And you are brave to play war games. Thanks for trying that so the rest of us don’t have to.
Jane…your paintball story shows so clearly two very important things. One; what a committed parent you have always been. Give your kid a memorial 18th birthday; Wow! Get down with your kids has new meaning for me!and two: understanding the very fundamental essence of war. Your experience in the creek was a crash course at boot camp. Kill or be killed. Survival. Scary huh?
Jane, you are hilarious. Who cares if the guy was already dead? I say he’s the freak and shoot him for talking too damn much.
I thought it sounded like a bad idea when I still understood it to be kind of like a water gun battle that doesn’t wash off!
I’ve often thought about playing with colleagues from work when we have our annual meeting but now I know for sure I will never do it. Ouch! But, like Betty, very cool, MOM.
Bravo to the second saner daughter who knew in advance. So sad our society still accepts warfare as acceptable and even glorifies it as game.
Cool, Jane!
Jane, at least you looked fabulous in the “costume”.
Thanks for that very vivid paintball story. My 14 year old daughter has been wanting to go. Hmmmm, now I’ll have to rethink this.