No.#2 son shot No.#1 son between the eyes with BB-Gun. No.#2 son had a penchant for throwing everthing that entered his hand. He didn't cae where whatever object he threw went. he once threw a toy dinosaur and hit No# 1 son in the eye, gouging the white. Fortunately, no real damage was done.
Another time, a year or two ealier, same son threw a pipe straight up into the air. He had baby sister to the right of him, and baby cousin to the left. The small pipe came straight down on his head, litteraly. Again, no damage done except a small bump on his head.
No.#1 son played with fire in his second-story bedroom. He accidently caught a lamp-shade on fire, and in desperation, pushed it out his window to the back yard. Didn't find out about that until a month or so later, when my neighbor told me that he had witnessed the act.
No.#1 son angered a ground hornet nest, with a baseball bat, just after inviting his younger brother to look at the cool nest. no#.2 son received multiple stings.
And don't even get me started on the dishwashing chore battles with my kids.
No.#2 son used to take his mountain bike, head for the edge of a nearby gravel pit at full speed, and launch himself into the air, to drop twenty feet or more before touching down.
Patriarch of the two boys, used to jump off of the edge of the same gravel pit, cliff side, and drop thirty feet to the bottom, and tuck and roll out of it for the fun feeling of free-fall. Talked a freind into doing it. His knees collapsed, and he went chest and face into the sand. He was spitting out sand for several minutes, and had to clean it from his eyes and ears as well. he wasn't impressed with the activity. I thought he needed to learn how to tuck and roll better.
Note, freinds, cousins and brothers, given rocks, apples, water balloons, arrows, darts, BB's, or any other missile or projectile, will hit one of their cousins, siblings, or freinds with said object, for the fun of it.
After teaching number#1 son to handle a dirt bike, in a gravel pit, the same son begged me to get on back, so he could impress me with his driving skills. I got on, never expecting him to do the next thing. He launched the bike into a wheelie, leaving me sitting in the sand as he sped forward. How he howled in laughter. Why it never struck me that he would do such a thing to his loving father, I will never know. It was standard operating procedure for me and my freinds throughout our teenage years. And though I had never told number#1 son about the trick, I believe that some behaviors are simply either hereditary, or instinct with boys and men.
And then there's cold water over the shower curtain. "nuff said about that.
Boys love flying things, especially when they are aflame. Gvie them rockets, poster-board sized paper airplanes, styrofoam gliders, etc, and a gravel pit, and you can be assured that you will see some flaming, flying thing in a death spiral, dropping dramatically to the sandy bottom.
Boys and young men honestly believe themselves invinciple. They will happily run and jump between piles of telephone poles, from chain-link swings, from branch to branch in terrifyingly tall trees, etc.
Boys and young men find it a thrill to "ski' behind cars, in hard soled shoes, traveling along on icy roads at 30+ mph.
Take 1 pair of skis, or a snowboard, one very steep, very long gravel pit side, covered by snow, and a group of boys, young teens, and one of them will go from the top to the bottom, in a straight line, generating speeds in excess of 60 mph, just to prove who has the most guts. I won.
Dad's will swing there boys on a single stout rope suspended from a sturdy branch, over fifty foot chasms, as hard as they can, because they are reliving the times when they did the same thing, and want their kids to enjoy the same excitement.
When excitement and adrenaline are the rewards, boys and men become irrational and unsafe creatures.
There is no single thing that makes a boy happier than when he beats his dad at something. So all dad's out there, take one for you boys once ina while.
How any of us lived past the age of twenty, I'll never know.
Seeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North