Confessions of a Quaker Nerf Sniper

I never played with toy guns and swords much as a kid: we were all girls in my house growing up, and Quakers to boot. I did witness some awesome Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action at my dad's house, but I didn't participate much. I'd be home from college for Thanksgiving, groping for my morning coffee at 2 pm, and my little brothers would be rolling around on the floor gleefully throttling each other. "Are you having fun doing that?" I would ask. And they would both shout "Yes!" -- even the one who was pinned to the carpet with a knee in his gut and someone else's fingers up his nose. I believed them, but was never really tempted to join the fray. So when Simon hit the Age of Combat, I had some catching up to do.

I had learned a thing or two about revisionist parenting from Josie's Barbie experience, but I found it much harder to Lighten Up on the issue of deadly weapons -- even fake ones -- in my own home. I became a Quaker because I think killing people is wrong, that war is (as MLK said) "a poor tool to chisel out tomorrows," and that until we take violence off the table as a way of solving problems, we're always going to find some excuse to use it "as a last resort." Arming my young son struck me as an unlikely path toward world peace.

But Simon, at three, wasn't trying to use violence to solve problems or chisel out tomorrows; he was just waving a stick around and shouting "Bang!" I remembered the day years ago at Building Blocks Preschool when four-year-old Axel aimed a carrot stick at his friend Robin, and my fellow teacher came flying across the room: "Axel, we don't play with guns here!" she cried. He stared at her... then at his carrot... before pointing out quite reasonably, "It's not a real gun!"

With Axel in mind, I hit the books. Expert opinions on the meaning of fantasy violence ranged from the cathartic (violent games are a healthy release of aggression) to the apocalyptic (violent games are the gateway to Columbine). I saw some truth in the idea that pretending to shoot people might make it easier to really shoot people, but I also agreed with the folks who posited that violent play actually serves a valuable developmental function.

Like Axel, people in this camp stressed the distinction between adult reality and children's imaginations. In one book I read (Killing Monsters, I think) the author described an incident from his youth: he walked into the kitchen with his cap gun, aimed it at his mother's heart, and pulled the trigger. She, still reeling from John Kennedy's death the week before, burst into tears. And suddenly all the weight of his mother's grief -- the reality of bullets and brains and blood and little John John saluting his father's casket -- it all came crashing down on this eight-year-old boy. His innocent game was clearly monstrous -- which made him a monster.

It's easy to understand the mother's point of view too, of course. From the outside, it sure looks as though little boys spend a hell of a lot of time practicing to be murderers. It's important to help them understand that there are real guns out there that really hurt people -- and that's why some grown-ups find their violent games disturbing. And annoying: we may not always want to be around people who are sticking their fingers up each other's noses or using us for target practice while we're trying to do the dishes. But we do need to acknowledge that they're only playing.

Once we've done that, it's easier to appreciate the things they're learning from this hands-on exploration of power, risk, and resilience. In Killing Monsters, Gerard Jones came up with a pretty good list:

Nearly all the violent stories that kids love enact powerful lessons... It doesn’t matter who the good guys and bad guys are, who wins or loses, or what values are espoused by the characters in the course of the action. The action itself – the process of identifying emotionally with a character who is faced with a physical threat and fights back with every resource he can find – transmits some basic life lessons:

Goals are achieved through complete commitment.
Clear choices must be made.
Sometimes shattering old ways is necessary.
Loss and defeat are survivable.
Risk has its rewards.
We can feel fear – but do it anyway.
Monsters can be destroyed.
Simply being me is heroic.

As this theory gained traction in our minds (and as we realized that forbidding guns completely only made them more alluring), we gradually lifted the embargo on toy weapons. I slowly got accustomed to Simon and his friends whacking each other foam swords and blasting each other with water guns. I sighed but acquiesced when Andrew brought a cap gun home from a White Elephant party. I found myself overseeing the production of toilet-paper tube nunchucks and home-made paper crossbows. (For the record, we also established a zero-tolerance policy for pointing a weapon at anyone who has not expressly agreed to be part of the game.) I didn't doubt that a lot of important developmental work was going on, but what really stood out was how much fun these kids were having.

Still it wasn't until a month ago, when Simon took all his Christmas money to Fred Meyer and came home with a Nerf arsenal that would get us read out of Meeting if the Friends found out, that I decided it was time for me to make up for my misspent Quaker youth and learn a few Life Lessons of my own. After several weeks of battles involving neighbors, friends, siblings, and the occasional in-law, I have the following insights to report:

• It's not a bad idea to agree on some basic rules before you start -- but for God's sake, don't let your Geneva Convention negotiations drag on forever. (If it looks like things are headed this way, just start shooting -- you came to fight, not talk!) And beware of any new rule proposed by Ioan: it's probably a trap.

• Protective gear is all well and good, but the red air raid warden helmet can only do so much for you -- particularly if you hide once too often behind the kitchen island and Simon decides to stand on the counter and shoot down at you.

• Get in the game! It's a thousand times more entertaining to go down in a blaze of foolhardy glory than to cower behind the basement door. Like Dr. Jones says, "Loss and defeat are survivable." Especially when the ammo is made of styrofoam.

• Planning ahead pays off. Ioan once waited patiently for the kitchen to clear out, climbed behind the big overstuffed red chair, and then waited silently for at least ten minutes until he could pop up and shoot me in the back as I stood there reloading at the counter. Looks like he pulled something similar on Lexi, too -- nice one, Ioan!

• Know your weapons. A sniper rifle mounted on the dining room table with a clear view of both the livingroom and the kitchen doorway is a force to be reckoned with -- but it takes a good three minutes to reload both clips when you run out of bullets. The Buzz Saw Ball Blaster's revved up roar has a certain shock and awe value -- and those neon green "ballistic balls" pack a nice Nerfy wallop -- but you can't sneak up on anybody with that thing wailing ahead of you all the time! Better team up with a silent, pistol-packing partner.

• Before you start shooting, close the toilet lid. I cannot stress this enough.

• No matter how hard you try to gather up every stray bullet in between firefights, there are always one or two less than the time before. (But then later on when you're cooking dinner you'll notice them dangling off the houseplants or wedged in the door of the broom closet... so it's not clear if the takeaway should be "Keep Looking, They're Out There Somewhere," or "Don't Worry, They'll Turn Up Eventually.")

• There is no shame in fleeing -- retreat is a crucial strategic move that allows you to regroup, reload, and come back with a whole new plan of attack. And if you shriek loud enough while you do it, you may rattle your enemy enough to prevent them from firing accurately at your disappearing behind...
  

• In fact, yelling a lot is a pretty good general strategy, and definitely helps create the desired air of absolute mayhem.

Of course, it's also possible to be extremely menacing without making a sound:

Or with a barely audible growl. Asaf to Lexi: "Right in the nuts."

• And finally: when it's January in Seattle -- 26 days of rain, pitch dark by 5 -- and you're cooped up in the house for two three-day weekends in a row, it's possible that a little fantasy violence is the only way to keep everyone from killing each other for real.