At the graduation party, I saw an old friend from childhood/high school/whole life. Her parents live next door to my parents. She married late and had a baby at about 46 years of age. He's a cutie, but a bit...hyper to say the least. He hit the toybox like an addict on crank and went straight for the wind-up toy train and all the toy guns he could find. We've got some very nice toy guns in the toybox. Pearl handled. Cast iron. Very nice! Hand guns that held snaps at one time, or pops. What were those things called? You put a cap in the back end of it and it went BANG and left an ominous and satisfying scent of sulfur in the air.
Ah, those were the days! Different times!
Later in the day the teens that hang with my teen nephew took over the living room. Not too far removed from the food table but socially removed from PEOPLE other than their own tribe, ya know?
These are the coolest group of young guys and one girl, by the way. They make up the Jazz/Concert Band and they had to play Pomp and Pomp at the graduation ceremony, which they thought was a major waste of their time and talent.
At one point I wandered into the living room and saw that each and every one of the boys was holding a toy gun while they sat and watched a movie. I just cracked up! A little later I heard my good friend Pam puzzledly ask her son, "Is that yours?" and his impishly sarcastic reply: "Yeah, Mom! I bring my own toy gun with me, wherever I go!"
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