11. Throwin’ Rocks

Holy cow.  For the sake of all that is noble and kind, can somebody please tell me WHAT IN THE WORLD IS UP WITH ALL OF THE ROCK THROWING???!!!

I am convinced without a shred of doubt that, left to their own devices beside one of those river banks with all the smooth stones piled everywhere, my three boys would throw rocks indefinitely.  They would throw rocks into the water until they dammed up the entire river like a bunch of beavers, creating a giant pond.  And then they would throw rocks in the giant pond.  They would never stop, because for boys nothing beats throwing rocks in the water.

“You guys want some lunch?  It’s Chick-fil-A, Sprite, and ice cream!”

Not interested…

“Hey, we’re gonna watch the Polar Express dvd while we drive all the way to the water park and ride the giant purple tunnel slide as many times as we want!!”

Ker-splash.  Sploosh…

“Boys!  Batman and Robin just skidded to a halt in the Batmobile!  THEY ARE BEATING UP BAD GUYS OVER HERE, AWAY FROM THE RIVER!!!”

Nah… we’re just gonna throw rocks, dad.

Even when there are no bodies of water, throwing the rocks proves to be too great a temptation for boys.  In the parking lot at church, among the shrubbery outside the restaurant…if there is the tiniest rock, boys will find it and wing it, just to see how far it will go.  At church this is usually terrifyingly near all the giant, fancy cars the old people park in handicap spots near the front door.  Boys have been sent to Sunday School class and taught about David the shepherd boy – he’s all wipin’ out lions and bears and Goliath the giant with his slingshot and a bag of rocks – and then we march them outside past a patch of gravel and a row of Lincoln Town Cars.  There should be a big pink warning flyer handed out at Sunday School every time they have the David and Goliath story, otherwise somebody’s Lincoln is about to get hammered.

If you want to make friends with a boy, however, just take them to a pond with a big ol’ bucket of rocks.  You will be elevated to greatness in the eyes of boys everywhere.  Even greater than Batman…

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13 thoughts on “11. Throwin’ Rocks

    • Thanks goodness we don’t go to a church with a full gravel parking lot any more, or things would be a war zone. It’s bad enough keeping them away from the loose pebbles on the pavement!

  1. to this day I still throw the occasional rock, and if Im near water, look out Im doin it, sticks, rocks, mud clods, anything…..

    • The holy grail of rock throwing is still busting up one of those green glass thingies that hold the electric wires to the pole by the railroad tracks… but of course I have only read this in books about very, very bad middle school boys. 😉

    • I think my wife has a collection of stuff pulled from boys’ pockets before entering the washing machine, and rocks are leading the way with most entries. But frogs and bugs make the list too, and I think she prefers the rocks! lol

  2. This is so true! One of my boys broke a window throwing a rock. This is how he explained the broken window to his dad, “We were having a rock throwing contest and I won. Except the window got broken.”

    • This is a big win, for sure. 🙂 Unfortunately, we also have several of those “trophies” from the winners of boy contests around our house. Thanks for reading, Dawn!

  3. Men still throw stuff… only we think we’re sneaky by disguising the throwing process with numbers like .357, 9mm .30-06, .22, .410, 12 gauge etc. It’s still stuff and we throw it really, really fast.

  4. ……and how is it possible that a 4 year old boy’s arm and aim is both powerful and perfect enough to ping the mother with a rock right in the center of her right backside cheek from 20 feet away hard enough to leave a bruise that lasts for 2 weeks??? I guess I just should be thankful it hit me there instead of on the back of my head…..like a mini-Goliath in reverse…..sigh….

  5. This is great! Brings back a lot of memories of my brother and me, or my friends and me. Honest, though, I wasn’t the instigator here, even if I appear to be the common denominator. My dad loved fishing, and my brother and I loved throwing rocks into rivers. Not a good combination, even with one of the most patient dads who ever lived. (He had to be; we saw to that.) I recall actually telling him once that we would be finished once we got all the rocks off the shore and into the river. This was the Kings River in the Sierras. Not sure if the fishing in that particular hole has ever recovered, but I know my dad didn’t bring home anything that day.

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