Weekend warriors
The ninja warrior glided with cat-like moves across the delicately swinging foot bridge under the cover of inky darkness with such silence that not even the air stirred around him.
The long drop to the rocky gorge below did not cause him alarm. With each careful step, he crept closer and closer and closer to his unsuspecting prey until finally he was only a single breath away.
He slowly raised his sword, a hint of light reflected off its surface, and with a brief pause he savored this glorious moment.
Then with one final move he steeled his muscles, screamed, “AAAHHHH YAAAAHHHH!!!!!” and delivered the fatal blow, knocking his opponent over the side of the bridge, banishing him to the rushing torrent of water in the river far below.
He raised a fist and shouted his triumph with another loud, “YAAAHH!”
Then silence.
“What the hell is he doing down there?” I asked my husband after hearing our 4-year-old’s battle cry echo from the basement.
We tiptoed down the stairs and peeked around the corner. There in the middle of the room, our son stood gripping a Wii remote with eyes glued to the television in front of him. One after one, his opponents advanced with swords raised, preparing to attack with great ferociousness.
He raised the remote, which through the wonders of a superior technology only M.I.T. graduates can understand magically transformed him into a sword-wielding ninja.
With great velocity he began swinging it back and forth with enough speed to break the sound barrier or at least give the appearance he was suffering from a seizure grand enough to bring down a T-rex.
He even spun around in a 360-degree move that rivaled anything Bruce Lee ever threw at a bad guy.
My jaw dropped in astonishment, and my husband laughed, “He’s got style, doesn’t he?” He puffed out his chest in a testosterone-filled way and added, “I think he gets that from me.”
And, uh, that’s when I snorted so hard one of my sinuses went flying out my nose.
Well, not really. But you get the picture. I snorted. Hard. And not in a really enjoyable way one does when you have a cold and a good snort clears out the sinuses in a Wow! I can breathe again kinda way.
But things got really interesting when my husband and his brother soon joined in on the ninja fun.
The long drop to the rocky gorge below did not cause him alarm. With each careful step, he crept closer and closer and closer to his unsuspecting prey until finally he was only a single breath away.
He slowly raised his sword, a hint of light reflected off its surface, and with a brief pause he savored this glorious moment.
Then with one final move he steeled his muscles, screamed, “AAAHHHH YAAAAHHHH!!!!!” and delivered the fatal blow, knocking his opponent over the side of the bridge, banishing him to the rushing torrent of water in the river far below.
He raised a fist and shouted his triumph with another loud, “YAAAHH!”
Then silence.
“What the hell is he doing down there?” I asked my husband after hearing our 4-year-old’s battle cry echo from the basement.
We tiptoed down the stairs and peeked around the corner. There in the middle of the room, our son stood gripping a Wii remote with eyes glued to the television in front of him. One after one, his opponents advanced with swords raised, preparing to attack with great ferociousness.
He raised the remote, which through the wonders of a superior technology only M.I.T. graduates can understand magically transformed him into a sword-wielding ninja.
With great velocity he began swinging it back and forth with enough speed to break the sound barrier or at least give the appearance he was suffering from a seizure grand enough to bring down a T-rex.
He even spun around in a 360-degree move that rivaled anything Bruce Lee ever threw at a bad guy.
My jaw dropped in astonishment, and my husband laughed, “He’s got style, doesn’t he?” He puffed out his chest in a testosterone-filled way and added, “I think he gets that from me.”
And, uh, that’s when I snorted so hard one of my sinuses went flying out my nose.
Well, not really. But you get the picture. I snorted. Hard. And not in a really enjoyable way one does when you have a cold and a good snort clears out the sinuses in a Wow! I can breathe again kinda way.
But things got really interesting when my husband and his brother soon joined in on the ninja fun.
Because one has not lived until seeing two 40-something males go at it with Wii remotes and a matter of family pride on the line.
It was kinda like watching gorillas at the zoo. Except primates are a bit more behaved.
“Come and get me,” one taunted.
Swish. Followed by a loud smack.
“You like that? Huh? You like getting kicked in your big fat - OH S#&! - I spilled my beer!” hollered the other one.
“Screw your beer! You’re going down! AHH-YAH!” preceded an elbow to the chest, knocking his adversary over onto the couch.
“Oh, you wanna play like that, do you?!” he yelled and swung hard. SMACK. “You fight like an old lady!”
“Don’t talk about our mother that way!” the other hollered and defended the move with a quick cross-check, bravely protecting the valor of his little video self on the screen. Then he screamed, “HOLY S---! I pulled a hamstring! I pulled a hamstring!” and collapsed onto the rug into a spasm of grief and tears.
But his opponent held no pity. “DIE! DIE! DIE!” he screamed and slashed and smashed his remote back and forth, sending the other’s character flying into the air and over the edge of a tall cliff. A tiny scream was heard through the speakers, and then all was silent.
He awkwardly arose from the couch, huffing and puffing from exertion, and stumbled over to look down at his enemy (still lying prone on the floor and moaning) only to lose his balance, fall over and land in a heap next to him.
“Hey, you found my beer,” he said with happiness...then passed out.
As my son and I walked up the stairs he asked, “Is that what I look like when I play, Mommy?”
“Oh, no, kiddo,” I quickly assured him. “You got style.”
Comments
Post a Comment