Paintballing - First Time in 13 Years

I grew up playing the role of a typical boy - I loved guns, and I loved to play war. My brothers and I often talked about going into the army together. Almost all of our activities incorporated guns (sometimes with toys as sophisticated as plastic replicas but often just sticks that were bent enough to have a "handle" and a "barrel"), or some special mission we had to accomplish, some enemy we had to avoid, and one or more of us "dying" along the way. We felt like warriors. Soldiers. Heroes. But as I entered my teenage years, it wasn't enough to try and shout shooting noises or effects across the yard at each other and then argue for two minutes about who shot who first.

Then I discovered paintball.

I was so excited about it. We could actually shoot each other, and leave no doubt about who shot who first, and be safe in doing so. Or, at least relatively safe. Or possibly safe.

The only problem - playing the other way was cheap (or free). My first paintball gun cost me about eighty dollars. But then I had to buy a protective mask. That was about thirty dollars. Then I had to buy CO2 cartridges - nine dollars. Then paintballs - twenty dollars. And keep in mind I purchased all these goods from the lower middle class super supplier - Walmart. So in no way did I spend a great deal on this equipment, strictly speaking of paintball.

About $140 just to start.

But wait. I couldn't start. I was ready to shoot, but who was gonna shoot back?

Of course, I briefly enjoyed the thought of continuing the way we had always played, except this time nobody could argue with ME when I shot them, but I could deny all day long that they missed. Obviously that wouldn't fly. Nobody would play.

So I had to begin the crusade of trying to convince my friends to buy cheap paintball gear so that we could raise the stakes and continue our activities on a more "adult" level, leaving the world of make believe behind, once and for all (or so I thought).

My success was largely non-existent. Only my best friend bought into the idea, on both counts. So, now I had somebody to shoot at who could shoot back! For the next year or so we played many one-on-one duels. And of course, in an effort to involve all of our friends, we would switch off who got to duel each other. However, my friend and I bore all the cost of buying more paintballs, CO2, and maintaining our cheap guns. Our friends enjoyed it, including my brothers, but none of them thought the cost was worth it for them to buy their own gear.

So it faded. And I had just purchased a new big container of paintballs (1000) and a box of CO2 cartridges. Lame. *sigh* Oh well, maybe some day.

Years later, I tried to revive it (around my senior year), but to no avail. I had since moved, so I didn't even have ONE other person to play with.

As my parents moved three times, my paintball equipment continued to get moved around from basement to basement, growing dust. I don't know why I didn't throw those paintballs away.

Fast forward to this week, 2013. More than 13 years have passed since I played paintball. One of my hometeachees told me that he was into paintball and airsoft. I told him that I had once been into paintball, but that it was generally too expensive, so I switched to airsoft in recent years when I discovered more friends who played it (and could more easily afford it). He seemed to be motivated by the idea that I would join him and his friends in their shooting activities. So on Sunday he approached me to extend an invitation to join him and some buddies to go paintballing today (Wednesday, his birthday I might add - which I didn't know until today). I responded with a bit of excitement at the idea, and sort of half-committed (I was hoping that I'd be invited to airsoft instead).

But I want to become friends with this hometeachee, so that I can be a real hometeacher and not one of those fake ones, whose visits you deplore and suffer through while grinning your teeth. Also important to mention that this particular person and I are different. We have different personalities and interests (except with paintball and airsoft, so here's where I have to exploit). We are not only different, but he faces some challenges that can add more barriers to being able to "get close," so to speak. Or, not so to speak, just get close. I digress.

I also have another hometeachee who I don't know at all. I visited him for the first time 3 weeks ago and introduced myself and learned a few rudimentary things about him. Guess what. He likes paintball. He's not really into the religious thing as far as I can tell. At least, not yet anyway. So that makes being a hometeacher a difficult task, ESPECIALLY if you're a fake hometeacher. Because nothing yells "churchy churchy" like the request from a hometeacher to come and visit you to tell you to come to church or institute or other activities when they don't even know you, and don't seem to really care.

The thing is, we do care, but I'm on this side looking in. And I know that from the inside looking out it's too cold. Too fake. Too churchy-churchy and not very human. Or humane. Or, whatever. And to be honest, most of the time it's because we're scared of coming off too fake or cold or churchy churchy. Because we know we will! We don't want to. We just want to help bring others into a more abundant life in living the restored gospel. But a lot of times I'm just not good at it. Not naturally, at least. I have to think carefully before I speak, before I act.

So, I am painfully aware of the personable aspect that I want to ensure is present anytime I interact with people much less "churchy" or religious than I, but who are nevertheless people that I've been asked to look out for and to bring into the fold.

I want to take it seriously, but it's so scary. But I want to be a damn good hometeacher, so I've got to be a hometeacher that shows he gives a damn!

So I told my hometeachee that I was going to go paintballing with him. He offered me his extra paintball gun and CO2 tank, which I gratefully accepted, knowing that I was getting into serious territory, and my cheap Walmart stuff wasn't going to cut it against these pro-ballers.

Then I called the other hometeachee and told him some of "us" were going paintballing and I wanted to see if he'd like to come. He jumped at the invitation. I was elated. We made all the arrangements, and met at the battlefield around 6:30.

I got out my old paintball mask. So dusty after all these years. Well, technically it was dusty the day I bought it. It was, after all, mine. I made the mistake of spraying lens cleaner on the plastic to wipe off the dust. I wondered why the plastic was scratching so easily. A player at the field later told me that it ruins the plastic. Stupid me.

I then got out that 13 year-old bucket of paintballs, and my old gun. I went outside, loaded a CO2 cartridge (yeah, one of those 13 year-old ones), a handful of those balls, and prepared for the worst. I was certain the balls would burst inside the barrel, so brittle after all these years.

To my surprise, they worked just like I had bought them yesterday! I couldn't believe it. I shot about 45 of them and not one malfunctioned. This meant that I wouldn't have to buy paintballs for tonight. But then again, I only had about 800-900 in that container, and my hometeachee advised I have 1000-1500. So, on my way over to the playing field, I stopped at the paintball store and dropped $40 to buy a package of 2000 balls (I think they didn't come in smaller amounts, but then again I didn't ask. Stupid me.).

I got to the field right behind my hometeachee (the first one). When I stepped out of my car to greet hometeachee #1 (the second guy got there a little early and was already playing), I heard machine-gun-esque sounds coming from the playing field. I watched as literally thousands of paintballs created a deadly crossfire between two large groups that were hiding behind barrels and barricades, strategically advancing toward one another. Everyone was equipped head-to-toe like Batman - outfits, utility belts, the finest weaponry one could ask for. My hometeachee even told me his mask cost him $90. Wow.

I was really glad I didn't have to bring my cheap, old pump-action gun. I would have been a civil war soldier fighting against the Navy Seals.

I was scared. I was dead. Or gonna be, at any rate, once I stepped out onto that field - outgunned, out-equipped, out-experienced. Even though I had a better gun now, many of these guys had automatic triggers, not to mention a lack of conscience for the amount of paintballs they discharged (toward the end I heard a guy say "I just went through $60 of paintballs," as if it were normal).

I finally got out onto the field. Hometeachee #2 had on less clothing than I did (nothing covering his upper half other than a t-shirt and face mask - I at least had two layers of long-sleeve shirts), and already had a few wound marks of yellow, green, and orange "blood."

Please notice how many of my paragraphs start with the word "I." If you haven't noticed, this story is about my hometeachees, and what I had to go through in an effort to spend time with them and share some fun experiences. That's just another way of saying this story is about me.

The referee counted down, and then the crossfire.

"I'm toast," I began thinking. Despite the fact that I purchased new paintballs, I determined to use the old ones first. They worked, but they sure didn't fly straight. They kept people hiding behind barricades, however, and that provided necessary cover for my teammates. Didn't matter. Some enemy combatants flanked us on the left side, and while I defended toward the right, I experienced a painful reality - "In a real war, I just died," I mused.

Not knowing proper protocol, I stood up after I got hit. The referee was even calling out "HIT!" which is meant to help notify opposing players not to shoot the player standing up and walking out from behind his cover. Just then, I experienced dying in war all over again. Apparently I was supposed to raise my gun in the air as a white flag token to stave off further attacks. I wish I had known. It was embarrassing enough to die once in a battle.

My elbow hurt. And my entire back was obliterated. I didn't feel like a warrior. Or a hero. But I did feel like a soldier. A very dead one.

I took my place on the sidelines with other dead soldiers and idly watched as the battle continued. "What were they shouting at each other? These guys sound so serious. Are those battle commands? Battlefield maneuvers? Right 30? Snake 1? Middle 50?" But they all shouted back and strategically made their way up the field. My team was annihilated. At least I wasn't the only one. We were a dead army.

The next round ended for me in the exact same spot on the field as the first, and in similar fashion. Hometeachee #1 was on my team, and he and I were trying to coordinate a maneuver. My head was poking out from behind the barricade as I spoke to him, and three paintballs kissed me right on the cheek. Thank goodness for the mask. Nevertheless, it was a careless mistake. I didn't even die fighting. I died talking. Totally lame.

All this time hometeachee #2 was on the opposing team. He was new to this as well, he admitted. I noticed that each round we both would get out about the same time - namely, before most others. I could stay in the game longer if I just hid-out. But that wasn't very fun. I tried it. Boring.

When I exited one of the rounds, the girl who was there was talking about a guy who had just exited from the game with a broken pinky finger - apparently he tripped and put his hands out and it went badly. He was on the other team, so I never saw it from the other side of the field where I was.

Shortly afterward, I noticed that hometeachee #2 must have left while the rest of us were playing. "Well, he did get here early, and if he had to leave, maybe we wasn't keen on saying goodbye."

I never connected the dots. When I left later, I texted him with a message that said "Sorry I missed you when you left. Hope you had fun."

His response: "Yeah, it was fun. Sorry man, did you hear? I broke my finger."

"Freak! That was YOU? I'm so sorry! A girl said that a guy broke his finger, but she didn't say who. I'm so sorry!"

"No worries."

Do I feel responsible? In a twisted way of seeing it, yes. But, I take relief that he still considers the experience fun, and is even motivated to find out about that girl that was playing there (she was the only one). Not only that, but I have a very personable and humane reason to visit him - he broke his FINGER! So, in a very backwards sense of caring, I'm grateful for the opportunity.

If breaking fingers is what it takes, then so be it. But I'm going to be a damn good hometeacher, even if I have to die along the way.

On another note, hometeachee #1 and I helped dominate our last two rounds, creating an almost entire sweep of the other team. This was, of course, after he and I and his other two friends that were there played a round of just 4-on-4 and we were all destroyed in about three minutes. It was rock bottom for us. And this even right after the referee explained what all the lingo meant! We were even trying to use it. We weren't able to successfully apply it until the next two rounds, however. When we did, we proved very successful.

My paintballs, meanwhile, continued to zig-zag every which way. I never shot a single person. Nor did I use up all the old paintballs. That means I have 2000+ paintballs left over.

For another day, my friends. For another day.