We were abruptly interrupted when Dad’s car pulled into a parking space on Seward Avenue. Dad yelled our names, and in unison, we bolted toward the car. From the trunk of his car, he pulled out wooden bow and arrows and handed a set to each of us. The arrows had rubber tips to prevent injury, but we removed them in order to inflict more pain and damage to the small rodents and birds that we imagined ourselves hunting down.
Like a warrior, my brother, Tommy, pulled back his bow as far as possible and released his arrow. I nonchalantly turned toward him just in time to see the arrow headed straight for my face. I tried to jump out of the way with no success. Suddenly, SPLAT! My right eye once again took the brunt, only this time from an arrow. The stars I saw at that moment were too numerous to count, and once again, I ran home screaming and crying in agony, with an apprehensive trail of onlookers following right behind me into our apartment.