Summer in Autumn: The Sequel

If you can get away with celebrating Fourth of July in late October, then surely you can pull off a water balloon fight in early November. Right? Apparently so, because that's just what we did a few days ago.

Saturday before last was Zach's school’s harvest festival, their biggest fundraiser of the year. As a member of the booster club, I’d volunteered to man a booth for the event. And when they said "man," they meant "man." With few dads willing to help, I was placed in charge of what the club's president felt was a man-ly selection, the Water Balloon Slingshot Toss. Despite my visions of nothing but unruly high school-aged boys with destruction on their minds as my patrons, I agreed.

As slingshot commandant, my duties included helping fill enough balloons to help keep the booth running for three hours. It's a good thing I wasn't expected to do it alone, since the goal was well over 1,000 liquid-filled grenades. Fearful they'd degrade and start exploding prematurely, I intended to hold off filling mine until the morning of the event. But by Friday night, a severe weather alert was forecasting heavy rain and wind right around opening time.

Concerned, I contacted the coordinator to make sure we were still on, since I was to be stationed in the open environs of the football field. She assured me we were. I wasn't terribly excited, so I held my breath and waited until morning, at which point the storm was moving in, before calling again. Given the same answer, I dutifully prepared to inflate my balloons, only to find that the small, brittle things they'd purchased were junk. Every time I tried to inflate one, it exploded immediately, splattering me with its intended contents.

Frantic and short on time, I called Kelly, who was running errands, and asked her to pick up better balloons. She did and then rushed them home, leaving me with just enough time to fill 150, with Zach's help, in record time. With minutes to spare, I showered, dressed, and rushed to the school.

And of course, when I arrived, I was told the booth was canceled.

It’s not like I was surprised. Feeling both frustrated and relieved, I wheeled the cooler containing the liquid globes back to the truck and as best as I could, fought off Zach and his friends, who managed to grab and toss a few at trees and other unsuspecting targets.

For days afterward, it either rained or we were occupied, and the balloons sat, ignored. Then finally, on Friday, the weather was warmish, Zoë’s and Zach’s friends were home, and it dawned on me that the balloons weren’t going to last much longer. So we went for it.

If you think 125 water balloons stand any chance against half a dozen kids fighting to toss them, guess again. I’d say they held out…oh, about five minutes, max—and that’s only because I insisted the kids take turns and grab one balloon at a time. Otherwise, they’d have been gone in seconds.

Once the artillery was expended, I pulled a Tom Sawyer and held a contest to see who could pick up the most balloon fragments. They negotiated for a group prize, and I obliged—and gave them more balloons. It worked like a charm, and the driveway was spotless.

So, the kids had a blast, I found productive use for the balloons, and no mess was left behind. Cancelled booth or not, everyone was happy—including me. And the timing was perfect, since the weather has turned significantly cooler since Friday. It’s almost like payback for the stress and sore fingers I endured on Saturday. And best of all? I didn’t have to deal with a single high school-aged boy. That’s a victory in itself—and it didn’t cost a penny to play.

Note: Photos courtesy of Zach, who was a good sport and let the younger kids have fun, and his new camera.