Good Night, Sleep Tight, Bash 'Em in the Head!!!
Ahhhhh, Spring Time! The grass is growing (pollen), trees are
sprigging (pollen, pollen), flowers are blooming (pollen, pollen, pollen,
pollen), Love and happiness are in the air (bugs, pollen)! But if pollen is not a problem for you, as it
sometimes is not for me (my allergies are kind’a weird that way), a balmy
spring Saturday afternoon might just hold in it a sparkling invitation for
something fun. Unless you’re like me,
you’ll find planning anything is more of a problem than pollen. It's a weakness.
But, thanks to my own Nine-Tailed
Research Team, there are always interesting things to get mixed-up in around
the ATL -- things ranging from the leisurely to the slightly bizarre. So, it
turns out a slumber party is not the only place to get your jollies being
socked in the head with a pillow by hyperactive maniacs in pajamas. The same thing could happen on a warm
Saturday afternoon in Grant Park.
Ergo, find my son Mister Adrian and I riding out on Hwy 23,
the windows down, elbows in the breeze, pillows lying limp in the back seat,
headed to Grant Park. The parking lot
was packed curb to curb with zoo-goers and Cyclorama enthusiasts, locking their
cars and strutting along the sidewalks in a parade of baby strollers and cooler
chests. So we rolled around the side
streets until we could settle in an available spot on a remote back street,
most of them also being full of parked cars.
We snatched our pillows out of the car and traipsed the long line to the
park, following directions from passers-by and my map-quest sheet to the
location. From a distance, we could spy
a collection of folks, either milling or tussling in a large cluster in the far
corner of the park. I snapped a photo of
the Mister, contemplative obviously from the sobering thought of being bashed
to smithereens by his dear ol' dad.
We approached intrepidly, but hesitated for a moment at the
border of what was basically a mob of pillow slinging guerrillas, some wearing
pajamas and some just wearing whatever they had on. One guy was running around in a kilt. Another man I took to be the organizer (he
wasn't) was in full on battle mode in his ensemble of AC/DC t-shirt, pajama
pants and Trojan War helmet. Plenty of
folks were catching their breath under some shade trees on the sidelines. A battle cry went up and a sortie of pillow
jockeys went dashing across the grass, hollering like madmen. A stand of loiterers were stoutly bashed on
their fronts, backs and upside the head.
Retaliation was swift and brutal.
It was time to join the fray.
Mister Adrian and I conspired a strategy that was well organized and
specific before just sailing into the field and whacking other people randomly
with our pillows. The fight was on!
We were now embroiled in a wild fracas for world
domination. Adults and kids of all
shapes and sizes were thrashing to and fro, wild looks in their eyes like caged
lions set loose on the savanna. It was
open season on anyone with anything that looked fluffy or satiny in his
hand. There was no place to hide. Peril was all around; little kids diving in
for the kill like cannibals; grown people laughing and panting like kids freed
from all rules and disciplinary measures.
I caught a glimpse of my own son, an evil glint in his eye, just before
he took off like a chicken hawk and pummeled me, fully in the face. The treachery! The betrayal!
He would have to pay. I flung
myself headlong in his wake, hawking him down and extracting my toll of
vengeance. I savored the soft fluffy
flump of the pillow on his treacherous hide.
Victory! Another call went aloft
and a group of guys lined up along the edge of the battlefield, words like
"Guys vs. Girls" being bandied about.
They suddenly screamed like savages and hurled themselves into a waiting
rank of ladies. It was a bloodthirsty
skirmish, pillows and billows flying unabashed, laughter filling the air like
the wails of falling bombs.
Sortie after sortie, volley after volley, the melee drew
on, no mercy evident. I stopped several
times to collect my breath. I hadn't had
a work out like this in years. I mean
literally. I had a GNG meeting to get
to, so the Mister and I had to depart while battle was still in session, but
for an otherwise average afternoon on a Saturday in early Spring, man you
couldn't ask for more fun. I knew
absolutely no one their, outside the company of my son, but it felt just like
being with a bunch’a friends, cutting up and totally not caring. Job stresses?
Relationship issues? Life givin'
ya grief? Pillow fighting in Grant Park
comes highly recommended. I slept like a
baby. (Different pillow, of course.)
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