Thanksgiving

[This is a special Thanksgiving blog from the present.]

I’ve always felt my family was unique. Every family has their range of cherished holiday traditions, and some of those individual traditions are weirder than my family’s. But if our uniqueness factor increases exponentially with every peculiar holiday activity, my family should get some sort of recognition.

For example, my dad took me and two of my brothers shooting out at our ranch in Swan Valley, Idaho. Not unique enough for you? Several of the guns we brought were machine guns, including an AK-47, a commando pistol, and an AR-15.

After a half hour of shooting, the snow crunched under our feet as the four of us started to zip up our guns into their cases.

“Check this out,” my dad told us. He thumped a 5-lb whey powder bottle onto the tailgate. You typically take whey powder after a workout to increase your muscle gain or something, but we all knew the container’s true contents and doubted its nutritional value. My dad bought the substance legally, but the only reason exploding target powder is still legal is because the Democrats haven’t found them. Honestly, I can’t think of a legitimate use of for it except amusement.

We ran into the old barn on the property and dragged out a rusted old washing machine, one of several serving as motels for rats, and propped it against a snowy hillside.

For those unaccustomed to the world of exploding recreational ordnance, you mix the solution and pour it into some sort of container. Then it becomes susceptible to extreme impact — like the force of a bullet.

Dad motioned for the three boys to hide behind the truck as he took aim with his rifle. I held up a cell phone to film the impending explosion.

“Dad,” I called. “Are you ready? I’ve got the —”

Three sons and a dad watched the explosion disintegrate the washing machine. A spinning shred of metal embedded itself in the snow five feet in front of us. Our mother would have been horrified. The four boys, however, cheered.