We’re cleaning out the church resource room. Yesterday I arrived at my office to find a box of Finger Rockets on my desk, unearthed from beneath layers of curriculum and craft sediment.
These things were all the rage at my youth group when I first arrived. Over time, too many were lost or broken to use them anymore. I went online to buy replacements and ended up with cheap ones that broke on the first use. I grew discouraged and Finger Rockets kind of went away as a thing our youth group played. There is no substitute for the yellow ones.
It makes me sad to know that there was a whole box of them right under my nose these past five years.
In honor of the Finger Rocket era of my tenure at Claremont, I’m posting here a poetic reflection offered by a former student, Jess Croughan, shared on Facebook upon seeing the above picture:
It was a cool June evening. There wasn’t much to be heard, save the wind through the trees and the scuff of shoes on linoleum. Suddenly from the north a snap of elastic! They came sailing from every direction; red and yellow agents of war sent with the one grim purpose of removing us all. I reached for my stash. There were screams, yells, and roars, the noise made one lose all sense of self. I was no longer just a PYG. I was a weapon, a juggernaut of destruction that couldn’t miss his mark. Victory came, but as always it was at a price. I don’t know how many we lost that night. In a way I was lost that night myself. But, we can’t dwell on the past, for there is the ever looming threat that always pushes us forward……the next round.
Long live the Ringer Rocket.
(note: always use with protective eyewear)