The Swords of Don Quixote
Mark and Brad were two young boys that virtually lived outdoors, roaming the foothills and unfinished tract homes of the newly developed community called Westlake Village. It was the late 60s and they were among the first families to move into the neighborhood. The further they walked from their homes the less completed the houses were, until they came to just foundations, and freshly turned earth.
The elementary school was still incomplete and classes were held in trailers. The playground was covered with waist-high weeds with a nearby dirt field that served well enough for games of dodge ball.
One day they were exploring the new school when Mark discovered some scraps of flat aluminum flashing. The boys immediately thought they would make mighty fine swords and found some electrical tape to wrap around the ends to make comfortable handles. The swords were flimsy but if they hit the weeds just right, the aluminum acted like a machete and cut through the weeds like a knife through butter.
Standing ready at the edge of the field, the boys imagined The Kings’ Army behind them. They would lead the charge, against an enemy of assorted mercenary weeds.
Mark gave a mighty yell as they raised their swords, and in a flash they were off. Their arms swinging right and left, they looked like great pendulums mowing through the field at a full run, great heaps of vegetation flying behind them. They leaped over ditches and rusty spent buckets, bugs and plants flying into their faces.
Across the field they reached the base of a hill, with out hesitation they grabbed pieces of cardboard left there by other kids. They yelled together and took the hill. At the top they paused briefly to survey the paths they had cut, raised their swords and yelled as they mounted their corrugated steeds and slid down the hill on their rumps, slaying their enemy as they went. Still full of youthful energy, the boys abandoned the cardboard to dash across the field toward the school.
As they closed in on the dodge ball field they noticed a classmate standing there watching them. He also had a sword tucked into his belt. It was made of wood. His dad had cut a one-by-two and nailed a crosspiece to it to represent a hilt. He had taken the leather tape from an old tennis racket and put it on the handle. He was clearly very proud of it.
Our heroes’ swords were now a little spent and a little bent but they were still very proud of them, but their classmate mocked them and said they would not hold up very well in a sword fight. Mark defended their swords, pointing out what they had done to the field. With that, the classmate drew his sword, walked over to a piece of three-inch PVC pipe and gave it a mighty whack. It shattered. He proudly pointed to it and asked if their swords could do that. Mark immediately said they could and gave Brad a worried glance. Brad was sure they could not break through PVC but Mark showed confidence as he knelt down in front of the pipe. He gently placed his sword an inch back from the shattered end. He lifted the sword and set it down again, making sure when he did it for real that he would hit his mark. Brad grew more anxious, knowing their reputation was now on the line. Mark lifted his arm and in quick succession hit the pipe 1–2–3, each hit breaking a piece of the pipe off cleaner then the wooden sword did. Brad was very proud of Mark and the sword for getting the job done as their challenger tried to hide his surprise.
The trio spent the whole day in that field, vanquishing foes and discovering abandoned bits and pieces left by construction crews. By the end of the day their swords looked like replicas of Don Quixote’s sword, after the windmill incident. At dusk the warriors relinquished their weapons to the field and headed home, because the best of warriors knew the first rule of chivalry was to be at dinner when the street lights came on.
