- Joined
- May 18, 2016
- Messages
- 31
- Capital
- DuVall
- Nick
- Tina
Suburbs of DuVall, Valania.
Arturo Bargas sat at the dining table, in his military uniform. Looking to his right, his son Arturo Jr. sat, elaborating on the young man’s day. The fourteen year old continued, “So we finally got to shoot the service rifle!”
Arturo smiled, proud of his son to partake in such activities with the Youth Scouts. The son still wore his uniform, eerily reminiscent of a bygone organization. The father grinned, remembering his time in the Youth Scouts. A scouting organization that focused on the physical and mental development of the growing children. Junior recently reached the age which the scouts began training on standard service weaponry and tactics. The smile on the teenager’s face was obvious as his father asked, “The Grando is a good rifle, no?”
“Yes Father, it is a good rifle. It was surprisingly softer than the bolt action rifles,” he replied, “Say father, when can we go shooting together next time?”
“Yes father, when can we?” squeaked a twelve year old girl to Arturo’s left. His daughter wanting to join in on the fun.
“We will my children, we will. Sometime soon I hope. Working for our nation’s defense is rather tiring. How about tomorrow after school?”
To which the siblings started looking at each other excitedly. The wife of Arturo popped out from the kitchen carrying a ceramic pan. With speed and grace, she set it on the small dinner table and took the top off. Maria leaned over to her husband and gave a kiss, setting aside the hot top and finally sitting down opposite of Arturo. Arturo Junior began reaching for the enchilada before his hand was smacked by a disapproving mother. His father smirked while Maria said, “Are you forgetting something?”
“Oh, yes. Grace. Shall I?” asked Junior, in an effort to make up for his forgetfulness.
“Yes,” said the mother as each family member began their ritual, holding each other’s hands as the son began.
Arturo Bargas sat at the dining table, in his military uniform. Looking to his right, his son Arturo Jr. sat, elaborating on the young man’s day. The fourteen year old continued, “So we finally got to shoot the service rifle!”
Arturo smiled, proud of his son to partake in such activities with the Youth Scouts. The son still wore his uniform, eerily reminiscent of a bygone organization. The father grinned, remembering his time in the Youth Scouts. A scouting organization that focused on the physical and mental development of the growing children. Junior recently reached the age which the scouts began training on standard service weaponry and tactics. The smile on the teenager’s face was obvious as his father asked, “The Grando is a good rifle, no?”
“Yes Father, it is a good rifle. It was surprisingly softer than the bolt action rifles,” he replied, “Say father, when can we go shooting together next time?”
“Yes father, when can we?” squeaked a twelve year old girl to Arturo’s left. His daughter wanting to join in on the fun.
“We will my children, we will. Sometime soon I hope. Working for our nation’s defense is rather tiring. How about tomorrow after school?”
To which the siblings started looking at each other excitedly. The wife of Arturo popped out from the kitchen carrying a ceramic pan. With speed and grace, she set it on the small dinner table and took the top off. Maria leaned over to her husband and gave a kiss, setting aside the hot top and finally sitting down opposite of Arturo. Arturo Junior began reaching for the enchilada before his hand was smacked by a disapproving mother. His father smirked while Maria said, “Are you forgetting something?”
“Oh, yes. Grace. Shall I?” asked Junior, in an effort to make up for his forgetfulness.
“Yes,” said the mother as each family member began their ritual, holding each other’s hands as the son began.