The arming of America's youth or Little warriors get their start

Recently my eldest child celebrated his ninth birthday. We had a really cool party for him. Devin, the "jenius magician" preformed. He was extremely entertaining. For both parents and children alike. It was wonderful to watch the youthful joy, the innocent wonder on the children's faces as Devin did his tricks. Little did I know that when Devin exited our house after the performance so too went much of the innocence.
Not long after the magician left, my boy opened his presents. The first present, given by my younger son's best friend, was a crystal growing kit. "That's cool," I thought, "scientific, informative, creative, enriching." Just the sort gift one might expect from the parent of a kindergartener, very pro-social. The assembled children gave a tepid response to the gift which was probably too parent-friendly for their taste. The gathered masses did not have to wait long for some true crowd pleasers, though, as my older boys' contemporaries began to dole out their gifts. A steady stream of Nerf weapons were soon to enter our house. My son received two small Nerf pistols. These babies shoot three darts. "That's nice," I thought, "we can have duels." (Controlled duels, to be sure, as these pistols only shoot three darts). A steady excitement began to build among my boys' friends. Pistols are tools of violence, mayhem and destruction- exactly what appeals to the third grade boy. My son next unwrapped a mace. One could hear an appreciative and approving sigh from the boys present. My son's next present was again a nerf product, a two-handed sword. The room's pulse perceptibly quickened. My son received a machete, a thinner (but no less deadly) one-handed sword, and a battle axe. Each of these gifts added to the growing (and distinctly ominous) excitement in the room. Eyes that had been creased in mirthful smiles during the magic act were now glinting with anticipated warfare. His armory was not near complete, however. His next three gifts left me slightly panicked. He received two six-dart pistols, a bow-and-arrow set, an uzi that shoots ten darts in six seconds, and a sniper rifle. A SNIPER RIFLE. The room began to spin. I started to hyper-ventilate. I shot concerned glances at the assembled parents in the room. My first thought: would they judge me? was followed quickly by a second: what are these people trying to do to my boy. To my sweet, loving boy who was now maniacally laughing, draped in his new-found weaponry.
After some deep breaths, I achieved a temporary calm. We went upstairs, ate pizza, had cupcakes. Life was once again, happy, carefree, innocent. My boy and his friends returned downstairs and the more Nerf weapons-savvy amongst them helped my boy assemble his guns. Later, after all the boys' guests had left, my wife and I were upstairs discussing the magician. We agreed that he had put on an awesome show. We were reminiscing the kids' response to the magic. It had been, well, magical. All the children seemed captivated by Devin and his 'jenius.'
"Dad," I heard, "come downstairs. I want to show you something." Sometimes, my boys will try to do magic shows for me. I went downstairs with a smile, expecting an earnest demonstration of juvenile slight-of-hand.
I descended the stairs and turned into our TV room. My younger boy was on the couch, smiling. My older boy was facing me with a malevolent grin. "Reach for the sky, Dad," he said, and shot ten nerf darts off my forehead with astonishing speed. I blinked, confused, and massaged my head. My boy wasn't done. He had thrown down his uzi and reached his one-handed sword. "Fight, knave," he joyfully bellowed as he tossed me the two-handed sword. I caught the sword, and it was on. I swung the mighty blade toward my boy. (Nerf swords are actually quite dense and heavy, so I "swung" the blade slowly- I like my battles safe). My boy deft side-stepped my swing. He thrust at me with his sword. A clean strike to my stomach. I fell to my knees. "You got me," I said. I figured my job was done and I could go upstairs and rest. Then, my younger boy attacked. Nerf machete in his hand, he launched himself at my back. I avoided his attack barely. (I was grazed by his Nerf swipe). I spun to face my little attacker. He crouched as if ready to lunge at me with his vicious blade. I tensed. And was hit in the head with another nerf projectile. "Gotcha," my older boy said from the playroom, "woo-HOO." Using his sniper rifle he had shot me through the door from about fifteen feet away.
My boys and I have engaged in frequent nerf battles of late. But I am proud to report that they are equally dangerous when unarmed. My younger boy has started taking Tae Kwon Do courses at a Dojang (a Tae Kwan Do school). I sat watching him during his class yesterday. In his bright red Tae Kwon Do uniform, my boy exectuted various Tae Kwon Do moves/positions. When the instructors yelled, "Fighting Stance!" my boy crouched, ready to battle. With his left leg bent in front of him and his right leg behind, he raised both fists in the air and shouted "AaaayYUHHHH!" Next, at the instructors bidding, he lunged forward, did a right round-house kick, followed by two rapid punches. Each move punctuated with an "AAaayYuHHHHH"! So bad-ass, so tough, so dangerous. He spent the majority of class practicing 24A (24 Attack). 24 A is made up of a back-hand punch to the head, a forward punch to the chest and a karate chop to the temple. Hard core. And there was my boy (along with ten other pint-sized terrors) punching and chopping with ferocity. The Tae Kwon Do instructors claim that the major focus of their martial art concerns respect, following directions, and manners. I'm not sure that my boy got this memo. He's in it for the fighting. He'll probably practice many of his moves on me. As I watched him, lunge and punch (Aaaay YUUUHHHHH!) and lunge and punch again, followed by the prerequisite kick, my body began to ache.