If you didn't know how to shoot a rubber band in my house while growing up, you were in trouble. Rubber band fights were a common occurrence and how to shoot a rubber band with zing was an important life skill. I'm not kidding. A rubber band gun is no match for a rubber band shot by my dad. Fortunately, I was a quick study. I could shoot those things with some serious precision, and still can just ask Ian...he got a rubber band to the forehead last night after the fifth request to pick up Legos was ignored.
When I was in 7th grade, I was annoyed by a boy named Bill. I finally had enough and luck would have it I was sitting a couple seats behind him and had a rubber band with me. I let it rip. It hit him so hard it bounced off him and onto the floor near where the teacher stood. Bill got in trouble for shooting the rubber band and I sat quietly in my seat pretending not to notice. To his credit he took the entire lecture and never implicated me. I should have said thank you. I never did. Poor Bill.
Last week my dad was here visiting and saw with horror the sad state of my offspring's rubber band shooting abilities. He quickly rectified that situation. In the days since he left, I've tried to explain to my husband how the weaponizing of rubber bands occurred. But really, I think it is just in the genes...or the jeans. I just pulled fifteen rubber bands from my washing machine)