Today, my brothers had a paintball game in the woods around my house. They used to do this fairly frequently, but it has become a rare occurrence.
Fourteen boys [men] of various ages and sizes assembled with all the trappings of war: masks and guns and ammo and camo shirts and brave boasts.
I noticed how familiar it all was, how at home I feel among the brothers and their friends and the war-trappings and the tales of glory gained.
They came up from the battle sweaty and covered in paint, displaying welts and scratches, beaming with the excitement of it.
And though my part was only to watch, the excitement was catching.
I noticed — not for the first time — how glad I am to be the sister of brothers.
©2014 by Stacy Nott