The summer when we wished we had a water gun like this too

There is one summer that I still remember very clearly today.

Not because we traveled to some very faraway place that summer. Not because we had a particularly carefully planned schedule that day. In fact, the truth is that we had originally planned to go somewhere farther away that day.

I remember that Mom was spending one of her rare days off at home. She had been getting ready since morning, and she said that in such lovely weather we should really go somewhere together. A small family outing. That was enough for me and my younger brother. As soon as we heard that we were “going somewhere,” we got excited right away.

As a kid, that always sounded like an adventure. Maybe we’d go far away. Maybe there would be ice cream. Maybe we’d sit in the car for a long time and then run around all day in a completely new, unfamiliar place.

But my father was a completely different kind of person.

He loved playing, and he knew how to play too. But at the same time, he was the kind of person who, if something could be solved more simply, would definitely not choose the complicated route. That day he looked out the window at the blinding, hot sunshine, then at Mom, who had already started packing the usual things: towels, water bottles, food, sunscreen, a change of clothes, and lots of other little things that we might “need just in case.”

My father watched that growing pile in silence for a few seconds.

Then he said in a completely natural tone:

"Why would we go that far? The grassy area nearby is perfectly fine."

Mom looked up at him.

At the time, I didn’t understand that look. Now I do. It basically meant: you just don’t want to carry all this stuff.

But Dad wasn’t embarrassed at all about being caught out. In fact, he stood up, clapped his hands together as if a brilliant idea had just come to him, and said:

"Come on, let’s have a war."

When I heard that, honestly, I was a little disappointed.

As a kid, the word “war” sounded exciting, but I thought that in the end it would just turn into something very simple, a slightly childish game. He runs, we run, then everyone gets tired, and it’s over. My brother, of course, got excited right away and started bouncing as he asked:

"Can I be the team captain?"

Meanwhile, Mom put back the things she had carefully prepared just a few minutes earlier, and half smiling, half resigned, simply said:

"Your dad just doesn’t want to take that much with him."

So in the end we set off for that nearby grassy area.

There was really nothing special about it. There was no beautiful view, no famous park, no lakeshore, nothing that would make you think it would one day become a memory. It was just a simple grassy patch with a few trees, heavy, hot summer air, and that blinding afternoon light glittering on the blades of grass.

Dad found a few small water pistols from somewhere and gave one to me and one to my brother. I remember they were very simple ones. Small, light, just the right size for a child to hold comfortably in their hand. We filled them with water and didn’t think anything big was coming. We just wanted to play, and that was enough.

My brother got into it very quickly. He hid behind one of the trees with his little water pistol in hand and peeked out from there as if he were on some secret mission. I was still trying to act like this whole thing was a bit childish, but in reality, within a few minutes I was running along with him too.

At the start, everything was simple.

My brother and I sprayed each other with our little water pistols, then sometimes teamed up and tried to hit Dad together. At first Dad just laughed, ducked, leapt aside, and acted as if we had really cornered him. And we kept getting more and more confident. We thought we were winning. We were so proud of ourselves, as if we might actually beat him that day.

But just when we were almost convinced we were going to win, that sneaky dad of mine suddenly pulled out a huge water pistol from somewhere.

That was nothing like the ones we had.

Not a small, light, innocent toy.

At that moment, that water pistol looked like the final weapon of a supervillain.

I still remember that image now. Dad was standing there in the grass, holding the big water pistol, with that satisfied, slightly wicked smile on his face that said: well, now you’ll find out who the real opponent is.

The next moment he pulled the trigger.

My brother and I screamed at the same time and started running for our lives in whatever direction we could see.

The water stream was strong and fast, impossible to compare with our tiny little water pistols. Just moments earlier we had imagined ourselves as brave warriors, but in that instant we completely fell apart. We ran, we laughed, we hid behind the tree, then peeked out again to see whether the “big supervillain” was still coming after us.

My brother was the funniest of all. While fleeing, he shouted at the top of his lungs:

"That’s cheating! Dad’s cheating!"

Dad only laughed even louder at that. He deliberately held the big water pistol high and ran after us while shouting:

"Are you surrendering? Come on, are you surrendering?"

I remember that afternoon, we really were running from him like two defeated little soldiers.

The grass was covered with our footprints. Our clothes were soaked. Our hair was a mess. My brother ran so hard he almost lost one of his sandals. Mom had originally been standing at the edge of the field and said she wasn’t playing. But when she saw Dad completely soaking us with water, she couldn’t resist any longer. She joined us to help defeat Dad.

But even with Mom, we still couldn’t beat that big water-pistol supervillain.

We laughed very loudly that afternoon.

Not the way people smile in a photo. Not prettily, not politely, not restrained. But truly. The kind of laughter where you can barely catch your breath, your stomach hurts from laughing, your shirt is wet, your hair is a mess, and after a while no one cares who won.

Many years have passed since then.

To be honest, I don’t remember a lot from that summer anymore. I don’t know what we ate that evening. I don’t know what I was wearing. I also don’t remember whether we ended up going somewhere farther away that week.

But I do remember that afternoon.

I remember the strong sunlight.

I remember the smell of the grass.

I remember the way my brother shouted while running.

And I remember my father, who usually could be so relaxed, a little lazy even, but on that day chased us across the grass with a huge water pistol in his hand, as if he were truly the supervillain of a playful battle.

As adults, we slowly begin to understand that children often hold on to different things than we adults think are important.

Not necessarily the expensive trip.

Not necessarily the perfectly organized plan.

Not necessarily the fact that everything happened exactly as we had planned.

Sometimes they only remember a completely ordinary afternoon.

That Dad didn’t rush anywhere that day, he just wanted to play with them.

That Mom said she wasn’t taking part, then still laughed and jumped into the battle.

That you and your younger brother teamed up, but still couldn’t defeat that father who looked like a supervillain.

For an adult, it may have just been a lazy afternoon when we didn’t go very far in the end.

For a child, though, it may have been a summer that lasts a lifetime.

That’s why when I see this electric water pistol now, the first thing it brings to mind is that grassy battle from years ago.

And I can’t help thinking:

If back then my brother and I had had one of these electric water pistols in our hands instead of those little ones, would we finally have had a chance that day to defeat that sneaky supervillain with the big water pistol we called Dad?

Of course, now I know that what really mattered wasn’t whether we won or lost.

What mattered was that afternoon happened.

That grass, that laughter, that wet, slightly chaotic, yet happy water fight. And that father who secretly pulled out a big water pistol, then chased us all around with it in satisfaction.

Maybe years from now, children won’t remember how far we took them either.

But that one day when we truly put adult busyness aside and played with them from the heart.

If you also want to create a memory like that with your family this summer, maybe you don’t need big plans at all.

Maybe all it takes is a good water pistol, a little sunshine, a few laughing people, and an afternoon that later turns into a story.

 

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