Bottle Rockets and Witches
- Jul 22
- 7 min read
by Brian Ritchie
July 22, 2026
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Let Me Be Free (John 3:20-21) An original song inspired by this week's episode.
While writing this episode, I knew it was going to need a grunge song to go with it. Here it is!
Story
Families have been around for a long time. I’ve even heard that some experts believe couples were having kids almost as far back as the beginning of human history. Whether or not that’s true, it’s important to understand that families have been evolving since the first child. I mean, domestic households haven’t always had minivans and pantries full of cereal boxes and Spaghetti-O’s. This stuff has been tried, tested, perfected, and adapted over thousands of years.
One relatively recent addition to the lives of people engaged in child rearing is playing games together. Early humans were far too busy hunting small-to-medium-sized animals and running from large ones to worry much about entertainment.
My research shows that the first historical mention of family games was in Rome, back when Rome was still cool. And the Romans, because they were cool, designed their family games around concepts like conquest, maiming, and talking with their hands. Some of the most popular games even ended with the loser being carted off to the Colosseum to “feed” the cats.
What’s great about this particular contribution to civilized living is that it provided a way for parents to prepare their children for the harsh world. Even today we have adapted board games to prepare our youth. We have games like Monopoly, where they learn conflict resolution through bankrupting their loved ones; The Game of Life, where marriage is mandatory, and children are collected like loose change; or Clue, where every dinner party ends in murder.
Personally, I’m a fan of games of all sorts and support them being played by people of every familial relation. Competition has long been considered healthy, and winning is a wonderful confidence builder. But it’s losing that really teaches us something about ourselves. So, I say, keep up the good work, Milton Bradley. We need more Aggravation, more Crossfire, and even a few more Mystery Dates.
The fact is, competition is an innate desire that lives deep inside all of us, and we don’t have to work too hard to express it. My friend, John, and I once made a game out of driving up and down a country road, taking turns behind the wheel while the passenger hung halfway out the window trying to catch lightning bugs with his bare hands. One bug was worth two points. A successful catch-and-release without accidentally smearing it was worth three. That is what two great minds can do to satisfy the primal need to crush one another.
Years earlier, a neighborhood pal, Bobby, who was involved in one of those questionable families where he was forced—presumably against his will—to sacrifice time with his friends, doing normal-kid things like pelting each other with dirt and eating forest vegetation on a dare. Instead, his cult leader parents made him spend time in wholesome family activities, such as board games and sports.
This may not sound unusual, but it was the ’70s, and parents weren’t supposed to be involved in their kids’ lives. We raised our own out in the streets and didn’t need adults indoctrinating one of us with screwy ideas about honesty, self-control, and fair play. You allow one kid to believe things like that, and he’ll start spouting crazy ideas of his own like the importance of sportsmanship and following game rules. Then, before you know it, it’s work, work, work for the whole adolescent community just to restore anarchy.
In those days, my best friend was Seth. And, unlike Bobby, we were both raised right by ’70s standards. We roamed free, destroyed what we didn’t understand, and laughed at fear. We were also pack-loyal to our friends, and Bobby was one of ours. Personally, I was deeply indebted to him, because he had introduced me to the band Styx. That’s not the kind of friend you give up on.
One day, Bobby was kept in for one of his parents’ rituals, which they disguised as an invigorating game of basketball on their back patio. For starters, who has a basketball hoop off a patio? Someone who is hiding something, that’s who.
Well, Seth and I had had enough. Our brother needed rescue, and the burden had fallen to us. We gathered our weapons—small rockets attached to sticks—and forged through dense forest to the schoolyard in the neighborhood. The air was thick and damp, and the way was difficult, but we finally made it to the base of a tall steel structure built to punish children who were trying to have fun. It was known in those days as a metal slide, and on a sunny, hot, Virginia day, it could sear bare skin.
We climbed to the top and took our place at its summit. From there, we could see across two yards and into Bobby’s, where his family was playing a spirited game of two-on-two and were even calling fouls on themselves.
I hated them.
Seth and I looked at each other for assurance. No words were needed. Our brother was trapped among people of good character, and we had to do what was necessary to free him.
A match was struck, the fuses flared, we aimed from our bare hands, and the ordnance took flight.
Don’t think too poorly of us. These were merely warning shots, exploding just over their heads and intended to draw them into parley.
We were spotted immediately.
I knew we were too close. Too exposed. And both of us had eaten dinner at their table. Our identities were compromised.
A lump formed in my throat as Bobby’s mom’s face turned to fire and she ran around the side of their house.
Seth and I hit the slide and made a run for it.
Young kids aren’t exactly great at considering consequences or planning tactical retreats. So we only knew to run toward the woods from which we’d come and in the direction of Seth’s house.
We were doomed.
I looked over my shoulder as we cleared the edge of the woods, and she was back there, pursuing in fury. She pumped the pedals of her lady-bike like it was the last leg of the Tour de France, standing above the saddle like an enraged Valkyrie and calling down judgment upon us.
It was never discussed afterward, but I swear I heard her say, “I’ll get you, my pretty!”
Thoughts
I like to sit in a quiet place, read God’s word, meditate on it, and pray. Then I wait for the Lord who made me to change me. All good things, and I truly wish I was the type of person who could think my way into sanctifying improvement.
Unfortunately, I have discovered I can read a verse like James 1:19, that says, “Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger;” and ask God to do those things in me, and no matter how sincere I am, I get nothing of the sort. Instead, I will be challenged that day with situations where I end up being slow to hear, quick to speak, and quick to anger.
What this means is that sanctification is a slow burn, and we have to learn by example, trial, flop, and failure how to get up and reach the place where we finally acknowledge the need for change, desire it, and surrender our inability to make it happen ourselves. It’s not meant to frustrate us, but, I’m afraid its the only way to change.
Seth and I reacted to goodness because it exposed our lack of understanding it. Okay, it's not fair of me to include Seth in that statement. He’s had his own journey in life, and I don’t get to say what was in his heart at that time. But, for me, instead of admiring Bobby’s family, I criticize it.
It’s easy to do that with sincerely good people. We try to find ways in which they are not as genuine as they appear. We call them fake, self-righteous, or too perfect. Anything that allows us to dismiss what we see instead of asking why it bothers us.
I think God uses lots of things, people, and situations for those lessons. Someone’s patience can reveal our impatience. Another’s generosity can show us our selfishness. Or a humble person can shine a light on our pride.
John 3:20 says, “For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed.”
Ouch.
I don’t think God wants to punish us, shame us, or embarrass us with experiences that expose our flaws, but I do think that shining a light on them helps us understand their severity so that we can get busy with real, sincere submission to Him in those areas.
It’s been a lot of years, and I like to think I’ve grown since that day on the slide with Seth. I can say this: I very rarely fire projectiles at families anymore, and I actually appreciate wholesome.
The light that shines from good and exposes our bad is tough, but it’s necessary. God can’t change what we insist on keeping in the dark. Sometimes we have to see the ugly in ourselves before we’re willing to surrender it to Him.
And that, my friends, is how we keep it bright and hopeful.
Pray
Father,
Thank You for loving us enough to show us the places where we still need to grow. Help us not to turn away when Your light exposes impatience, pride, selfishness, or anything else we would rather not see.
Give us the humility to recognize goodness in others without criticizing it or tearing it down. And when You show us something in ourselves that needs to change, help us surrender it to You instead of trying to fix it on our own.
Keep working in us, Lord. Make us more patient, more humble, more generous, and more like Jesus.
Amen.
Going Deeper
Have you ever been critical of something good in another person because it exposed an area where you needed to grow?
What might God be shining a light on in your life right now, and what would it look like to sincerely surrender that area to Him?
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