Scorched Earth

by Brian Ritchie

May 2026

One of my neighborhood buddies growing up was a guy named Scott T. But, because I am a responsible

writer, I feel like I need to protect this man’s reputation, mainly due to the discussion of illegal activities that are about to ensue. So, we will call him Tim.

Tim and I grew up in a buffer neighborhood. Which is just a tract of suburban land cut into the countryside to serve as a neutral ground between two very diverse cultures. On our one side was pure, Virginia red neck infested sticks, and on the other, was a wealthy, snob-infested university town.

We were like a DMZ with lawn sprinklers.

Tim and I were also Gen-X kids, which will be discussed in more detail on future episodes. But for today, its important to understand that, beginning at the age of 5, we were banished from our homes during the periods of the day in which there was sunlight.

Under no circumstances were we allowed back in when the following activities were happening: cooking, cleaning, watching Soap Operas, or when our mom was napping or awake.

Growing up with such an emphasis on hearty independence meant that the outside was our home, and the neighborhood kids, were our family, with the exception of that redheaded kid, Paul, who used to beat me up every time I wore corduroy shorts.

Our days overflowing with freedom were also like petri dishes for curiosity. It developed us into avid learners and explorers, who were always looking for ways to expand our minds.

Actually, we were really bored and were game for doing just about anything to kill time, such as dirt belly flops from a tree. That one didn’t last long.

Our inquisitiveness (or boredom) was so profound at times that it led to extreme measures, such as watching our adults to see what they were doing.

And yes, they were like totally lame just like any adult at any time in history. I bet even Roman kids thought their parents were stupid when they conquered another country or built an aqueduct but, parents had all the power and there’s something suspicious about people who are so bossy and secretive.

One day, after spying on his grown-ups, Tim reported that they had been doing a thing called ‘having a drink with friends,’ and he went on to describe in great detail the wonders of consuming alcohol for pleasure.

Now, to 9-year-olds, this activity appeared to include some of the major entertainment elements that kids look for: frequent trips to the bathroom, talking loudly, and belching.

Also, Tim swore he heard his mom singing Afternoon Delight in front of company.

While gross, it was all we needed to hear to know that this was a pastime perfectly suited for kids.

So, on a hot, Virginia summer morning, after my mother banished me from the house, I rode my bike over to Tim’s, so we could swim in the magical, grown-up sea of booze.

We still had no clue what this elixir of merriment would actually do to us, so, just as a precaution, we used our secret handshake and made a vow that neither of us would sing Afternoon Delight.

Not that day. Not us.

Tim’s information on which of the many forms of the solvent we should partake in was limited, so we randomly selected a bottle from the cabinet with a fancy red label that read “Gin”.

My palms were sweaty and I could feel my pulse in my left ear because I knew what we were doing was wrong, yet it felt so right.

The current of misbehavior had been pushing at me all morning and I tried to fight it, I really did. But I was just a kid and doing something new that was forbidden was fun if no one found out.

I gave in to it and picked my feet up. I’d figure things out downstream once I washed ashore.

The excitement continued to swell as we used a folding stool to reach the cabinet with the glasses.

Each of us climbed up and selected a jelly jar glass for ourselves—I went with Josie and the Pussycats, and Tim selected Huckleberry Hound.

Then, like regulars at the corner pub, we resolutely slammed our glasses down on the counter, signifying it was time for Tim to pour our drinks.

He filled each goblet with what I now understand to be a generous pour, or a double.

We would be enjoying our drinks neat that day.

With an air of wicked decorum, we swirled the screw-top glasses under our nostrils and drew in long sniffs.

My immediate impression wasn’t that it was going to be repulsive. It certainly didn’t suggest what the poison was going to do to my undeveloped palate.

Tim appeared to be ready, winked, smiled, and said, “On the count of 3. One…two…three!”

We both took huge mouthfuls. Maybe half of what was in the jelly jars.

Immediate I had no thoughts, almost as if I’d forgotten everything I knew.

Then a phrase I had learned from my father on the ski slope came to me:

“Sweet, Holy Moses!”

It was liquid hell on my tongue.

It was as if the guard dogs of Hades had peed in my mouth.

My thoughts were only words without vowels and consonants. I was in red alert, panic mode.

I did, however, manage to keep my mouth shut because, somehow, my jello brain reasoned that if I spat it out, I’d never live it down.

If Scott, I mean Tim, swallowed his, then I must too.

So, I forced my throat open and immediately began to experience something akin to a mile of liquid, hot barbed wire being dragged down the pipe into my stomach, where it began to boil and bubble like a witch’s cauldron.

My jaw trembled, and I grimaced. At least I think I grimaced. I couldn’t see myself but I know what one feels like from the inside.

Anyway, I then noticed I had lost the feeling in my left arm but, somehow, had gained sensitivity in every hair on my head.

With heroic determination, I parted the lid of one eye and peeked out just in time to see Scott, I mean Tim, turn and run for the bathroom.

He didn’t make it.

Unfortunately, from that day forward, the carpet and walls in his family’s hallway would indelibly commemorate the day when Tim and Brian tried their first alcohol.

The sound of his retching echoed down the hall and, when it reached me, it was like a call to arms for my system.

Quickly, I turned to run for the deck out back, and I am proud to report that, due to my outstanding determination and constitution, the contents of my stomach, which began to stream from my mouth like it was being flushed from a fire hose, cleared the railing.

Unfortunately, it burned out a square yard of grass.

Thoughts

Tim and I were kids, just doing the sort of thing kids do. Which, in this case, was discovering that the world isn’t always what it appears to be.

And that is the enterprise of youth.

Unfortunately, even as adults, we make the very mistakes we should have learned from when we were young.

We stray from wisdom and chase after things simply because they’re off-limits and look like fun.

That day, when Tim and I experimented with something we didn’t understand and ignored the rules we did understand, we earned ourselves a little thing called consequences.

Proverbs 14:12 says,“There is a way which seems right to a man, but its end is the way of death.”

Okay, maybe that sounds a little severe for the actions of a couple of mischievous boys, but the idea is that even the wisest, most mature, and experienced among us ought to be cautious when it comes to trusting our judgment.

Pride comes in many flavors, and so many of them are subtle.

Our enemy is a master at disguising sinful indulgence with innocent decoration, and snatching that pleasure, thrill, or opportunity may lead to hurting someone or ourselves and grieving the heart of our Father.

So the next time something looks fun, listen for that still, small voice or even a loud, parental one.

Then, maybe pause and ask yourself:

Should I drink what’s in the jelly-jar or should I trust the authority put over me?

Proverbs 22:3 says,“The prudent see danger and take refuge, but the simple keep going and pay the penalty.”

And that’s how we keep it bright and hopeful.

Pray

Heavenly Father,All around me are things on which I might stumble.My eyes trick a heart that wants its own benefit.My will is so regularly just mine and not often enough yours.My understanding is thin and needs more of your words.

Draw me today to your word, that my eyes may be opened, my will transformed to yours, and my understanding grow.

Thank you and praise you for your constant patience.You are my Lord, and I love you.

In Jesus name,Amen

Going Deeper

1. Can you think of a time when curiosity or rebellion led you into something you weren’t ready for? What did you learn—and how did God use it to shape you?

2. Why do you think forbidden things are often more tempting than wise things? What does that say about how we understand freedom—and how God defines it?

3. Proverbs 14:12 says, “There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads to death.”What’s one area in your life where you’re tempted to trust your instincts over God’s direction?What might it look like to choose His path instead?

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