From BB Guns to Juárez: A High School Saga

The Infamous Trio and the Dozen That Followed

Entering high school, I found my crew: Matt “Joker” McWilliams and Tim Davis  — three wild cards from Las Cruces who met through two-a-day football workouts. We were driven, headstrong, and bonded by a respect for each other and a shared instinct for mischief. Over the next four years, our trio would grow into a dozen — friends who shaped my teenage years with everything from mountain ambushes to Mexico nights.

Matt was all personality — charming, resilient, and battle-hardened from an imperfect childhood (his story, not mine). Tim had a heart as big as Texas and strength like a semi-truck in sneakers. Athletically gifted and, like me, a little academically allergic. We were just some good ol’ boys trying to become men — spit, fire, and full of contradictions. Angry as hell some days, respectful to our elders always.

🌄 Las Cruces, 4x4s, and BB Gun Battles

Once we turned 15 and got our licenses — along with vehicles that probably shouldn’t have been street legal — we started exploring the Mesilla Valley, the Organ Mountains, and eventually headed north to Elephant Butte and Caballo Lake.

We’d throw together weekend camps, armed with BB guns, hunting each other like it was New Mexico’s version of paintball. Stupid? Maybe. But we lived by the motto:

“If you’re going to be dumb, you better be strong.”

New Mexico didn’t raise weak boys. And there’s nothing like sitting under the stars on a clear summer night, the Milky Way spilling across the sky with no city lights to dilute it. Las Cruces had around 90,000 people back then — big enough for three high schools: Las Cruces High, Mayfield, and... well, Oñate (sorry, I had to).

💼 Odd Jobs and Burrito Money

We all worked part-time gigs. Matt always had a steady job. I bounced around — moving pianos with Tim (thanks to a sweet deal my dad set up with White’s Music Box), flipping burgers, stocking groceries, and dishwashing my way into cook shifts. Just enough work to appease our parents and fill our gas tanks.

🙏 Goodbye SDA, Hello Young Life

Sometime early in high school, I stepped away from my Seventh-Day Adventist roots and started attending First Baptist Church and a youth group called Young Life. It was a shift — the beginning of my teenage faith journey, one that would leave a lasting mark.

Cue Amos and Derek, sons of the First Baptist pastor. Through them, I was introduced to the rest of the crew: Glover, Donald, Shane, Jeff, Nate, Shilo — and more importantly, to the wild nights just across the border in Juárez, Mexico.

🍸 Juárez and the Footloose Chapter

If you’ve seen Footloose, you get the vibe. Juárez was our escape — an hour from home, $8 at the door for all-you-can-drink, and a few dive bars like Tequila Derby, Copa Cabana, Fred’s, and Preppies.

We’d roll deep, throw out pick-up lines crafted in English class, and chase college girls from NMSU and UTEP while dodging any mention of our age (spoiler: we started going as young as 16, and pretending to be freshmen at NMSU). I struck out nine times out of ten, but it never stopped me. Confidence or stupidity? Probably both.

The club manager once told me,

“I don’t care how old you are — just don’t be an asshole.” Lesson learned. Don’t be an asshole. It’s a universal truth.

We never drank in excess. Buzzed? Sure. But we held each other accountable. Whoever drove stayed sober, always. DDs got in free — wristband, bottomless soda, all the perks. No one got left behind. Not once.

💨 Gravity Bongs and Straight A’s

Junior year brought a ritual: Tim and Matt at my house before school. Not before sharing a hit from our homemade gravity bong — a milk jug and a bucket of water.

We’d grab breakfast burritos from Santa Fe Grill, then cruise into Mrs. Roman’s English class, cool, calm, and collected. Best part? I got my first — and only — A in English that year.

Hyper-focused. Zero stress. Who knew a gravity bong could ignite academic brilliance? (We’ll leave that theory to future retirement experiments.)

🚀 What’s Next

These were the years of freedom, friendships, and flawed brilliance. We were good kids with wild hearts, trying to figure it all out while making memories that still feel alive.

Thanks for riding with me. Let’s keep going. Don’t worry, the journey to the Navy is coming.