Concha While growing up in a small barrio, Pacoima, my younger brother Joey and I were left alone to find ways, to amuse ourselves, to keep ourselves busy—and out of our mother's way. One way in which we whiled away long summer days was by making pea shooters. These were made from hollow reed which we first cleaned with a piece of wire. We then collected berries from the pepper trees that lined our driveway. Once we amassed enough dry berries we put them in our mouths and spat them out at each other through the pea shooter. The berries were a terrible taste- they were even said to be poison! I was most careful not to swallow them. We selected only the hard, firm peas. The soft ones, we knew, would get mushy, crumble in our mouths and force us to gag-and lose a fight. During an important battle, short pause would spell defeat. Oftentimes while playing with Joey I watched closely. When he appeared to gag I dashed back to pepper tree to load up on ammunition. I pelted him without mercy until he begged me to stop. "No more. Ya no," Joey cried as he bent over to spit berries. "No more!" Please explain it in short.​