Devon, who's always been the one to take them, gave a half-hearted attempt at filling out logistics. There's a grownup, Christopher, who runs it. He's got an armory of foam-covered PVC quarterstaffs, elegantly-decorated homemade foam broadswords, halberds, maces and.... other things that I'm sure have some historical basis. Like the five-foot long duct-tape-wrapped scimitar festooned with dangling foam-filled tube socks. Apparently, it's called "Nixon", and I didn't have the nerve to ask any more.
Mind you - this isn't any regimented historically-finicky SCA-for-kids training ground. It's crazy running and yelling, kids careening around the park on a Sunday afternoon having the time of their lives banging away at each other with foam swords, with no adults saying STOP THAT OR YOU'LL HURT SOMEBODY. And along the way, they're picking up little bits of history, and leadership and teamwork and planning skills. And getting a surprising amount of exercise mixed in with the grass stains. How cool is that?