"I missed a deer a while ago," my dad said as he came through the door. "What? You never miss!" I said as looked at the puzzled look on my father's face. Here was a man who didn't get very excited about deer hunting, and who had been able to stack bullets on top of each other with his rifle. When he decided to shoot a few times, his target would always have one ragged hole in the center. He had shot the same 336 Marlin lever action rifle chambered in .35 Remington since the early '50's. I didn't understand how or why he had missed a deer. "Tell me about it. Where were you and where was the deer?" I asked. "I was on the creek and the deer was on that steep hillside on the other side of the field," he said. "My bullets kicked up dust at the deer's feet." "Well, do you know how far that deer was from you?" I asked. "That's not that far. I could see the deer real good," my daddy said. "That has to be close to three hundred," I said as I mentally recalled the exact place where the hunter and hunted had encountered each other. "That can't be that far. I just don't understand how I could miss a deer that bad," Daddy said. He was still in a state of disbelief of having missed a deer, something that he had never done before.
"Well, that's a lot farther than you think. Your old thirty five bullet is taking a serious nose dive by the time it gets that far out," I explained. "Here, take my rifle and try it," I said as I handed him my bolt action .30-06. "I'm about done and I don't have time to hunt right now anyway."
My Daddy gave me my first guitar, my first gun, and my first bow. I learned to play a guitar and shoot guns and bows. Somehow, I used the gifts that he gave me to shape my life, and of each, I developed a burning passion which still burns bright today. Daddy was a bit distraught that my musical taste did not follow his own. He loved Hank Williams and I love Hank. Jr. He loved Southern Gospel music, and I love Southern fried rock n' roll. He has also been a bit stressed that I often spend time hunting when I should be working, but he doesn't fuss at me much about it. I guess he figures I am too old to change. A couple of days after I gave Daddy my rifle, he came by to see me. He didn't have a lot to say, so I asked him if he had tried out my rifle. He replied "Yes." I asked him if he could hit anything with it, and he said, "Yes." I asked him if he had shot at a deer with it and he said, "Yes" but offered no more details. So I decided to interrogate him on his hunt. Finally, getting enough information to put the story together, I learned that Daddy had shot my rifle, he had gone hunting, and had killed a deer at more than three hundred yards with my .30-06, which shoots much flatter than his old lever action rifle that shoots heavy, round nosed bullets. After pulling the information from him (which was what he wanted in the first place), he said, "I think I need one of those," as he handed back my cased rifle. My Daddy rarely indicated that he wanted anything, and when Christmas came a few weeks later, my immediate family and I presented Daddy with a Remington 742 chambered in .30-06, and topped with a variable scope. The gift brought a smile to his face and made his deep blue eyes sparkle. He used the rifle for more than twenty years, and it was always one of his cherished possessions. This year, I will use the rifle to kill a buck, and I will kneel down to thank the Lord for giving me a daddy that had the foresight to give his son some fine gifts and be a role model by being a Christian who gives hope to those around him. Thank you Daddy for always being there for me. You have been the best father that a son could hope for, and I love you as much as I possibly know how.
