It was the worst Christmas ever. I had already gone through my parents private walk-in closet, the chest, under the bed and into the sacred cupboards. I found what my BIG GIFT would be, and I was a very unhappy child. My father was behind this, my father had decided I would become a man on December 25th.
It was a gun. And, with a gun you get a stocking full of bullets. No wonder my stocking was hanging down to the floor. The gun was my adult path to being 'one of the guys' and he even had it engraved with my name. This is when my nightmare began.
It was duck hunting season and I was to join my father and his law partner, Mr. Angel, on a river outing to kill 8 ducks each; that's the limit! Not a good time to be a duck I figured. We loaded a 'punt' which is like a badly built canoe, with 2 huge bags of duck decoys, the black labrador retriever, 2 overweight men and myself..'Duck Killer Kid'.
I had many pets at home and the killing fields was not something I willingly signed up for. I was TOLD I had to come to the mighty Fraser River with THE MEN to blow the feathers off of innocent birds. I was very quiet in the punt. At that moment I really hated my father and I hated his law partner too. I still loved the family dog because,like me, he was forced to come along. I whispered into his velvety ear, "I'll miss on purpose and you won't have to jump into the freezing river in Winter to pluck bleeding wildlife out of the river." We had a paw pact against Pa.
I was freezing. My friends were still asleep in their homes dreaming of fun times without adults. I was holding a weapon and my teeth were chattering like mad. We had packed a lunch the night before. Tuna. I hate tuna fish sandwiches. My father wanted to make me sardine sandwiches at first but I had a gag reflex when I took a whiff of those rotting, slimy fish.
I was dressed like the Pillsbury Dough Boy with lairs of thermal clothes. What if I have to pee? "YOU'LL PEE IN THE RIVER LIKE ALL MEN DO!" Well, I didn't cherish having my wiener freezing and falling into the river. Maybe I'll just hold it in. Little did I know this was a ten hour day. REAL MEN PUT IN A 10 HOUR DAY!!
It was still dark when the two MEN started paddling down the river. I couldn't see a thing. It was dark, foggy and cold but I could hear fog horns in the distance. My father told me they were log boom boats taking logs down the river to the sawmill. Great, we would be crushed by a forest before I could even get my first taste of tuna. At least I wouldn't drown. I was so puffy, I might be airborne at any time.
We could buy chicken at Safeway so I really didn't get this whole 'kill a duck thing'. Kernel Sanders was just a block away. I guess this is some primal, warrior thing men HAVE TO GO THROUGH and of course taking a leak at 5 below. I was quietly building up a enormous amount of unleashed rage for these two men. I wanted to just flip off the side of the boat and float back to the car. Yeah, keep dreaming.
So, the first blaring blast of buckshot did not come from my father's gun, it came from the Indian Reserve. That's right, he floated into sacred land and those Indians were not thrilled about any white man knocking off their food supply. So, we were almost murdered on the first day by Chief Feather-in-your-Cap and his son, 'Savage Growling Bear'. I assumed their names were something like that because I do watch old Westerns.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to have a full throttle meltdown but I was afraid his friend was a child-hater and he would shoot me. You don't mess with HUNTERS. When the light of day finally came to be I thanked God for a bit of warmth, although I am not religious.
I decided I would be religious just for today so, I prayed that the ducks would understand this was 'HUNTING SEASON' and hang out at the local park instead
.
Then it happened, "8 O'CLOCK, 8 O'CLOCK... KEEP DOWN, STAY LOW!!" My God (which I had on my side now), it was like a feathered raid. Next thing I knew, ducks were falling out of the sky. So, it doesn't rain cats and dogs, it rains ducks and geese. The dog went all CUJO on me. I thought we had a paw pact but he just got rabid. Now, I was all alone. He made six or seven trips into the water to bring back these poor birds. Some of the VICTIMS were still flapping and quacking. I thought of Dr. DoLittle and James Herriot...what would they do?
My father said, "LOOK SON, THIS IS HOW YOU DO IT!" I looked over at him as he twirled this poor duck 4 times with his big hand. CRACK. DEAD, game over. He hung it from some leather belt on his Killer Suit to go with the five other ducks he had murdered. Yes, it was great becoming a man!
And when I finally got home I could tell my friends I 'slayed the dragon', I had become, "BLOODTHIRSTY MAN-BOY"..and they would fear me. My father even signed me up for a Taxidermy course (that was next wonderful gift). The books came in the mail. I was confused at first...wrong address? But, I saw the 20 steps to stuffing your duck and I knew my father had me on the 'BE A MAN TREADMILL' again.
He also made me take 'parts of the duck' to show n' tell. One girl fainted and the teacher screamed.
When I turned eighteen I gave my father my gun. He was hurt but I had succeeded in not killing ONE DUCK...but, I did shoot into a tree just to miss the ducks and ended up killing a crow. I felt bad about that.
Now I shoot ducks with my camera and watch them fly overhead. And the beauty to this story is, 'I still became a man'.
It was the worst Christmas ever. I had already gone through my parents private walk-in closet, the chest, under the bed and into the sacred cupboards. I found what my BIG GIFT would be, and I was a very unhappy child. My father was behind this, my father had decided I would become a man on December 25th.
It was duck hunting season and I was to join my father and his law partner, Mr. Angel, on a river outing to kill 8 ducks each; that's the limit! Not a good time to be a duck I figured. We loaded a 'punt' which is like a badly built canoe, with 2 huge bags of duck decoys, the black labrador retriever, 2 overweight men and myself..'Duck Killer Kid'.
I was freezing. My friends were still asleep in their homes dreaming of fun times without adults. I was holding a weapon and my teeth were chattering like mad. We had packed a lunch the night before. Tuna. I hate tuna fish sandwiches. My father wanted to make me sardine sandwiches at first but I had a gag reflex when I took a whiff of those rotting, slimy fish.
I was dressed like the Pillsbury Dough Boy with lairs of thermal clothes. What if I have to pee? "YOU'LL PEE IN THE RIVER LIKE ALL MEN DO!" Well, I didn't cherish having my wiener freezing and falling into the river. Maybe I'll just hold it in. Little did I know this was a ten hour day. REAL MEN PUT IN A 10 HOUR DAY!!
It was still dark when the two MEN started paddling down the river. I couldn't see a thing. It was dark, foggy and cold but I could hear fog horns in the distance. My father told me they were log boom boats taking logs down the river to the sawmill. Great, we would be crushed by a forest before I could even get my first taste of tuna. At least I wouldn't drown. I was so puffy, I might be airborne at any time.
We could buy chicken at Safeway so I really didn't get this whole 'kill a duck thing'. Kernel Sanders was just a block away. I guess this is some primal, warrior thing men HAVE TO GO THROUGH and of course taking a leak at 5 below. I was quietly building up a enormous amount of unleashed rage for these two men. I wanted to just flip off the side of the boat and float back to the car. Yeah, keep dreaming.
So, the first blaring blast of buckshot did not come from my father's gun, it came from the Indian Reserve. That's right, he floated into sacred land and those Indians were not thrilled about any white man knocking off their food supply. So, we were almost murdered on the first day by Chief Feather-in-your-Cap and his son, 'Savage Growling Bear'. I assumed their names were something like that because I do watch old Westerns.
My father said, "LOOK SON, THIS IS HOW YOU DO IT!" I looked over at him as he twirled this poor duck 4 times with his big hand. CRACK. DEAD, game over. He hung it from some leather belt on his Killer Suit to go with the five other ducks he had murdered. Yes, it was great becoming a man!
And when I finally got home I could tell my friends I 'slayed the dragon', I had become, "BLOODTHIRSTY MAN-BOY"..and they would fear me. My father even signed me up for a Taxidermy course (that was next wonderful gift). The books came in the mail. I was confused at first...wrong address? But, I saw the 20 steps to stuffing your duck and I knew my father had me on the 'BE A MAN TREADMILL' again.
He also made me take 'parts of the duck' to show n' tell. One girl fainted and the teacher screamed.
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