My Dad and I have always been close. Ever since I can remember he took me hunting almost twice a month on the outskirts of Dallas, some four hours away. He wanted to bond with his eldest son, get back to nature and besides, he’d say: “Your mama coddles you too much with all her cookin’, gettin’ you yer shots, and sendin’ ya outta the house for all that book learnin’.” We would just jump in the car, toss my little sister’s baby seat out the back window of our Bronco and head out on the open road.
My dad took great care to make sure I had a proper upbringing. I had my first beer on one of those rides up to Dallas. He didn’t want me abusing alcohol when I hit high school, like all the other kids in our neighborhood. “C’mon, dammit.” he said, “You gotta figure out which beer you like best. I’m not gonna be the only one drinkin’ on these drives to our huntin’.”
He said that hunting was a manly activity. You got back in touch with nature, with who we once were. It was the only natural experience someone could have today. He said it was the only way a man could truly be a man: “Huntin’ is the only way you can get away from the gov’ment and kill, just like man is supposed to do. You’re gonna kill somethin’ today, son. I ain’t raisin’ no sissy. Be a man.” Then, one day, my dad accidentally shot my uncle in the groin. We still went hunting after that, but he never said that it would make me a man again. Uncle Jed and his little butt pillow were evidence to the contrary.
My dad never stopped loving me, though. When my mom subverted the lessons he tried to instill in his children, he put all of us in the Bronco and found a new, younger mom who could properly raise and keep up with us. My dad was so concerned with our well being that he would be consulting with three or four other moms at a time, always looking for a better one if it would help his children.
That was my dad in a nutshell; always looking out for his kids and willing to make any necessary sacrifice. That kindness never stopped; even when my dad reluctantly accepted a promotion at the Honda factory so that I could take his place on the assembly line. He wouldn’t have any son of his going to some college where they pollute your mind with thoughts of charity and big government. He made me the man I am today, and as soon as I finish paying off his debts and find where he moved to, I’m going to give him a big hug and say thank you.